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dzpenumbra · 2 years

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2/18/23

Things took a very big turn today. And I haven't been doing this poorly in a very long time.

I wasn't going to even write tonight. I didn't even eat dinner. I ate a can of chef boyardee and a microwave soup and a rice cake, and I hated all of it and now I have bad heartburn. And all I'm thinking is "I wish I had just gone out and gotten piss drunk, and I don't because drinking makes me feel sick and gives me heartburn... but now I have heartburn so..."

I. Want. To. Smoke. Cigarettes. So. Badly. Right. Now.

I have no idea how I haven't just driven out to literally any convenience store and bought a pack of Marb 27's and sat out on the picnic bench outside my building and just shamefully sucked down that nasty ritual until I felt dizzy and nauseous and kinda like I have to shit. Yeah, really selling it, huh.

Or maybe I can just smoke some weed, yeah? I have a bunch of weed, and a tincture too! Why not just take a few hits and... start questioning my own reality... start hearing my neighbors making sounds through the walls and convincing myself they're conspiring against me... start feeling these intermittent chest pains and heart flutters I've been feeling all night and be absolutely deathly convinced that I have minutes to live...

Wow. Wonder why I don't have any vices... Let's rephrase that, shall we. Because when it's a prescribed pharmaceutical, it's called a "medication" for an emotional regulation issue. When it's Xanax given to you by a psychiatrist in a community counseling service, it's a coping tool to make emotional processing more bearable and healthier. When it's outside of that environment? It's a vice. It's an addiction, to the point where it will actually make it more difficult for you to get prescription medications for the same purpose. Figure that shit out.

This species is just a bunch of dumb fucking apes with fancy gadgets, pretending like we've gotten everything all figured out, acting like we've got it all figured out, even believing we've got the perfect systems and we're so advanced and we look at those just a hair's breadth below us and we snub our noses at how fucking savage and barbaric they are. We have no fucking clue what we're doing. And all of these systems that we've invented are being made up as we go along. And, from my experience, most of the people I'm coming across just don't really understand... no... don't take the time... to understand how to deal with a situation properly. So they tick boxes, and generalize, and lump people into groups like cattle, and off they go, into their generalized plan.

I'm upset. Can you tell?

Why?

Well... today may be the last day of my past life. It certainly feels like it. The person you've been reading here? For a lack of better words... is going to cease to exist. As with every rebirth, I will evolve. I will morph and mutate into another permutation. Maybe that means a name change? Yay. That makes like... 7 now. And every time I am forced to change my life (read: the way I live my life, my habits, my routines, my goals, my focal points, my motivators, all of that), my personality... fragments a bit. I get very disoriented. I have to re-learn how to... live.

I don't mind adjusting my life. I mean, I already am, due to losing my cat. That was a major change. And now... I have to change again. It's been 2 weeks. It's been exactly 2 weeks. I think, I think she was put down on the 3rd. 2/3/23? I was pretty sure. I really don't want to go back and check. So... I guess that's enough grief, time to take a sledgehammer to the rest of my life, yeah? I was saying - keep getting lost in swirling thoughts but one keeps rising to the surface that needs to speak - I don't mind adjusting my life, but this is not my choice. I am not choosing this. I am actually actively resisting and protesting this. And... unfortunately... whenever I do, I get looked at and treated like I am privileged, like I am spoiled, like I am not worthy of the life I desire, like "why do you get the life you want, and this person over here doesn't." That thing.

Well, let me tell you why I get to be an eccentric artist/musician/writer and you are a social worker/investment manager. Because I didn't give up. Because I was willing to pay any price for the life that I deserve. Because I did not turn away. I. Kept. Walking. For years. After finally getting myself off of medications, out of a toxic self-defeating mindset, and out of an incredibly unhealthy relationship... alone... with no support... I reconnected with who I truly am. Who I have been since I was a child. My TRUE SELF. A curious, creative soul who loves to walk around outside barefoot, and look for cool rocks and nature stuff, and play in fantasy worlds, and play with animals, and study history and mythology, and draw cool designs and things I find interesting or captivating. I found that inner self alive and well, incubating inside this rotting husk of a carcass I've been hauling around. And I set him free again, and started to heal. And I gave him new tools. I gave him direction. I gave him inspiration. I united with him. And he is me. Hi.

In the years since I reunited with my True Self, and accepted myself for what I am... I lost every person in my life. All people who I had met at various stages of creative development. My former best friend who I met when I was in college majoring in Art, doing nothing but art all day every day. Her husband, who would talk mythology, spirituality and creativity with me late into the evening. My old Minecraft "friend" who I would constantly talk about --- you know what, I don't even want to talk about these assholes anymore. My point is that these people were all hobbyists. They all were one foot in and one foot out. They were weekend warriors. And when I finally got the framework together to like... put together something legitimate and really try to make a solid push to make this life a real thing, something self-sustaining, something with financial backing and public exposure... they not only retreated, but they actively tried to sway me out of it. They tried to convince me to quit.

