#it’s like family therapists can’t fathom that we exist

[confused-n-queer]

Nothing is more alienating than being the oldest child and being abused by your younger sibling(s).

[thesoulspulse]

When Blue Eyes Meet (Good Vlad AU ~ Oneshot)

Summary: I couldn't sleep and got this beautifully heartfelt idea in my head about how my Good Vlad met his cat Madison for the first time and how she helped turn his life around. It's about she adopted him, sensing how bad Vlad needed a friend after Jack and Maddie moved on with their lives until they finally meet again at their college reunion. Warning, this mentions character death.

Vlad's POV

I'll never forget that day, the day I met a very special little lady.

I had only been fully discharged from the hospital for a few weeks but...after I insisted on making sure Jack and Maddie could move on with their own lives without me since I wouldn't drag them down, but once returned home I was suddenly reminded of how alone in the world I really was now. Both my parents had passed away before I started my freshman year of college but they left me with everything I would need to secure a bright future, even the house which gave me a place to return to in the first place since we had no idea the accident would result in me being bedridden for several years.

But as soon as I stepped inside the house, just like my heart it felt so...hollow.

The warmth I used to feel there was long gone, and it had nothing to do with still needing to pay the heating bill. And I suppose it's fortunate that the money I had set aside to pay for my school supplies and my half of the rent was enough to pay for my hospital bills so I had just enough left over to invest in gaining a new lease on life after the accident. It would take time, but I was confident I would be able to go back and continue my studies eventually, but for now I need to focus on figuring out how to cope with the other huge transformation I had undergone.

I almost had to laugh at the irony because perhaps I'm only living a half-life since the accident turned me half-ghost. It was difficult at first, hiding the truth about my condition not only from Jack and Maddie, but the nurses and doctors as well. Thankfully, I inherited my father's sharp wits and managed to conceal my powers fairly well. As for the rest, it was just easier to let people assume they were only seeing things whenever they saw a strange light or my hand seemed to pass through solid objects. After all, who would ever believe that a human with ghost powers could possibly exist...?

Still, I suppose one good thing about returning to that house is that it was nice to finally be able to relax somewhat knowing I wouldn't need to hide my powers from anyone, or at least not nearly as often when I was still a patient. I would still have to be careful if someone came to visit me, but honestly the odds of that happening ere  highly unlikely. I say this because I have no living relatives left. No parents, no cousins or siblings, just me.

Sighing I set down my bags and started unpacking boxes. I needed something else to occupy my thoughts because I still hadn't quite gotten over the fact that I lost my scholarship. Realistically I knew that couldn't be helped given what happened to me so instead I turned my attention to the things I still could control, such as ensuring I still had a place to live since I was no longer a student and Jack wasn't my roommate anymore.

Speaking of which, right from the start I wanted make sure to avoid living somewhere with too many people around so although my original plan was to move back here after graduation I made the decision to return to this town ahead of schedule in light of my extenuating circumstances.

There were still faint traces of my old life here back from when my parents were still alive such as my father's desk and my mother's cooking supplies. And quite honestly, being back here and suddenly feeling their absence all over again...it made me sad. I missed them, just as much I miss Jack and Maddie but I had to start moving on too. So I shook my head, turned our old record player, and kept myself busy by unpacking my belongings.

Luckily I had everything I owned in the dorm moved here after it became painfully clear I wouldn't be able to attend classes anymore due to my critical condition. Jack and Maddie offered to do it for me personally but I declined their kind off because for one thing I didn't want them to find out where I live before I had enough time to gain full control of my powers, and for another I wanted to make a clean break for their sake...

I was dangerous to be around whether I liked it or not so exposing them to danger while my powers were still a bit difficult to control was not a risk I was willing to take. Especially since those two are all I had left and someday...I really hoped I'd be able to meet them again and tell them the truth about my powers. But until then, all I could do was try my best to start over and hope for the best.

~

Once I settled in, I began testing out my powers more, taking notes, pushing my limits, and yet the more I learned about myself the more I wished I had someone to share my discoveries with. Jack could be overzealous at times, but I missed how excited we both felt after making a new discovery about ghosts or ectoplasmic energy. And Maddie, she always knew how to reign us in so we could look at things more objectively even though she was usually just as eager to find out more too.

