#involved in my life and its been a struggle still w myself sometimes but genuinely remembering i and everyone whos harmed me are all just.

[bunnyboy-juice]

honestly actually ik the "ride or die, you can have complex feelings about these people who harmed you but i HATE them, you're never wrong" type of friendship is super common n praised n i even can understand why that form of unconditional "love" is appealing, but i genuinely think its the most suffocating form of friendship ive ever experienced

[tetrakys]

Behind the Mask

This is the story I wrote for BV zine. It’s set in Eldarya around episodes 16/17.

---

The moment I stepped outside HQ, I felt like I’d been teleported to a new, magical world. Again. This time no mushrooms had been involved.

What was usually the busy, messy and kinda dirty market square, was now a ballroom out of a fairy tale. Long, scarlet drapes surrounded the area, giving it an air of sumptuous elegance. Small flames floated in the air, looking like sparkling chandeliers. Musicians played strange instruments that reminded me of violins and flutes of my world.

But nothing surprised me as much as the people. Everyone was impeccably dressed in amazing gowns and suits, their faces covered in colourful masks. Alajea and Karenn had told me that faeries took very seriously the festivity of Samhain, the Gaelic precursor of our Halloweeen, but I had no idea how seriously.

They’d explained that, when their people still lived on Earth, it was the one night where they could walk freely among humans without fear of being recognised. Human believed that during this night the walls between different worlds thinned and could easily be crossed. They all wore masks and costumes to blend between the faeries and demons they assumed travelled the Earth during that night. Once Eldarya had been created the faeries kept the celebration as a reminder of the life of hiding and fear they’d left behind.

I looked down at my elegant but simple white gown. At first, I thought I might be overdressed with the soft tulle skirt and the tight corset that Purriri had persuaded me to buy. She’d even offered the mask that currently covered half of my face at a discount. Now I was happy I’d spent a big chunk of my savings on this dress, at least I didn’t stand out like a sore thumb.

I walked slowly around the edges of the dancefloor trying to spot people I might know. At some point I thought I recognised Karuto, those horns kinda gave him away, but he looked too busy handling the food to care about chatting with me.

A dancing couple caught my eye. It couldn’t be… yes! Karenn and Chrome! Despite the mask I could tell he’d turned five different shades of red and was stuttering something I couldn’t hear. She looked cute in a blue dress and was smiling at him cheekily. Also, she was leading. I didn’t know what she had in mind, but poor Chrome.

“Mmm…” a soft, smooth voice whispered at my back, “you look lovely tonight my lady. May I offer you a drink? Or maybe you could offer me one?”

I turned around to find myself face to face with a tall, black haired masked man, dressed in a Victorian style.

“N-Nevra?”

“I’m not Nevra, my lady. Tonight I’m the blood-thirsty Count Dracula,” he replied with a fanged smile.

A moment of silence went by while I tried to grasp the situation.

“Let me get this straight. You, a vampire, dressed up as a… vampire??” I asked incredulous.

“Brilliant, isn’t it? This year I’m definitely going to win best costume.”

“B-but… how? Why?”

“There are so many definitions of vampire in your world. At first, I wanted to go with the sparkling one, but then I decided that you can never do wrong with a classic,” he explained. “You humans are so funny. Why would vampires live in isolated mansions, we like to PAR-TY!”

I genuinely didn’t know how to reply.

“Ah you found the kid!” said a falsely rough, deep voice, which belonged to a man with long blue hair, beard and moustaches. “Here is my dinner! Oh-oh-oh!”

“Ezarel? W-what are you dressed as?”

“Mph… you’re so stupid. Can’t you see the bag full of presents? I’m clearly Bluebeard!”

“I understand the facial hair, but… the presents?”

“How could you not know the fairy tales from your own world,” he replied irritated. “Don’t you know that Bluebeard brings gifts to kids and, once they sleep, eats them?”

“I think you’ve mixed up three of four different characters here. Have you even read the fable?”

“Nah,” he replied with his usual big, devilish smile. “Who has time for these things.”

“Wait…” I said, finally grasping the situation. “You just wanted an excuse to wear your fake beard again, didn’t you?”

“BINGO!” he laughed. Since I’d thought him a few Earthling slangs he kept using them whenever he had a chance just to annoy me.

“It wasn’t funny the first time,” I said remembering how he’d tried to trick me into believing that I’d been in a coma for hundreds of years, “and it’s not funny now. Bluebeard is a horrible character, basically a serial killer, he murdered his own wives!”

“Uhm…” he looked surprised. “I didn’t know that.”

“Isn’t the point to look scary?” Nevra said patting Ezarel on the back, ”even though you look more hilarious than scary. Now, Valkyon got it right.”

“Where is he?” I asked scanning the crowd without recognising him. I wished I could chat with Valkyon for a bit, I loved spending time with him, he always made me feel at ease. “What is he dressed as?”

“I’m only going to give you a hint: It’s furry.” He laughed.

“Uh…?”

“You’ll see.”