They looked at me like a fucking kid, like a hobbyist kid who just didn't really know that the world doesn't work like that. The world doesn't have room for creatives, for artists, for storytellers. That's why I see them everyday, right? Well... those people got lucky. And I'm unlucky. So why fucking bother trying. Go get a job. Any job. Who cares. Make some money. For someone else. For someone else's business. You know, the person who had an idea like "hey, I should make a board game shop", and actually had people in their life who believed in them, supported them. That person. Go make them some money. Go mind their cash register, and sell products to people. You might make some friends. Look at the silver lining, might as well, you literally have no choice. And with the majority of your time that you give to this establishment, you will be not drawing. Not making music. Not working on your list of 14 unfinished projects that you could really use a hand making a reality.

Hey, you know what occurred to me? The people who give me this like... fatalistic advice on how you really have no choice but to go and join the in-person labor force by working for someone who already has an established foothold in the region... these people conveniently are rarely even aware of what projects I have open ended and ready at a moments notice to be worked on. Here, let me share, I have a whiteboard to my right that I look at every day that is completely full of unfinished projects.

-Shape and Polish Stones (might not go for a ton, but they're unique, they're hand-crafted, and if I get into rune/glyph/sigil carving and blessing rituals and stuff, I could probably sell them for a bit, at least as a package deal) -Wirewrap stones (I do not have enough devoted hours to this to feel comfortable selling these pieces) -Carve wooden beads (again, lacking tools and experience, but went with painting instead, and I am currently troubleshooting a process) -Weave Cordage (aka just make bracelets or necklaces from only hemp, or maybe added beads. Won't go for much, but I could get one done in a day.) -Wood carving (staves, reliefs, that kinda thing. I prefer carving walking sticks, it's just sorta been the thing I have had the most experience with. Again, working with cheap tools but that's whatever. I have thought for a long time that this could really be something that people would put some serious value on. They are, however, a big time sink and very rough on the forearms) -Tarot study (there are 2 shops less than 15 minutes away from me that offer tarot readings. I was going to do them on Twitch, I just would prefer to be more acquainted with the cards before I start charging, but that's my inner perfectionist talking. I also have no ability to practice with others, which makes this insanely anxiety inducing, its one of the only interpersonal projects on the list.) -SketchDaily (a drawing subreddit, this is for keeping my drawing skills sharp) -Poetry/Lyrics (always neglected, but music was going to be my conduit back into it. But, just spinning too many plates, not enough hours in the day. I do have my poetry BOOK that I put together that I could try to get published, but no one has really seemed to give half a shit about it... ever... so... not a lot of incentive there) -Poetry Illustration (obviously a pairing, and a way to either turn my book into a more immersive experience, or to serialize my poetry by turning each poem into its own book and illustrating each metaphoric image, my poetry has a lot of visual metaphors and scenes, it's very dream-like, so I was thinking of doing mini-books that are illustrations scene-by-scene of each line in the poems. A LOT OF WORK, but the end result would be stunning) -Clothing Art (this was a big one before coming up to the new city, I was really banking on this. But the fact that no one has even mentioned or really seemed to notice my custom designed hoodie that I wear literally everywhere... has been nothing short of disappointing. Maybe it will draw more focus if I add color, I've had the theory for a while, or at least some lighter shades, like a lighter grey or something. It's at the front of my mind. I would be doing these pieces on commission, and since they are handdrawn in permanent ink... probably charging tattoo prices for them, the gimmick is "clothing tattoos") -Simian Storytime Storyboards (I was going to do a graphic novel/comic strip kinda series where I illustrated very powerful moments of my life, but all the people in it were... like a missing-link ancestor of modern humans. Where they resembled the people who I am drawing, and myself of course, but I am portraying them as primitive. There are a lot of layers to this, mostly playing on the fact that during these interactions and memories, the less evolved parts of the brain are what we tend to be using. This is a call-back to a very short sketch series I started doing back in college, I remember these pictures very vividly, of apes in business suits with briefcases, and stuff like that. Reminders that we are animals, and it's kinda silly that we keep trying to act like we're not. This is much more fine art than anything else)

This was after I purged dozens of ideas from the summer. Any single one of these ideas I could delegate to a team. Any one of these ideas I could get assistance with, would be reaching a different type of audience, and could be maintained autonomously. And people giving me the advice that I should just give up and find some other thing to do? Come back to this in 5-10 years? When I'm 41-46? I mean... hopefully I'll have a young kid by then... and I really don't know if I'm going to be able to manage a full-time job, a kid and all of these projects, I just don't see it happening. I can't even do these projects and reliably get my fucking laundry done, dude. The people giving me advice to give up don't know a damn thing about how much I have available. This isn't even touching music - hip-hop, improv, metal, drums, guitar, bass, vocals, arrangement, transcription, orchestration, scoring. This isn't even touching acting. This isn't even touching tutoring. I have spent this much of my life developing these skills, honing them, and I'm far from perfect. I have plenty of flaws, I have so much more work to be done. I am constantly improving, constantly finding flaws to refine. Constantly finding ways I can reduce finger movements in my sloppy self-taught guitar playing. I am far from perfect as an artist, as a musician. I have plenty of flaws and weaknesses. But I am authentic, and I live my art. It comes from the heart. It's my way of speaking to the world.