Having no one left to talk to or come home to had finally started to get to me and sadly as a result that's when the nightmares started up again too. Just like back in the hospital I would wake up in a cold sweat, clutching the sheets in both fists as the ghostly blue glow of my eyes cast flickering shadows on the walls. I had gotten careless because I thought I would be alright as long as I didn't have to worry about a doctor or a nurse walking in at any second and seeing my eyes glowing in the darkness.

That's when I realized I had to do something about this before things escalated even further and my emotions spiraled out of control again without some sort of outlet. I needed to make a connection, a way to overcome this shadow looming over me, so I considered seeing a therapist to prevent these nightmares from overtaking me. But I was afraid that if I did talk to someone...what if I became too emotional and exposed my powers to them? That could be a huge problem. I could always overshadow them, but I'd still be avoiding dealing with this terrible helplessness I felt.

That day, I was wandering around town in a daze, conflicted about how to deal with the problem when I happened to enter a local animal shelter. The people at the front desk were friendly, but I had never considered how my...ghostly attributes might make most animals wary of me since they have a sixth sense for the supernatural which quite honestly made me feel even more detached from the person I once was. As a boy I got along well with most animals but I never felt particularly attached to them. Dogs were a bit too energetic for my tastes and I had to deal with that enough with Jack but cats on the other hand, well I have always appreciated their independent spirit but I never considered them to be very affectionate animals...

That all changed the instant I saw her.

On my way out the door after satisfying my idle curiosity about how animals seem to perceive me now that I'm only half human I noticed this sleek black kitten staring directly at me with the most stunning blue eyes I've ever seen and when our eyes met, what I felt...I can't even describe it. It felt as though she was looking right at me, into my heart, and for the first time since the accident, it was like someone had noticed how lost I was and there was this unmistakable look of gentle sympathy in her eyes.

Mesmerized by her gaze, I turned around and asked the person at the desk more about her and they told me she had been abandoned which I could relate to to some degree. To be fair I hadn't been abandoned necessarily, but I felt that way sometimes since it was gradually becoming harder and harder to wake up alone in that empty house every morning, not sure what I should be doing with the rest of my life now that I'm all alone and don't have friends to confide in anymore I can visit whenever I want.

Impulsively I asked if I could hold her and they agreed, smiling at me secretively as if they already knew I felt an instant attachment to her and as soon as they handed her to me...she clung to me like her life depended on it and then crawled up onto my shoulders, wrapping her tiny body around my neck as much as possible and as soon as she was comfortable she started purring. It was like a hug of sorts and I had no idea how starved for the gentle contact from another living creature of any kind from someone that wasn't just another doctor poking and prodding me that all I remember is falling to my knees soon after, sobbing and resting my cheek against her head as she rubbed against me, licking away my tears.

Finally, I thought, this is what I've been searching for ever since I came home. I've missed having someone there who cares about me, someone to remind me that I'm not alone, someone who can stay by my side so I don't have to suffer in silence anymore without a friend there to comfort me just when I start to think I can't bear it anymore.

I'm sure everyone who saw me that day were just as stunned as I was by my meltdown, but I didn't care. I needed her. And she needed me, no, for reasons I cannot even begin to fathom she WANTED to be with me and no one else. It's like she had been waiting for me to walk in that door from the very start. Waiting for me to give her a home, a family, and most importantly...a name. And that name would become a bond that could never be broken, not even after her tragic death some years later when she returned to my side once more as a ghost because she knew I still desperately needed a friend-

And that's how Madison became my closest and dearest companion.

We’ve been inseparable ever since.