I was scanning the area looking for Valkyon, when my eyes stopped on someone else. A man, dressed in a dark suit and black cape. He was wearing a white mask covering half of his face and I recognised him as the Phantom of the Opera. I didn't know the story was also famous in Eldarya, but apparently many of Earth's legends and fables had some sort of connection to faeries folklore.

The man was looking at me from the other side of the improvised ballroom, and even from afar I could see his eyes, which were of an impossible light shade of blue. I could tell his skin was dark from his chin and the strong line of his lips, the only parts of his body not covered by his outfit.

He was imposing, mysterious and his gaze completely unnerving.

"We have to go now." I almost jumped on the spot, suddenly remembering I was talking with the guys.

"Why, is something going on?"

"Well, we shouldn't really tell you this but… do you remember the knowledge-eating monster?" Nevra asked.

"The one who ate all the library's books and whose escape I was unjustly accused of?" I replied drily, "I have a vague recollection, yes."

"Well,” he continued, ignoring my sarcasm. “What you don't know is that those monsters come in couples. There was a second book, and we have found out today that it’s disappeared."

"WHAT?" I cried out alarmed.

"Shhh" Ezarel gestured for me to shut up. "You shouldn’t have said anything, Nevra."

"Don't worry Erika, Miiko asked us to keep our eyes open but the book has probably just been misplaced. Everything is going to be fine." 

I wanted to believe him, but it wasn’t the first time I doubted the Guard’s judgment on important decision. Who would ever hide a monster who ate knowledge… in a book… in a library?

“The library is still mostly empty. If this monster really escaped, he would try to eat people’s memories like the previous one tried to do with me,” I pointed out nervously.

“Nah, this one is different, they are complementary. While one erases the stories it feeds on, the other makes them real. Anyway, we must run, see you later.” Ezarel said while they walked away.

I was left dumbfounded, what did it mean that the monster made the stories real? I kept ruminating on that thought for a while until someone broke me away from my thoughts.

“May I have this dance?”

I smiled at Leiftan, offering him my hand as he led me to the dancefloor. A slow, soft music was playing, and I tentatively put my arms on his shoulders, while he held my waist. It was probably the most intimate we’d ever been with each other, but it didn’t feel awkward. It felt right.

“I like the wings,” I said after a moment looking at the white attachments behind his back, “they’re so beautiful, they almost seem real.”

“You look really pretty in your costume.” He said changing the subject, slightly tightening his hold on my waist. “What is it?”

“T-thanks…” I said feeling some heat rise to my cheeks. “Have you ever heard of the white swan? The story is called Swan Lake.”

“No, will you tell me about it?” he asked looking genuinely interested.

“It’s about this princess, Odette, who is cursed by an evil sorcerer to live her life as a woman during the night and a swan during the day, unless she finds someone who swears to truly love her forever.” I explained. “I’ve always loved this story, since the moment my parents took me to the ballet when I was a child. But I… am a little embarrassed to admit that I also cried in the theatre.”

“Oh… is it a sad story? She doesn’t find love?”

“She does. As in many fables, a beautiful prince falls madly in love with her. But there are different versions of the ending. Sometimes love is not enough to save them.”

The music was about to end, but he hugged me closer, almost unwilling to let me go. I felt a little embarrassed and tried to keep the conversation going.

“I’ve always felt bad for Odette. Having to live a half-life, hiding, not being able to be herself completely. It would be so difficult to find true love, someone who could love her real self. What a terrible fate.”

He didn’t reply, as if lost in thought.

“I-I’m sorry, Erika. I… have to go check…” he stuttered after a minute, when the piece we were dancing to ended.

“The library monster,” I helped him, he was probably struggling to find an excuse to keep the secret. “I know. Nevra already spilled the beans. Do you need help…?”

“You’re kind.” He smiled his usual, sweet smile. “There’s no need. Please enjoy the party.”

Bowing down, he took my hand, leaving a small kiss on its back, and walked away.

"That wasn't very aengelic of him," replied a mysterious and somewhat ironic voice at my back. I turned around to find that man, the Phantom. "Running, leaving his dance partner all alone on the dancefloor. But a man’s loss is another man’s gain, may I?"

Without waiting for my reply, he took me in his arms and led us through the next dance. The music was slightly more upbeat, and there was something wild in the rhythm, almost primordial. I was strangely intrigued by this unknown man, there was something familiar in him, but I wasn’t going to drop my guard. His eyes meant danger, and his hold on me felt vaguely predatorial.

"The Light Guard is always busy, even during festivals.” I replied. “Do I know you?"

“Ah yes, the Guard and its mysterious business. I bet they have a lot of important, questionable tasks to attend to.” He commented, ignoring my question.

His answer surprised me. I knew not everyone at the village, and even in the Guard, was a big fan of the way things were handled around here. I knew I hadn’t been most of the time. No one was always vocal about it though.

“Mysterious business? What are you talking about?” I asked.

“We all know the Light Guard is not very forthcoming with the rest of the people here.”

“Yes, but…” I tried to play devil’s advocate. “They have their reasons most of the time… Safety and…”

I noticed then that he had led us to the refreshments area. Breaking his hold on me, he turned towards the pitchers of strange liquids.