Like this. This is my way of speaking to the world. Hi, world. This is my art. And I'd like to think that this isn't just a fucking hobby. This is something I put my heart and soul and time and labor into. And... that's just... not worth compensating? Not worth supporting? Instead, I need to change my entire way of living, log in X amount of hours per week at literally any location that isn't my own work, cash my paycheck and use that check to pay my rent. And in my free time, I can work on my real work. Whatever free time I get. And the 15 years I spent dedicating myself to my craft? So I can go apply for jobs with a resume that has been blank for a decade. So I can tell them I have been in therapy for 6+ years because of crippling PTSD, and probably other shit. And they're totally gonna hire me. Trust me, they'll hire me just like the last 5 places I applied to and never heard back from. And if I do get hired, totally gonna move my life forward. Because there I will make money. And money gets my parents' influence and harmful pressures away from me. And then I'll meet people. And those people... well, they're magical, you see! They, somehow which has not been articulated whatsoever, are going to make my art/music/writing/entertainment/tutoring/whatever career blow up! They will! How? Fuck if anyone knows! But it is always said with absolute certainty.

So... the plan is... ditch the rental car. Take the bus 2.5 hours back home with my skateboard and hawk feathers and whatever else I can carry from my old car. Sell the old car for scrap, basically. Be a public transit guy now, I guess. Which, I mean.. if you were raised in a city, you probably hate the way I'm talking, but... I grew up in a different environment. And I've seen how you city folk react when you're stuck in the middle of nowhere and you have to drive 20 minutes just to get to the nearest gas station, and you hear coyotes 20 feet away and lose your shit. So... nature doesn't scare me that way quite so much anymore. But public transit sure as fuck does. I trust those coyotes way the fuck more than I trust some of the people I see lurking around bus stops. I'm sure I'll get used to it in time, again, changing the way I live... But, I'm not excited.

Then I'm going to get literally any job. Any one, doesn't matter. Ideally a gaming shop, a new age shop or an antique shop. Again, these are not bad jobs, I am not upset about that. I am pissed that I am being socially pressured to change my life goals rather than being supported in my own goals. These are not impossible goals, by any means. They are merely difficult and... unique. Different. I have no idea how people can come up to me and say "I'd be glad to support you in achieving your goals, sure! First order of business, let's change those goals, shall we?" Fuck you.

Then, at this new job where I will spend most of my time, assuming someone takes the gamble of hiring me with zero references and no work history for a decade... when I'm a complete stranger... What I'm told will happen is that these people, my new friends, will be different from all the others. They will support the projects that I quit working on for this job. They will provide me clients and social outlets to promote my work, so that I can get commissions that I will, with near-absolute certainty, will not have the time to work on.

And hey, it might actually work. I'm not shitting on this completely, the bones of the plan are sound, yes. But like... if I'm just going there to get a paycheck? I'm taking a job from someone who actually wants that job, who is actually passionate about it. If I'm there to just make social connections? Why the fuck am I not just going and hanging out there? Like... going and shopping frequently at that location. Like... a rock shop, let's say. Say I go there regularly to get stone beads or tumbled stones for necklace centerpieces or something. And I ask a bunch of questions, and I become a regular and I get to know people, and they see my jewelry and my custom clothing. In time, after I become a regular, we get to know each other. And then I get the same connections, the same assistance, but they don't have to worry about giving me a bunch of contracts for my other job, which takes my time away from their shop, and then inevitably lose me as an employee when I get enough traction to sustain myself. Or... is the assumption that I will never actually succeed? Hmm...

Okay... it's probably about time I explain myself. 4:40 AM, what better time to explain how I got here. My mom called me as I was standing in my bathroom in my underwear, just hopping out of the shower. I finished up as I was on the phone. I caught her up on the frustrations with the bead last night. I didn't disclose that it was for her. Didn't want her to feel guilty or something. It was a good learning experience, and I am genuinely grateful for it. The conversation quickly went to my car. And... I had my therapy appointment in an hour.