[fairycosmos]

i need help i can’t stop thinking about killing myself like it’s happened before but i’ve never gone through with it it’s going to hurt i know it i know

i'm really sorry to hear that love :( it seems like you're having such a hard time right now. i know there's nothing i can do or say that will really put a dent in ur pain, but since we're both here rn i'll do a bit of talking and if you're not feeling it you can ignore it, or you can come back to this later. maybe you want to try some grounding exercises, here / here and here before you feel capable of focusing. that's ok, take all the time you need. now, as someone who also struggles with this, i just wanted to say that i understand the intensity of the moment and how sometimes it really feels like the urge to give up is far stronger than any notion of hope the future has to offer. it is totally understandable how we get to this point when so much of life just seems to be suffering. having said that, i think it's a good sign that you reached out to me and an even better sign that you're able to recognize that these ARE just thoughts. and while they can be very powerful hurtful things, they do not exist in the tangible reality. not every idea that passes through your mind has to be believed or acted upon - all of this turmoil and self loathing, it is not factual and it is not permanent either. you're not in a place right now where you can trust your thoughts and feelings, so please let them pass on through, even if that takes a long time. allow it to. we've already established that this state of mind has come and gone in the past, and it will do the same again, if you give it the chance to. i'm not trying to downplay how unbelievably hard to live with, of course, but it can be freeing to acknowledge that this is transient no matter how difficult it is to endure. that fear is your survival instinct and it's kicking in to keep you here. you deserve to be here and you deserve to thrive, no matter what your mind is telling you. it sounds like you're going through phases of intense suicidal ideation and there can be a whole host of underlying causes for this - mental illness, past trauma etc. obviously those are very serious issues that need real medical attention in order to begin to overcome but with that and with time, it is totally possible to learn to live a full live along side them. almost nuturing them, so they don't overwhelm you as much. sometimes it boils down to loving yourself through it like a parent loves a child.

are you currently in touch with a mental health professional of any sort? your doctor, a therapist, a support group, even a hotline? if not, i would really urge you to seek help as soon as possible. and if you already are, let them know where you're at with your thoughts lately so they can focus on treating you more intensely. if you're worried about money, there are cost-sensitive options like finding a therapist who offers a sliding scale price, or looking into mental health resources within your community. any effort, no matter how small, counts. i know the prospect of reaching out and being honest is a daunting one, and i'm only bringing it up as something to consider at the moment (or when you feel able to) so please don't write it off all together. but it really is not the nightmare your brain is probably building it up to be. just like with physical illness, mental illness can be confronted and worked with. it's all about learning how to manage your unique mind, and even if it takes a lifetime, it is so possible to lessen the frequency of crises like this, to become more prepared for them so they feel less earth-shattering when they do occur. talking about what you've been through, pinpointing root causes, learnng how to implement healthy coping mechanisms into your daily routine, building a support system, finding the medication for you if needed - all of this is going to make a difference. it is not going to fix everything, obviously, but it is going to lighten the weight. you deserve to be supported without judgement and with genuine care, you deserve to be heard. there are a lot of people, professionals or otherwise, even just randoms like me, who are willing to be that presence for you.

this isn't always the case but a LOT of the time, suicidal people don't want to die, they just want to stop living 'like this'. you don't have to hurt yourself in order to achieve that, i mean it. i know when you're in this state of mind, any even slightly positive statement just feels like rubbing salt into the wound. but even if you can't seriously take them on board, i hope when you're in a more grounded place you can at least consider them as valid alternatives to absolute hopelessness. you might as well, because you are alive and that is not always going to be a burden. you honestly have an inherent worth that has been with you since the day you were born. it isn't gone just because you can't see it right now. every day you fulfil your purpose by experiencing the world. you can't fathom how many lives you've touched, directly and indirectly, just by being who you are. it is so hard to believe it, i get that, but it is a fundamental truth. there is nothing you need to prove, or give. the future is ever changing and doesn't exist yet, and you've already survived the past, so the only thing that really matters is this moment. focus on what you need, not what you want, but what you need to do right now to truly prioritize yourself. even if that feels like the last thing on earth you want do. if self destruction and self harm was gonna work, it would've by now. it's ok to try something new and to attempt to guide yourself through this with a bit of self-compassion. please, if you feel like you are an immediate danger to yourself, please exercise that and call the authorities, a hotline or a friend/family member right away. no matter what lies your brain is feeding you, no matter how much you don't actually want to in the moment. everything is always changing and things are going to change beyond recognition, they always do. you deserve to stick around to see that, and once you've made the decision to do that, you won't have to be scared anymore, not the way you are right now. i'm going to leave some links that i think might be of some service to you right now, but like i said, please call someone if you feel you can't be alone right now. i believe in you so much and i really hope you are able do the right thing for your own safety. such strong emotions are not built to last. just get through today, or even the next five minutes, andthen go from there. sending so much love.

list of hotlines

coping with suicidal thoughts

coping with depression

template for creating a safety plan

so you feel like shit? (this site really helped me the other day)

[couldibesomethingmore]

Could I be Something More?