“So, do you think the Guard cares about everyone’s safety?” He continued, while mixing odd coloured drinks.

“Of course,” I replied carefully, accepting the amber coloured drink he was handing me. It tasted sweet, almost like honey.

“So, let’s say there was a threat in the City of El, they would share the news with everyone?”

“It has happened in the past.” I pointed out.

“Only when the problem was too evident to hide. But what if that wasn’t the case. Let’s say there’s a monster running around right here, right now. Would they stop the festivities to keep people safe or would they keep up appearances until it was too late?”

I felt my blood getting cold in my veins. An awful suspicion started forming in my brain.

“Who the hell are you? What have you done?”

“A friend.” He simply replied, his lips twisting in a cruel smile. “I’ve done nothing really, except borrowing an old book from the library. Just an innocent prank. A little naughtiness should be expected during this night.”

“But…” I started to protest, looking around panicked. That’s when I noticed something strange was going on. A nearby boy dressed as a ghost, went to grab a glass and his hand passed through it without being able to touch it. He’d become incorporeal. A girl I had noticed before who was wearing beautiful, colourful make up that made her look like an Alfeli, turned into the companion right before my eyes.

“People think that when the mask drops you can see the real nature of who’s behind it, but it’s not true. It’s when you wear a mask and you’re not forced to fit in that you are really unmasked. You can be yourself and follow your instincts, go after what you really want.” I felt frozen on the spot, his words made no sense to me. “And you… what is it that you really want?” He whispered almost seductively in my ear. “You’re welcome for the drink, by the way.”

When I finally managed to turn around, he had disappeared. I didn’t have time to look for him though, because that’s when all hell broke loose. Everyone started turning into the very thing they were masked as. Most people had chosen to dress up as companions or characters of famous fables, but other had picked bolder and scarier options. I could see zombies, witches, monsters of different kinds.

OhmyGodOhmyGodOhmyGod….

I had to do something, but I had no idea of what. Was I about to turn too? It didn’t look like it, I was feeling fine. You’re welcome for the drink he had said, had he given me a protective potion? Why?

It wasn’t time to ask myself questions I didn’t know the answer to. It was time to run.

I took off without really knowing where to go, but soon stopped in my tracks.

I should’ve probably gone looking for the guys, but where could I find them? I knew they had been on patrol and I knew the spot each of them was usually assigned to.

The beach, the edge of the forest, the gardens or the cave.

All these places… I didn’t know what to expect. I knew there were things planned for this evening. I’d heard rumours of a haunted house, a maze and other unknown spooky surprises.

And what if the guys had also been turned? Was it safer if I went back inside HQ and tried to solve this problem by myself? But I had no idea how.

That moment an image popped into my mind. His face. No matter what, I had to find him. It was what my heart was telling me to do.

Now I knew exactly where to go. Without wasting another moment, I started running.

---

This story has 5 different epilogues, each corresponding one of the LIs. 

[lanamemories]

crash lands a giant animatronic john travolta (wild hogs era complete w a receding hairline n leather jacket) onto the dash n dismounts frm his back without any explanation as to my vehicle...... helo........ nw tht i’ve made the world’s most unsettling entrance i wil? introduce myself. i’m nai n i’m 23 n live in Manchestoh (typed w a fitting n blood curdlingly british accent). my pronouns r she/her n i currently want a pet baby yoda i can feed strawberries to n tuck into a tiny baby yoda sized bed. anyway. lana’s pinterest can b found HERE n more abt her is under the cut!!

KRISTINE FROSETH / CIS-FEMALE — don’t look now, but is that lana jameson i see? the 21 year old dance student is in their sophomore year and she is a rochester alum. i hear they can be exuberant, alluring, childish and impulsive, so maybe keep that in mind. i bet she will make a name for themselves living in murphy’s beach homes. ( nai. 23. gmt. she/her. )

aesthetics: scalding your fingers in shower water until they glow like rudolph’s nose, cherry red gym socks tugged high and nothing else, stepping out into a cold breeze in just spaghetti strapped silk, a red lightening stripe painted over your eye like a new take on the scarlet letter, crowning each finger with a miniature raspberry, hugging a knee close to lick a stripe of fruit juice off the bruised cap, doodling penises in condensation instead of sitting still, a water pistol topped with rum and covered in glittery pin-up stickers, believable smiles that feel more like baring teeth, playing where’s waldo with your lipstick in the crowd of a party and finding red smudges on at least six people’s mouths, a bumper sticker on the back of a convertible cadillac that says ‘SCRAPPY DOO IS A FILTHY SLUT’, prancing around in your underwear to a vinyl record with the curtains open.