The conversation took a dramatic turn immediately. There was nearly zero progress made. I was desperately, the entire time, trying to get my mom to just... think about more than just her fucking money. Think about how this is affecting my life, how I'm going to be living my life, how all of this is going to be experienced through my eyes. Think about how silly it is for me to go shopping for a car when I have no money, no budget, and any option I bring back to my mother for approval will inevitably get shot down. I have already put out two ideas, the only two that have been on the table - to buy or lease the rental outright, or to get a Jeep, because an older Jeep could be cool, but honestly I'd prefer a more environmentally friendly car if I'm going to actually buy a fucking car. She just... couldn't understand, and was treating me like... I have no idea. I honestly have no idea. Like I wasn't grateful? Like I was spoiled? Or something? I've just been getting heavy vibes of that tonight. Ever since the sun went down. I'm spoiled for pursuing an art career, I'm spoiled for having controlling parents use money to like... punish me or something... I honestly don't even know what it is, it sure as fuck isn't support, it's barely even tolerance. They seem genuinely upset that I'm still pursuing this career and that I'm not fucking rich. They, for some fucking reason, thought that a man in his mid-30's who has been pursuing a full-time fine art career while singlehandedly managing his mental health, with no friends, no supporters and minimal family involvement, would somehow have a self-supporting stream of income just like... magically. Like on one of my hikes in the woods, I would run into a mystical gnome who would ask me three questions about obscure occult spiritual lore, and my genius ass has been studying, right? And I ace that little dude's test, and he deems me worthy of the Forest's Blessing and donates a gigantic tax-free deposit into my bank account or something.

Honestly, that little fantasy scene right there sounds way more likely to happen than me getting like... a net-total $2k a month on Patreon from other humans who just genuinely enjoy watching and supporting the work that I do.

Maybe now is my Dharma Bums moment. Maybe it's my time to take that job in a firewatch cabin in a national park and work on my shit there, just making enough money to keep doing what I do that way. For fuck's sake, why is no one brainstorming ideas like this with me? Why the fuck do I not get a fun life? Because others didn't get a fun life too?

YOU KNOW WHAT. If any of the people who have given me this advice came up to me and said "hey ____, I gave up on making art when I was younger. I was afraid I wasn't good enough. I was afraid if I made it a successful full-time career that it would kill the thrill of it. That it would ruin it. And when I gave up on it, it never really came with me. I'd like to reconnect with it, but I have a very difficult relationship with it now. Could you help me reconnect with it?" I would devote my entire self to helping them. Every tool I have, every tool I can Google, would be at their disposal.

But me? I get told "hey, you need to get some form of income so you can get away from your family, because this is literally killing you." And I know they're right. I know, at surface level, they're right. And I don't contest that, that's not the part of it I contest. I try so hard to voice it correctly, but I struggle to communicate it. "Yes, I need to be free of this, but I need to find the right thing, something that fits into my comfort level, something I'm passionate about, something right for me." With all the projects I listed earlier, how the fuck is there no overlap? You know what I see happening? The only "Hiring" sign I've seen so far? Michael's. That's what I'm seeing. I'm seeing myself taking the bus to a run down old mall by a major highway, putting on a uniform and stocking shelves and telling septuagenarians where the yarn is. "No, it's all the way in the back, Gladys. No. No in the BACK."

I'm sure I could make it fun. I could. But I feel like I'm giving up control of my life. I feel like I'm giving up, and resigning my agency. Like I'm just shifting that control out of the hands of my family, and into the hands of some corporate entity, or educational institution, or private owner, who I have zero reassurance doesn't also have selfish intentions.

I'm sure I could make it fun, but do I really have to? Is this just... the hand I'm dealt? Am I supposed to just say... yep, I was given red paint and blue paint and green paint, and... I guess I just paint red and blue and green stripes. No mixing? No gradients, even? Like... what's the point of being creative when you just do what everyone around you is telling you to do? What use is a creative brain when you are put in a box and expected to follow instructions with precision and accuracy, deviating from expectations as little as possible. Don't you fucking people think that might be a little.......... stifling? For a creative person? Maybe a little... unnatural? Hmm? Maybe you are all logical, analytic types... who follow linear paths of deduction... and I come in from my barefoot off-trail hike in the woods and go "hey, I invented a new written language today" and you think I'm going to fit in well in... a boilerplate "job". Just... "job".

Alright. See, I unearthed my old rubber wizard mask the other day. That popped right into my head right now. I wore it on stage when I played with my old improv band. We weren't very good, but we loved what we did and we had fun with it. And I'm thinking... "alright, time to get the old masks out." "Time to practice pretending to be a person again." This time, it's not just half an hour to an hour while shopping or going to an appointment. Now, it's being contractually obliged to a specific location and role for x hours per day, at risk of being fired. Forgive my alien descriptors, I haven't done this form of labor in a decade, it's been exclusively freeform and self-reliant; self-accountable. I hope my mask still fits. And I hope it's a healthy time for me to be acting for hours at a time with no real coping mechanisms short of breathing exercises.