Could I be something more?

This is a blog just for me. The expectation is that absolutely no one is going to read this and that’s kind of the point. To be honest, I’m going through it. Like really, truly, irrevocably going through it. And not in a funny down bad kind of way, but in a soul-crushing kind of way. Yes, I’m overdramatic. I’m aware. I just don’t know anymore. I know, not an original problem but let me cope. I’m about to finish my junior year of high school and am having a quarter-life crisis. Once again, originality is not the issue here. Unlike most people on this godforsaken site, I don’t have an individuality complex. I’m trying to learn how not to be special because I don’t think I am anymore. I know at one point I was, but not anymore. How do I exist if not to revel in my specialness? Heaps of expectations weigh me down and I enjoy it. The pressure to succeed, the lure of failure all make my daring academic feats worth it. This brings me to this very moment. I feel that I could be something more, that I could reach the same heights I reached just a few years ago, that I could try harder. I need to know if this is a delusion. Am I ordinary trying to act as a God? Am I special but don’t try hard enough? Am I deluding myself into thinking I reached greatness in the first place? So I am not articulate enough to tell this to a real person and am resorting to Tumblr to at least speak out into the void.  

Let’s start with the basics, everything I consider essential to my identity. I use she/they pronouns and am bisexual. I’m a white American living in the midwest. I have a mother, father, and 2 older sisters. I have a best friend and a group of friends, but those are separate. My favorite color is blue. I like to read. Math is my least favorite subject, but the easiest for me to grasp. I have a very cute dog. I watch a lot of TV and play animal crossing. My family is upper-middle class. I go to a public high school. I’m a band kid. I like philosophy and fantasy novels. My favorite song is “Cloud 9” by Beach Bunny and I listened to it for a total of 23 hours last year. I value self-expression and independence (this is not to be confused with uniqueness). My favorite show is “Attack on Titan.” My comfort show is “Snow White with the Red Hair.” My favorite movie is “Good Will Hunting.” My comfort movie is the sequel to National Treasure. My favorite book is “The Giver.” My comfort book is The Inheritance Cycle. I am an INTP 5w4. I really relate to Yuki and Rin Sohma. I would like to relate to Ichigo Kurosaki. He gained power for his friends and then gave it up. He does not need to be acknowledged by the world to feel whole. He is complete on his own. I take 40mg of Prozac and see a therapist on Wednesdays. I am incapable of accepting love. No, not because I don’t think I deserve it but because I can’t fathom it. I loathe myself. I’ve never really trusted somebody. More than anything, I want to stand on my own.

Now, what does this add up to? Absolutely nothing. Nothing but delusions of grandeur and good intentions. So, I’m going to start at the beginning and work my way to the present. Maybe, if I’m lucky enough, I can figure some things out along the way.

My earliest memory is from when I was two and yes, I meant the very beginning. I woke up in the hospital it was dark, like really dark and I remember being close to the ceiling. The nurse kept giving me popsicles and I wouldn’t stop eating them. Thinking about my unrestrained enjoyment makes me want to cry, like really badly. I do not know why. The last one I ate was purple but most of them were orange. My Dad walked in with my mother. He had just gotten off of work and was wearing a white collared shirt with brown slacks and black dress shoes. He asked me how I was feeling. I don’t remember anything else. I retained no sounds or smells. However, most of this is probably false. Memory falls prey to suggestion and the only corroborated part of my story is the popsicle thing and the being two thing. Again, is this a normal memory embellishment or am I subconsciously trying to convince my non-existent readers of my brilliance? Do I want people to be amazed at my memory skills from such a young age? Do I want to announce my specialness from the beginning?

I think about this a lot. I don’t know why. 