BACKGROUND:

lana grew up in a big house in albany, NY. i picture it w dark oak floors n lots of light furniture. albums framed on walls. mayb some rolling stone covers too frm way bk when of the bands her dad’s label signed. kind of like… a rock star palace w no evidence of children at all. i think i described it best in one of lana’s self paras once when i said the garden ws “as big as it was unloved”

lana’s mum victoria (vic) ws a music journalist w a pretty fruitful career ahead of her when she met lana’s dad richard (rich). his record label ws jst starting out, founded on the coattails of his rich best friend’s (jensen peters) investment w his other best friend (who he jst calls knoxville). it rocketed to success when they signed poppy injects, a rock band w an electric stage presence, n victoria ws drawn to the glitz n glamour of a man tht ws at the helm of his aspiring industry. their love ws very impulsive, all or nothing right frm the start, n it ws almost like she ws mre in love w his accomplishments n what he represented than him. jst a leetle bit Fractured in its intentions.

anyway so jameson records repped a few big rock bands bk in the eighties, altho poppy injects r who they’re mostly known fr, namely bc of hw brightly they crashed n burned. they were a big chart success bt the lead singer hd quite an intense struggle w heroin (wsnt rly subtle abt it either while he ws in the public eye as u cn probably imagine frm such an on-the-nose band name) n he ws always in n out of the papers. it eventually brought down his career n it ws a big publicity nightmare

lana pretty much… grew up around figures like this throughout childhood. rly troubled characters who wld kind of… b extremely volatile n destructive abt their troubles. the jameson house was kind of an open one as welcoming clients went n a lot of parties took place there. a lot of the time musicians wld b snorting lines in the kitchen when she wnted to grab a bowl of cereal fr breakfast n it was just. a very strange environment fr a child to grow up in

her parents always kind of jst… didn’t like her much. her older brother caleb ws unplanned bt they sort of welcomed the surprise more bt… quickly realised they weren’t cut out fr parenthood n then when lana came as another surprise 3 yrs later they didn’t even try to hide their resentment abt the situation. her mum ws actually booked in to have an abortion bt cldnt go through with it at the last minute. once when lana asked her why shes so cold towards her she jst turned her head frm her dresser, looked at her, told her abt this n said “idk why i didn’t go”. lana didn’t kno wht to say to tht so she jst left her room n closed the door

(dissociation tw) bc of this growing up lana adopted this weird like…. she didn’t rly kno what it ws bt it ws a delusion of sorts where she thought she ws a ghost. she’d jst sort of… drift around the halls w noone acknowledging her n sometimes she ws jst convinced she wsnt actually there or they cldnt see her n she ws jst haunting the house frm a previous family

the one saving grace tho tht sort of?? gt her thru this n made her feel Seen ws caleb. lana quite genuinely hs always thought the sun shines out of her older brothers ass like she jst thinks. hes the best person in the entire world. wld b rly bewildered if anyone questioned tht. he wld always look out for her in the zoo they called a home n cut the crusts off her sandwiches (he’d cook fr them most of the time bc their parents were too busy/didn’t care to) n sometimes wld even sleep at the bottom of her bed curled up like a guard dog. it ws always lana n caleb n his best friend tommy against the world in tht house (tommy lived next door n was always over bc he had very strict parents including a military father tht he found suffocating)

SO when caleb n tommy announced tht they’d signed up to the army lana ws understandably…….. completely blindsided. she ws rly upset tht they were leaving bt she tried not to b mad at them n made them promise theyd b safe n back as soon as possible. she even asked if they cld somehow take her w them n they were jst like :/ it doesn’t work that way luv x

(death tw, ptsd tw, grief tw, trauma tw, hospitalisation tw, drugs tw) anyway caleb ended up getting discharged under grounds of severe ptsd when he witnessed tommy die in an explosion tht took place in a shock raid. caleb returned home sans tommy bt he was never the same after tht. he’s been in and out of hospital twice nw n he’s currently dipped off the radar after starting to use. lana kind of felt like two of her brothers died out there in a way n jst like tht it wasn’t them vs the world any mre, it was jst her. she doesn’t talk abt this tho. when she feels the urge to cry she usually jst smiles

ANYWAY whew tht rly…. took a dark turn there….. chuckles nervously at hw sad lana’s life is bt it’s fine it’s all fINE!!!!!!! ok. so on a mre lighthearted note the jameson family r pretty well off n bc of her relation to such a big music industry figure she’s hung out w a fair few relatively high rep ppl thru her teens. mostly kids of celebrities n stuff like tht. she amassed kind of an instagram following mainly fr her style (v penny lane-esque in some aspects aka lots of fur cuff trimmed jackets bt then also jst…. a wild combination of everything honestly. pastel faux fur coats, seventies style platforms, flame red cowboy boots, pink fishnet tights n glitter used like highlight Everywhere) n bc she’s undeniably very pretty

(trauma tw) after caleb got back he was rly withdrawn n depressed. he shut lana out n was kind of harsh to her a lot of the time, always telling her to leave him alone or pushing her away. it didnt help either tht lana had a rly traumatic experience w some of her dad’s colleagues at the label when she ws 16 n he was away n she cldnt even tell him abt it once he was bk bc of his own traumas. she kind of jst shut it all in n kept it to herself

this obviously?? made her spiral a lot. she was already a girl tht loved sex (she’d only rly done foreplay before tho) but since her trauma it got…. completely out of hand. it got to a point where she couldnt rly go 2 days without it, probably not even 1. her lowest point has probably been scrolling thru craiglist for anonymous encounters n meeting up w strangers on there fr a quick fuck jst for the thrill even tho it’s insanely dangerous n she cld wind up getting herself killed. it’s v clear at this point tht she has a sex addiction whether she’s ever admitted it or not. it kind of… almost mingled w tht same feeling she used to get when she ws younger of being a ghost?? like she jst. only rly feels Real when she’s being touched