So yeah, conversation with my mom went absolutely shitty and really painful, hurtful. Degrading. Brought out a lot of bad shit. And made me late for my therapy appointment, and I'm never late for therapy. Ever. And then in the appointment, we talked about getting me some form of substantial income to get me free of this. He visually saw how absolutely ravaged I was by that experience and insisted I need to do something about this now. I think he said "I feel like I can't just sit here and watch them do this to you." Or something close to that. He seemed concerned enough to venture into the work realm, knowing how sensitive it is for me. Clearly, look at this tirade, good lord... XD

He reassured me that the busses are not bad, and he has friends who use them. I'm just not really used to the idea of them, honestly, it's foreign to me. We briefly talked about disability, because that was on the table with my last therapist, but I mentioned that that kinda fucked with my head a bit, my self-esteem and guilt, and I was worried about it causing more damage than good. Even though I'm pretty clearly stuck. And we got into this realm of painting options that was like... A) go on disability and... keep making art, but risk complicating my mental health issues. B) keep parental "support" and continue to be manipulated and pressured, having to run every decision I make past my parents and having brutal hours-long fights multiple times a week. C) Find some place to work out in the real world, out there, the place I struggle to get myself to go for fun.

So you tell me. If you were awake at 5:30 AM, still grieving, processing being essentially trapped in an area where you know no one, feeling insanely unsafe due to multiple PTSD triggers being fully primed, activated and firing on all cylinders, with tons of empirical evidence that these threats are very real fueling that brutal machine... would you think going to a fucking job interview with an empty resume and no references is going to go well? Would you be looking forward to that? Would you maybe, just maybe... want to... improve those odds a bit? Instead of just going "Hi, I'm really nice and smart and hard working. Please take my word for it. I know all my clothes are over 10 years old and I look like I haven't slept in a month (because I basically haven't) and my left eye keeps twitching from stress and I have some weird fucking bacterial infection that looks like acne all over my scalp... aka I know I look homeless and I have no work history or references, but like... trust me!" No fucking pressure. No reason to be anxious. No reason to feel like literally my entire life is riding on it, and the other side is like... more brutal fights... more pressuring me into living a different life... more making me feel like shit for being myself, having the interests and passions and skills and opinions that I do. Good lord, okay. Which is worse?!

So... I spent the rest of the night curled up in a ball under a blanket until I wrote this. I called my mom back 3 times and was ghosted. I texted, she left it read. Texted more later, just to get more out. But I have a feeling this is just... it's gone. It's too far gone. And I can't just sit here and watch the months and years peel away waiting for someone else to get over their shit. I had an intense realization the other day. My lease started on November 15th. I'm 1/4 of the way through my lease. And my shit is still in boxes. And I'm still driving a rental car.

Waiting does not fix these problems. If there's anything I know with certainty, it's that my priorities, my urgent issues, are not on anyone else's urgent list. So... I really need to stop waiting.

3 days ago, my biggest issue was like... where can I find some affordable furniture that meets my needs? Now, I'm having to reconcile changing the entire direction of my everyday efforts. Changing the framework of my life. Because this fucking car dealership said they could fix my car, and didn't. And they won't recommend someone else. They're just gonna sit here forever, "waiting" for a manufacturer to make parts that they don't make anymore. And they're just going to rent this fucking car to me as long as I'm willing to pay for it. And it's on my card. And because of this conversation, about these slimy motherfuckers squeezing money out of my parents. SOMEHOW. That leads to me needing to abandon my career and go get some job at some random shop so I can escape my parents.

And this is not the first time, not by a long shot. This has happened dozens of times over the past few years.

It makes me wish I had never reconnected. It makes me wish that, instead of reconnecting with my passions of art and music and mythology and spirituality and nature, I had just gotten some random fucking job somewhere and worked triple shifts the whole time. And gotten into crypto or some shit, like my fucking little brother did. Then I'd be fine right now. I'd have a buffer. I'd have no one crawling up my ass. But I'd have no soul.

This is so fucking deeply depressing. And I know I'm exaggerating bits of it, but this is so insanely overwhelming for me, especially since I've been in this extreme isolation for like... since 2018? So like... 4ish years. That's a long time to be away from society. And it's still really weird to be in public, very overwhelming and unnerving. The idea of being required to be in a public space for a specific span of time, with no escape routes, no respite, and no way to like... explain why in a relatable way. "I was in lockdown... for over 3 years. And now I'm working retail. And I haven't been afforded the luxury of an adjustment period." "Life just... didn't really go my way."

Seriously, there's a very strong reflex that kicks in. It doesn't kick in when I think about one-on-one tutoring, or even streaming, or doing dog walking or private dog training, or working at a bird sanctuary or something. Somewhere without a lot of people, so I can adjust. So I can get used to being in proximity to other humans again. It's so odd to me that no one has really considered that this might be like... a big deal for me...

Okay, I think I've sufficiently vented, now that it's 5:45 and I still have to read this back. Sorry if you read this whole thing. Welcome to my shitstorm. Hopefully it has a happy ending. Because I really love the potential of life way too much to give the fuck up.

#diary #journal #online journal #stream of consciousness #stream of thoughts

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hazydaaze · 3 years

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An analysis of the Bold Type that I need to get off my chest (it'll be worth it, I promise)

I studied English literature at university, and it has always been instinctive for me to analyse characters, storylines, bigger pictures and under the surface tensions in film & tv. Discussing emotions, motivations and themes with my gf and my pals late at night is one of my favourite pastimes ever and I love everything to do with filmography and art ahhhh. (I wrote my dissertation on David Bowie & The Artistry of Sexuality, ya feel me?)