(violence tw) a mre recent point of history is her involvement w danny nielsen (an evil npc of mine who is possibly the antichrist??? pending investigation). he attended lockwood n lived in a house w a group of other guys. it wsn’t a registered frat bt he essentially…ran it like one it ws kind of a weird set-up where he ws the King Of The Roost. essentially he found out tht lana n zeke van doren (full name it’s official business Babey) slept together n he ended up beating him to near death in front of her bc his pride ws rly bruised since they were meant to be dating (if u can call it tht bc danny’s idea of dating is very Warped). ANYWAY he ws found guilty n sent dwn bt the trial ws only recent so. it was just intense all around. crosses my fingers across my chest to ward off his Evil

PERSONALITY:

growing up lana was always a huge social butterfly. knew everyone n everyone knew her. she ws one of those girls tht ws kind of impossible to ignore or forget. very animated, always made u feel like u were the centre of the universe whenever she spoke to u, always made it feel like u were best friends even if ud only spoken to her once. she has this magnetic way abt her tht is kind of hard to find in real life. it’s something ud only rly expect out of a movie character n she like. deliberately puts tht on sort of. kind of…. is always playing A Role of the person tht she wants to b seen as. chameleons to situations. feels like she’s performed as the vivacious n fun loving Lana Jameson fr so long tht she doesn’t rly kno who she is beneath tht bt she isn’t too keen to find out

she’s always been rly spontaneous n adventurous. always doing something weird n wild every weekend. she has ten thousand stories tht always earn a laugh or a gasp over how ridiculously absurd they r

uncontrollably flirty. boundlessly confident. cld make a joke out a paper bag n her comedy is sometimes surreal / absurd. she tends to laugh when she feels like crying n has a smile brighter than a ray of texas sunshine. always dapples her fingers thru the breeze when she’s driving in a car w the window down. she almost always has some sort of sweet on her, whether it’s sour haribo cherries or strawberry lollipops. she adores david bowie n prince n madonna n anyone tht’s a vintage style icon w little care fr what ppl think. daisies n poppies r her fav flowers bc daisies r wild n overlooked n poppies r the first thing u look at in a green field. she’s had like 8472493874 ‘relationships’ n none of them hav lasted beyond a month / hav been terrible / hav seen her being treated badly / she’s cheated on them. i dnt think she’s actually been w anyone she hasn’t cheated on in some form or another

PLOTS:

exes tht lana’s fucked over hideously. she’d probably cheat a lot and it’d be a whole…mess. mayb someone tht flipped the switch and cheated on her? a cousin plot cld b fun too. a friend tht lana fel out w bc she slept w their significant other. someone tht’s getting lana into drugs?? she’s kind of impressionable/down for anything so tht’s a likely scenario she’d get into tbh. an unrequited crush!! (either way is cool). someone tht is just hanging out w her/using her bc she has a lot of instagram followers or they want to b signed to her dad’s label. someone in a band!! she’d probably make like penny lane n b their groupie/sleep w them all fgjkshgkh. umm a good influence too mayb? oh and a past summer romance/fling tht cld either have meant a lot or not have meant anything at all. bonus points if both of them hav a diff viewpoint on it. honestly?? anything is fine i cld ramble for days. mayb even one of the high profile kids she grew up hangin w idk. worlds our oyster fellas!

[fairycosmos]

was not tryna give a part 3 omg but i feel like my mom is just tired of me. i know she is. she barely comes home anymore n whenever i try to spend time with her she acts like it’s a task, like she’s being forced. & in ways she makes me feel bad for talking or anything but i just miss her. i miss everyone. my mom & i never had a good relationship but she’s what keeps me here & i just feel like i have nothing sometimes. my heart just hurts more than i can say. thank u for listening, ur an angel 🥺

hi bby :(( thank you for being so honest and open w me, it really is something to be proud of and is also proof that you are genuinely more capable of this than you think !! which seems like bullshit but it's not !! honestly the worst thing about treating your mental health is the amount of trial and error involved. you have to find that specifically works for you in exactly the right way. it's annoying, and you have every right to be frustrated. sometimes it can make you feel like giving up completely, because it's just so exhausting, and that's ok. as long as you understand the difference between having an urge and acting on it. the prospect of a new therapist is totally daunting but at the same time, you are allowed to set boundaries and take it at your own pace. if you do your best to explain how mentally tired you are, and that you want to take it slow, they will generally respect that. the thing about therapy is that you just don't know how it's going to go until you're there. sometimes you surprise yourself. sometimes it all just comes spilling out. sometimes you clam up. and all of it, all of it a natural part of the process. i mean this in the least patronising way, you are so strong for picking yourself up every time, for continuing to try. you may feel like your brain is totally fried right now but when push comes to shove, you are so much more than you realize.

as for school, jesus, that just be so nerve wracking and i don't blame you for being a bit scared at at all. the few weeks before you begin is always the worst part because your mind sort of runs wild with possibilities. but always try to remember that anxiety job is literally to take situations and warp them into something they're not based on fear and trepidation. in reality you have no idea what's going to happen and a middle ground, average result is always the most likely outcome anyway. take a breath. i get that logically knowing things doesn't help much with mental illness but it always helps to ground yourself. bottom line is, you will adapt and grow with the new environment even if you don't think you will. it's inevitable. you will find your routine and your mundanity again, and all of it will become second nature. even if there's a few awkward moments, even if you struggle a little at first. most people do. as long as you understand that there is always help available, always other options, and you are never trapped or totally stuck in a situation no matter how much your brain tries to convince you that you are. if your schoolwork gets on top of you, you CAN take a step back for the sake of your mental health, even if adults whine about it. if you don't know how to talk to people, learn by example and keep in mind that they're probably perceiving you better than you perceive yourself. like with therapy, let school integrate into your life at its own pace. half the battle is honestly just showing up. unfortunately all of this fear is where the growth happens. it's very normal to want to go back into hospital, to want to avoid reality, but there is no life waiting for you there. this is something i find very hard to come to terms with myself. you have to get up and touch the tangibility and live in it with everyone else. and you are, you're doing it as we speak, and that genuinely counts for so much dude. i can't stress that enough. these periods of loneliness and isolation are absolutely horrible and i don't really know the answer to them to be honest, but i do know that they are often periods of massive self growth, and they can end just as aprubtly as theuy begin. you are deserving of companionship and love, and just because it's hard to find doesn't mean it's not out there for you. in so many forms, over and over again, you will feel it. it's not as far fetched as your anxiety wants you to believe. where you're at right now isn't where you'll always be, and new beginnings are proof of that.

about your mum, god i'm so sorry she's been making you feel that way?? i can't tell you how much i relate and how much it hurt me when i was younger, and i promise you're absolutely not alone in feeling this way. so many people can and do understand, and that goes for all of this - the mental illness, the therapy stress, the fear and annoyance of starting anew. complexes caused by negative parental relationships are always so hard to heal from because they're so deeply rooted within, but i need you to try to understand that your worth does not lie in your mother and you can not force her to be mature, to to understand if she's so insistent on misunderstanding. it's one of the fuckin hardest lessons to learn and i don't know if the pain ever stops from it (though it definitely settles and becomes more manageable), but there is a point in every kids life where they just realize their parents are wrong. they're ignorant, or they're obtuse, or they're mean - and that is on them. it is a reflection of them and that is it, there's nothing else to it. of course you shouldn't have to deal with it at all, but it is not caused by you no matter how much it feels like it is, angel. your mental illness is harder for you to put up with than it is for her to witness and if she can't accept that, she's fucked. idk the details of your relationship with her, and maybe even if you sit her down and force her to listen, something will click. it's not an impossibility and i sure hope it happens, but if it doesn't i promise there are so so so sooo many other avenues of support out there. and your parents are truly not the beginning and end of the world. one day, sooner than you think, you are going to live a life divorced of her opinions, and even better, you won't feel such a craving to hear them. you will be in control of your own environment and mental well being and it will not be anything like what you're expecting. that's a guarantee, something you can always rely on. i know words are pointless, i know they're empty to you. and i know i can't make you see your situation the way i do, obviously. but i really hope you can take the time to find the ment clarity to examine why you're so averse to accepting the positive, what you can do to help yourself, and whether or not your anxieties are rooted in rationality of not. there's seriously so many ways to battle and to overcome the shit you're going through and it only feels so chaotic at the moment because you're in the midst of finding your feet. think back to when you first went into hospital, and how foreign everything felt, and how you got through it a day at a time. you didn't confront all that for nothing. you are so much more resilient than you realize and i wholeheartedly believe that. i'm assuming you're still very young, and so even the natural growth and development of your life is going to afford you so many answers and so much relief, though of course there will always be new questions and things to fight. but the bottom is you've got time, and if you have to take this one step at a time, or one hour at a time, or even a minute at a time - you can. you are okay. some days are rough but they do not negate your progress. so take a breath and try to identify what it is you need (e.g to talk to your parents, to be honest with the professionals in your life, to incorporate coping mechanisms into your daily routine so you feel less overwhelmed about school etc) and let that be good enough, because it is. i'm infinitely proud of you for being here and i know the hurt and the loneliness is a total tidal wave right now but it will it always be, and that's a certainty, unlike your fears. i really hope you find some peace of mind soon and that your mum heard you out. if you want to talk about this properly or if you need a friend i will be here. sending love and warmth to u dude. message me anytime.

[alittlelessdemocracy]

Naming and Necessity

We are all here on earth to help others; what on earth the others are here for I don't know.

W. H. Auden

But even after admitting this—and I have countless times, in just about every act I’ve committed—and coming face-to-face with these truths, there is no catharsis. I gain no deeper knowledge about myself, no new understanding can be extracted from my telling. There has been no reason for me to tell you any of this. This confession has meant nothing….”  