The Bold Type isn't filmography at all, but I think Jane Sloan and Jacqueline Carlyle hit different for me, being a queer woman in my 20s and a full-time writer. I can't really explain why. I guess there are a lot of queer female characters in film & tv that don't really feel inherently queer, and even as two identifying straight women Jane and Jacqueline felt queer to me. Their connection and understanding of each other was authentic and quite complex. I think they had potential to be something that we'd never seen before in mainstream media, because of their age difference and life experiences. I thought that was so compelling and so important to talk about and to give a recognised space to.

There is one thing that struck me most about them and it's insane to me that I haven't seen a lot of analysis on it, so it's the point of this post.

To my knowledge the show or actors haven't delved too deeply into it either, and given what went down I don't understand why people AREN'T talking about it. I wanted to bring it up. Btw, this post contains spoilers.

***Sexual abuse trigger warning***

In season 1, we learn that Jacqueline is the victim of rape, and the only person she has told about it is her husband, Ian. Given that she mentions that they've been married for around 19 years and the assault happened before they met, we can assume Jacqueline has been carrying the weight of what happened to her for over two decades. During all that time she didn't talk about it with anyone else, not a single other person.

And then Tiny Jane comes along. Jane Sloan, the big swing writer who just wants to write meaningful stories that help other women and girls that need it, like she did growing up. She fucks up a lot on the way and slowly begins discarding her judgemental opinions as she grows. But when she is at her best she has genuine compassion and empathy for people, and despite her reservations, Jacqueline gives her the opportunity to write about the story of a rape survivor and performance artist. She isn't aware, at the time, what that means for her own trauma or her own acceptance of it. But she does it anyway, because she sees something in Jane and she has seen it there from the beginning.

Jane starts to write and, as we know, in the most beautiful and compelling moment at the season 1 finale, Jacqueline is confronted with what happened to her. She stands in Central Park holding these weights, and you can see the crushing pain in her eyes as the realisation descends down on her. She shares a look with Jane, and a moment of understanding passes between them at what this means.

Despite all this, she lets Jane capture her trauma. She lets her publish her untold experience of her rape from two decades gone. She lets millions of people see her story in writing, with Jane Sloan's name printed above it. She re-lives and faces up to the harsh reality of that pain and that truth, through Jane.

Can you even imagine the trust you must have in someone to do that? The sheer love that took, for Jacqueline to give Jane her voice and her truth, with all its painful and hard repercussions?

This storyline is the boldest part of the Bold Type. It's the most honest and the most authentic. It captures the raw emotion of Jacqueline, and of Jane, and the two characters really see each other for who they are. It's one of the reasons why their relationship is so central to the other's storyline.

We don't ever see Jane truly unpick in detail what Jacqueline did for her. It spoke so many volumes and ... well, isn't that what love is?

It's this storyline that sets the tone for their relationship over the course of the show. Jacqueline sacrifices herself for Jane again and again. She publishes the article about the lack of accessible healthcare at Safford and gets fired for doing so, purely so Jane can afford to freeze her eggs. Jacqueline says there were a lot of other things that contributed to it, but Jane knows her article was the final straw, the point of no return.

Over a decade of pouring everything she could give into Scarlet Magazine and it’s readers, only to be gone in a second. All for Jane.

And again, in season 4, in the few real moments we are given between them, one of their final interactions is Jacqueline giving Jane the go-ahead to explore a story of potential abuse at States & Nations, a company Ian is associated with. Ian literally asks Jacqueline to stop pursuing the story, due to the sexual relationship he had with the source when he and Jacqueline were separated. When Jane challenges Jacqueline over her reasoning for pulling the story, she asks her to give the story a chance. Jacqueline lets her, knowing full well that it could prove irreparably damaging to her marriage and her family, and she does it anyway.

Jacqueline chooses the truth, over her career and over her marriage. She chooses Jane. As humans, there isn't much more you can give to someone else. I’m wracking my brains trying to think of a way Jacqueline could portray her love for Jane more, and I’m all out of ideas.

I want to reiterate again how insane it is to me that none of this is really acknowledged, or at least not nearly as much as it should be amongst the show, its creators and its viewers, Jacqueline continually falls on her sword for Jane (weird analogy, but she does) and it is repeatedly glossed over. Their relationship is quickly dismissed as a "mother Jane never had" or a simple "boss/employee" power dynamic, and it seems so hollow, unjust and sorry - so unbelievably boring - in contrast to the experiences they have shared together and the sacrifices they have made.

I understand Jacqueline’s character was based on Cosmopolitan Editor in Chief, Joanna Coles, and therefore it makes sense that this queerness to her relationship with Jane was not intended. However, it’s there. Everything I mentioned in the post happened on the show in canon.

In 2021, the possibility that these two women could have romantic or sexual feelings towards each other shouldn't be a stretch. If either of these women were male characters with this much intertwined investment, high stakes and sacrifice, there would be no doubt they would be endgame. They would run away, have the hottest sex, all the while their reputations would be forever ruined in the name of love. And we, as viewers, would celebrate it without question - we would never dismiss it.

The concept of what they are, and what they can be as two women should be able to live and thrive. It should be given a beating heart. In the very least, the reality of it should be on the table and up for debate. But for many viewers, and the show’s creators, it just isn’t. And here lies the problem.

Jane and Jacqueline have such a beautiful dynamic, it is so deep and soul-wrenching. How can we ever limit what these two women are and what they would do for each other?

I really hope that one day we can see a relationship like theirs given the queer space it deserves. Because it would've been the bold thing (and the right thing) to do.

I'm going to publish a longer and more in-depth article about this on Medium, because as I said, analysing is my favourite pastime and I can't stop doing it. But for now, this is all I can manage.

Edit: Read my published Medium article.

Here's to Jane and Jacqueline and what could've been.

#jacqueline x jane #jane x jacqueline #janequeline #jacqueline carlyle #jane sloan #the bold type #the bold type review #the bold type edit #queer ships #otp

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ellyzsx · 5 years

Text

Story time

Suicidal thoughts run keen through my head. Driving through Krakow country side I saw a housing estate next to lovely tall trees - forest like - and thought what a lovely area to be able to play as children. Then I wondered which is the tallest tree could I hang myself from? No former context, no sadness, just my empty emotions triggering my brain to tell myself I should be dead. This is how my life is now.

I dream most days and nights of my life ending in disasters. Lachesism. I say I'm scared of when lorrys drive to close or fast past me. But I'm scared for the moments when they don't kill me. People point out that I drive recklessly because they are afraid of the end; I'm not afraid. Driving that way feels like freedom, my chance to escape, even with intent to cause self harm.

I don't want a grave stone, I don't want my ashes to be spread. I want my organs donated and the rest burnt. The ashes can be used in cooking because I am one spicy mother fucker! Joking!! Don't worry, I really just want them turned in to jewelry so I can still shine while I'm gone.

The ironic thing about my situation is that I want to die to end my suffocating thoughts but at the same time I still have little bits of me that knows some of my self worth. Contradictory as it may be, I probably laugh and smile everyday without a doubt but my thoughts of disaster never leave. I work and study hard but I'm still occasionally believe I am a failure in my mind; like I'm always worse than everyone in the room. I love people and helping out everyone, but I think everyone hates me and would be better off not having me around. It's complicated in my mind.

I feel on the road to recovery, I can admit that I'm not okay when I don't feel okay, I know the past history that has gotten me to how I am and I'm seeking help; 3rd increase dose of Anti-depressants, Cognative Behavioural Therapy and many other forms of help I can get. I have supportive friends and family, I'm very lucky that I have my dream career job and I get to go on amazing holidays like just travelling in Poland for the past weekend. I just don't know what it is that drives myself hatrid other than... well myself.

It's a viscious cycle that I can't get escape. I'm motivated and feeling fine one day, something goes wrong very easily that affects me for weeks and then I find a little bit of motivation to build myself back up and it happens again... and again... and again. I try and count my blessings but in order to do that I draw Venn diagrams to see the wrong, okay and right things in my life. It's an occasional thing and the amount of varience I get each time seems like a uncoordinating joke. But It gives me a sense of assurance when things are okay or right for a few weeks in a row.

I've been taught many coping mechanisms in my past 4 years of anxiety and depression. Even writing them down in this form feels weirdly like a strategy. I'm explaining my dark and ugly, following my long journey ahead, and explaining what works for me. Even if one person gains usefulness then this is all worth it.

As we are on the topic of helpfulness: I like being helpful - it gives me a purpose other than selfish motives. If I've been helpful to one person and not to the rest of the crowd I feel like a failure. I desire to be the famous hero who didn't do it for fame but for the sheer enjoyment of people liking them and for a purpose in other people's lives. So I try to help - I volunteer at my local explorer scout group, I help raise and organise charity events, I help and support friends and family. I even try to go the extra mile at work to raise awareness of women in engineering to help inspire and shape them little girls to be the change our industry needs. I also help educate teams on mental well-being and illnesses with in the work place to bring the awareness to here and now.

All positive were written there, but the underlying negative abuse I hurl at myself for everything I've not been enough help on or not doing at all hurts:

"I'm not helpful I'm just in the way, I'm pathetic, I'm a waste of space, they don't need me, they'd be better off without me, it's not working you're a failure, you are making it more worse, stop trying you aren't a good person for doing it."

Just as them thoughts constantly pass through my mind another extreme example from this evening I write on - I was on the train back from Birmingham walking through derby station, I had the thought that I could run away on any train go ahead and not look back and when I'm on the train I can take every single tablet I own and swallow it to die. Or i could come back another night with a home made bomb and make sure I'm in a carraige with no people in it. Why not die? Make it a dramatic escape. Even in the last few typed words I had the thought of jumping in front of a train which would take no effort and only affect 1 person's life than my own. Why do I have these thoughts? Am I a physco path planning my death at every opportunity?