Brett Easton Ellis - American Psycho

The title above is taken from the analytic philosopher Saul Kripke, who gave it to a set of lectures he delivered in 1970, and later to a book containing the written version of these lectures, and other essays, published ten years later. I have chosen to borrow it as a provisional flag of sorts, beneath which and in the name of which to explore, or even simply re-claim, or re-proclaim (if I ever did properly proclaim it in the first place) the title I gave to this blog – a little less democracy – when I began it a little over five years ago.

First of all I must confess that, unbeknownst to me at the time, the title I had chosen, although I recognized it in some sense as a re-performance of an attitude or a pose I had adopted much earlier in my life in response to a relatively different set of circumstances, was also a reversal, and perhaps even an unconscious mimetic inversion of a similarly oblique, though seemingly holey other posture assumed by a mentor of mine when, a little over ten years previously, close to the age I am now, she titled an exhibition of then recent work “A Little Less of Me,” after a song I had never heard by Glen Campbell, that I can only assume she may have heard when she was a child in the seventies:

Let me be a little kinder

Let me be a little blinder

To the faults of those about me

Let me praise a little more

Let me be when I am weary

Just a little bit more cheery

Think a little more of others

And a little less of me

Let me be a little braver

When temptation bids me waver

Let me strive a little harder

To be all that I should be

Let me be a little meeker

With the brother that is weaker

Let me think more of my neighbor

And a little less of me

Let me be when I am weary

Just a little bit more cheery

Let me serve a little better

Those that I am strivin' for

Let me be a little meeker

With the brother that is weaker

Think a little more of others

And a little less of me

What was startling to me when I stumbled upon this coincidence shortly after my Spring semester classes ended a few weeks ago was just how meaningful the lyrics of this song were to my own self-declared project as an occasional writer, even though I had never heard the song, and had forgotten the title of the exhibition which I had just re-remembered in order to describe it to a group of students.

As I recalled, the exhibition took place in the Fall of 2001, when I was just beginning graduate school at the school where I now teach, and have taught intermittently for the past nine or so years. I did not recall whether or not the exhibition opened before the events in September, but a little digging reveals the show was in October, which sounds right to me. It was one of the first serious exhibitions of contemporary art I saw in what was to become my adopted home for the next seventeen years, and still one of the most memorable. It consisted of two discreet works: a flocked wall spray painted with the faintest of rainbows – like the kind you might see on the counter while you are washing dishes (but even fainter); and a monitor displaying a silent video loop of the record by Glenn Campbell referred to in the title of the exhibition, shown at an angle from above, hypnotically spinning its rainbow gradient above your head as you looked up at it. The flocked wall was made and titled in homage to work in similar materials by the post minimal sculptor Keith Sonnier. For some reason at the time I caught that reference easily (though at the time I didn’t know the work the piece was re-contextualizing) – even as what might have been the more accessible reference for someone a little older than I was escaped my attention until now.

If the lyrics to the song she chose were “let me be a little kinder,” the lyrics to my inverted copy would have been “let me be little wiser;”

in place of the next line “let me be a little blinder” (though this turns out in practice to be the place where my cover overlaps with hers) I would have chosen, had I known what I was choosing “let me be little clearer” (to the faults within myself – though not the ones the original lyrics name). To continue in this vain:

Let me praise a little less

Let me be when I am weary

just a little bit less cheery

think a little less of others

and a little more of me.

Let me be a little braver

When temptation bids me waver

Let me strive a little harder

To be all that I should be

Let me be a little tougher

With the brother that is rougher

Let me think less of my neighbor

And a little more of me

Let me be when I am weary

Just a little bit less cheery

Let me serve a little better

That which I am striving for

Let me be a little tougher

With the brother that is rougher

Think a little less of others

And a little more of me.

In both the original version and my own, the theme (ironically) is one of self overcoming. But where the original is rooted firmly in the tradition of Christian piety, my own might be read as a rather juvenile, (typically masculine, and unintentionally and embarrassingly Thatcherite) Nietzschean reversal, which roughly matches the fatalistic mood of moderate self indulgence I went into all of this with to begin with. Isn’t this attitude of antisocial grandiosity how a lot of us have secretly approached social media (which this in fact also is, though we - that is I - like to pretend it’s not.)

To restate what I apparently went into this restating six years ago, if only indirectly at first – the title of this blog had at least three meanings for me when I chose it. The first was prescriptive, and irrevocably addressed to myself in front of anyone who might read it so that I might not get away with disavowing it as my intention: Be Yourself. The second meaning was descriptive, and the third was predictive. To put it simply – like my mentor, I was raised in the Midwest, so like a lot of Midwesterners I often struggle to express myself sincerely in situations where it feels absolutely  necessary but decidedly difficult...not because I have any difficulty naming my point of view, but rather I often find it taxing to share it with others (or even with myself.) In other words, like a lot of people, I habitually, one might even say preemptively, avoid conflicts. But as anyone in the habit of avoiding conflict learns to understand, more often than not, certain conflicts are unavoidable, and can only be postponed, and rarely indefinitely. So the title was an attempt to call out this tendency in myself by describing it in terms of a pseudo-democratic impulse, and to prescribe a cure by forcing an intentionally anti-social heading over it, as a reminder of what is real, and of the consequences of denying reality. So a little less democracy began as a commandment of sorts – and a prediction of what happens when that commandment is broken with impunity.

To those who grew up in contexts where conflict was expressed more directly, without shame (in contexts which for all intents and purposes might be accurately described as more genuinely democratic) all of this will undoubtedly look rather morbidly self-involved and unnecessary. But to anyone who grew up as I did, in a place without a lot of room for what we now might euphemistically refer to as “difference,” (of opinion, of expression, of identity - a fact complicated in my case by the additional fact that I was also fortunate to be raised in a family that actually valued and cultivated the articulation of difference, setting me up for some interesting dilemmas when my own sense of what was possible and desirable came into conflict with the expectations of a more conservative milieu) this pseudo-Luciferian melodrama around the need to overcome self-censorship will likely ring a bell (and will likely ring another bell in reference to contemporary debates around the Right’s commandeering and the Left’s disavowal of the value of “free speech.”)

Nevertheless, to be entirely fair, it’s not so much difference as overt evidence of difference that would be legible to outsiders that is most lacking in small towns like the ones where I grew up. And of course, even this has changed considerably during my own lifetime, as global displacement has brought ever more disparate populations to these small, relatively homogeneous places. But regardless, these places, like most others, have always been full of unique (if often quiet) expressions of individual differences to those close enough to know where to look – you just wouldn’t know it if you judged such things on the basis of outward tokens of diversity, which are strikingly absent compared to cities like Chicago, where dramatic inequality, coupled with other obvious differences make for a much more strikingly diverse environment, where it’s pretty difficult to convince anyone that everybody is basically the same. Perhaps this is why cities sometimes feel so much more democratic: since it’s more or less impossible to disguise differences in a place with so many of them, each of us is forced to stand our ground, and learn to negotiate with others who are not like us.

My hope in beginning this blog was that even though my motives were selfish (’non servium’) my “selfish” behavior might still be of use to others. So even as I continue to try to be less “democratic” in the false sense of suppressing my own cognitive dissonance (i.e. hiding my differences), in so doing I also try to be more genuinely democratic, if for no other reason than to do what I can to make the title of this blog what it was always meant to be - an ironic self correction - rather than what it has largely turned out to also be – an uncanny prediction of where this society is headed.

Ironically perhaps (and it’s taken me a long time to see it clearly, even though I think I suspected it from the beginning) the material conditions prompting and governing this ongoing utterance (social media - et tu tumblr) are making a lot of us into Midwesterners in all of the worst ways – making us far too self conscious, and far from self aware. What makes all of this especially surprising is that this pressure towards greater unanimity of opinion and voluntary suppression of difference is actually so wrapped up in the ubiquity of ongoing confessions like this one – motivated by a desire for self expression. In other words, the means at hand for connecting us all and giving us an expressive platform to broadcast our thoughts through social media are turning us from a nation of actual cities where people who are strikingly different live and work together back into a nation of isolated and self segregating small towns, with all of their homogeneity and social controls augmented by 24/7 surveillance and algorithmic sorting unimaginable when more of us actually lived this way in the real world. Even the prevalence of online disagreements in the form of virtual shouting matches between adversaries (typically strangers connected by two or more degrees of separation) in the comment sections (which at a glance would seem to disprove my argument) really only serves to isolate us further – since the purpose of these disagreements is rarely persuasion or negotiation over immediate conditions affecting both parties directly, but rather self righteous virtue signaling and scapegoating of outsiders for the benefit of our audience (which has replaced our community - to the extent that such a thing ever really existed - even as the word takes on monumental proportions for Public Relations.)

But as most of us discover eventually, the dirty little secret about a certain kind of apparent concern for others is that it often masks an enormously inflated and untested sense of one’s own power and importance, barely concealing an overwhelming desire to meddle with and preempt all authentic expression, in the hopes of concealing one’s own vulnerability (and aggression, which often enough amounts to the same thing), or of avoiding the barely concealed aggression and vulnerability of (and concomitant responsibility to) others. What makes it worse as these conditions become more prevalent is that call out culture increasingly becomes one of the only societally sanctioned conditions for acting on (now mostly repressed) aggression - which in part accounts for the zeal of those who engage in it. (And of course, in a sense, that’s what I’ve also been quietly doing here all along, even now). It’s a bit of a truism at this point, but one worth repeating: worrying so much about what others will think of us, we forget how little others actually think of us at all, and how little we are actually thinking of others (or they are really thinking of us) when we think of each other in these terms; or, conversely, we underestimate what others can handle, and in so doing passively contribute to a climate of fear in which none of us knows anymore who we in fact may be, what our interests are or might be, and (to borrow a phrase from one of my favorite writers) what we may be equal to.

In choosing to remain silent within ourselves, or worse, to voice the voice of others in order to win their approval, we foreclose the possibility of democracy not by silencing the marginal when we forget to “check our privilege”, but by making the margin everywhere, destroying what privilege any of us even had to begin with, foreclosing the possibility of truly giving it up by making it universal.