Reading back the first few paragraphs I see how contradicting my thought patterns are. Living with Anxiety and Depression for me is being followed by a voice, it knowing all my insicurities and how to use them against me. It gets to a point where it's the loudest voice in a room, that I can't hear anything else. I don't remember a time when it wasn't like this, when the voices didn't make me feel empty and alone inside. What's even worse is a lot of the people I have opened my heart to have let me down, causing me to shut down further.

My past history is not brilliant, I never felt secure with my friends, I was harassed in college and I've always struggled to maintain my apperance. I've been through some tough break ups of friends and partners and my relationships with family has not always been stable. One thing I find hard is to love myself and know myself worth when the people around you don't like you and tell you that you aren't good enough. But through all this at the same time I've had some amazing times.

I do want to be happy. I just feel useless most days. I try not to complain but the grass isn't always greener and I feel in constant mud. It sounds pathetic but I feel like I'm in a rut. At the moment everything is fine with friends and work. It I don't feel important. I don't feel as if there is any worth to my day's. I get up, go to work, and then do nothing until I get home and sleep. I mean sure I go to netball, dance, yoga and I volunteer at a scout group but it doesn't feel like I'm doing any of it for myself and I'm slowly giving up on trying to please those around me.

But I guess I do it for the hope of my future, for the one, for the wedding, for the kids, for the house, for the lazy Sunday morning lie ins with the loved ones. It's all a fantasy.

Tonight at explorers we were doing first aid training and one scenario was that one of the boys had a cut on his wrist and he was bleeding out. Through those discussions I was thinking how I could slit my wrists and drown in the bath and no one would be able to put me in the recovery position. Another perfect idea but inconveniencing whomever finds me. It doesn't sicken me thinking of myself this way. Maybe it's how I'm meant to be.

My mum tells me I should think positive thoughts but it's like an urge to plan how I should die. Another disaster I saw was a crash this morning. I wish I was in the place of the other person.

Not paying attention to lectures is becoming a really bad habit. I still haven't started writing for my digital assignment which is due in 5 days! But I have decided I would like to end up working for the Naval group in Adelaide Australia! I finally have an aim!! It feels good and when I travel there next year I will get to see if it's what I desire!

Another person has just unfriended me on Snapchat? What the hell have I done wrong now? I'm getting sick of being made out to be the bad guy all of the time :/ And now Facebook!! All for shutting him down over complaining that people can't be themselves or get offended. I've had enough of this work force, it literally is a battle every week just to keep peace. I don't want to listen to your political opinion every 2 minutes I'm sorry but I'm here to work. The ignorance of some people.

Do you know what I'm going to work my arse off and start this assignment today and prepare the manufacturing question to prove to the haters that they only make me more powerful :) oh the contrast in these paragraphs is funny.

This afternoon I spoke to my mum on how all my emotional trauma started. She understands now and it feels like a relief to be honest. I've just been to netball and I feel like I've played really well!

I have decided on a main goal within my career! Naval group Adalaide Australia! (Not long term but a few years in Australia won't do me harm in my life time! Now I've explored the majority of Europe it's time to step in to the big leagues!) Naval group design submarines for the Australian Navy and with my career path I hope that I will have the opportunity to be able to try and apply for a job there some day in the next 15 years! Now I just need to maintain motivation.

What to do when motivation is running low in the future:

• Find the worth of what you are doing

• research and re-inspire!

• be powerful enough to overcome the ruts!

• believe in yourself - you are capable!

• remove any distractions

I just read a quote that said 'don't worry darling this is just a chapter, not your whole story' and I thought well it's a fucking long one! I'm sat drinking mocha staring outside of a uni window in a corridor I look so depressed it's funny! I just needed to get away from the noise and the stress. I only want to talk to one person but he doesn't know that and it's starting to stress me out but it's my own fault for falling for him when he told me not to. On the plus side I definitely want a nice view in my house when i move to Aussie! I mean looking outside to wet britain it's really nice but sunny aus will be tonnes better!

I'm stressed, my brain hurts and I'm tired. I really want this assignment gone. I'm physically in pain from yoga and I'm exhausted :( moan moan moan moan I'm even pissing myself off. I could do with a power nap or somewhere comfortable to sit. I also miss my earphones :(

Just met a lovely man and had a chinwag it was distracting but it's nice to get to know people without it being depressing all the time!

I was in a one night stand with a 28 year old in a 7 year relationship. Put myself on tinder.

I'm tired of people they never fail to disappoint me

Netball is good though! Proper enjoyed chatting with everyone! Good stress relief and even though I haven't done much it took my mind off the crap earlier.

It's been a while

It's working

I feel ok

I'm no longer a mess

I can stop these thoughts

I counter act them

Not everyone hates me

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