I’ve also been focusing on Paddington Bear. I had a multi-hour argument with my friend over his identity. Culturally, Paddington is British. This we can agree on. He was adopted by British people, uses a British accent, and was introduced to society by British explorers. However, we disagree on everything else. I say Paddington is a Peruvian bear and therefore an illegal immigrant. He certainly does not have British citizenship. She disagrees. She says Paddington is a British Bear and he is not human enough to need immigration papers. To her, he is more of an invasive species than anything else. To me, he is an eco-terrorist. Also, Paddington uses soap and water to wash his hands. Does he use lotion too? Shampoo? Conditioner? He is also a pervert. He grasps the concept of clothes and actively chooses not to wear them. I am aware that he has no genitals, but it’s a matter of principle. He understands clothes as noted by the wearing of his coat and hat even when the weather does not require him to do so, but does not put on pants. Why? The bear is a sentient being and as such, I believe he requires pants. 

This is all for now.

[magic-and-moonlit-wings]

Chapter 44: Scrapbooking

Bold italics are trollish.

This story is NOT back on its old weekly update schedule! Chapter 43 was a week late, and I happened to finish this chapter 'on time' and decided to update to match the alternate-Fridays that I wrote on my calendar. The next chapter will be two weeks from now unless it's late again instead.

Becoming The Mask

+=+

Bagdwella had offered the two human girls a seat on the box spring mattress that she had not yet disassembled to get at its bed coils, but Mary and Darci had turned her down. Instead they were sitting back-to-back on the short wooden bench that Bagdwella stood on to reach high shelves. Apparently there were tiny insects that sometimes lived in old mattresses and the humans didn't want to risk the parasites crawling into their clothes.

Each girl was writing something. Sometimes Mary referred to her phone before making notes. Darci would pause and tap her chin with her pen before returning to her papers.

"How do you spell 'divorce'?" Mary asked. They had a dictionary with them, but Darci was using it.

Bagdwella spelled it out, carefully enunciating the runes for the girl to copy down. Mary chirped a quick "Thank you!" and ducked back down over her notebook.

The humans had come earlier that night, asking if they could work on whatever they were doing in Bagdwella's backroom. She suspected it was some kind of assignment from Blinky. Or perhaps a surprise for him, since they weren't working on it in the library.

The silly man had such a dry, academic way of teaching language. Bagdwella simply had to take it upon herself to step in and teach these whelps how to converse like proper trolls. Blinky was a better choice for writing lessons, though, being one of the few people she knew who read for enjoyment.

Oh, she could appreciate good record-keeping, and in a more abstract way she understood the value of collecting knowledge, but stories just felt stilted to her when they were written down instead of spoken.

Why Mary needed that particular word, Bagdwella couldn't fathom – had the human mistranslated something? Should she have asked her what she thought it meant in English?

"What is it you two are up to?" the shopkeeper finally asked.

"Translating stories about our families," said Mary. "This one is about how my parents got divorced and my mother got married again. She was smart, the second time. She insisted they get … premarital counselling. If Mom and Dad had bothered with that, they might have realized they shouldn't get married before they did."

"But then you might not exist," pointed out Darci.

"I'm not saying there wasn't a silver lining."

Bagdwella didn't know what lining something with silver had to do with anything. It didn't have a very appealing flavour, and the shades it developed when tarnished were pretty but not enough to make up for the metal's relative softness, so trolls didn't use it much in food, tools, or decor. It was probably a human saying. She was pretty sure they considered most metals valuable.

"What is premarital counselling?" she asked instead.

"Uh … counselling, before marriage?" Mary explained haltingly. "When people, who want to get married, talk, to … sometimes a leader, an Elder, like Vendel. Sometimes a … therapist … like a medic, but for thoughts and feelings. A person whose job it is, to make sure people who want to get married talk about … the things people should talk about before marriage. Things people who don't talk will fight about because they don't agree but did not know."

Bagdwella nodded thoughtfully. "Your parents did not do this, but your mother and her next spouse did?"

"Yes, exactly."

"That is …" Darci frowned in a way Bagdwella was learning to recognize, the furrow-browed looking-up expression of a human who knew what they wanted to say but didn't know the word for it. "That's kind of heavy, don't you think?" Darci said in English instead. "I write – written – am writing, about my older brother teaching me to drive."

"I need to explain why the divorce. My parents both are good people who learn from their mistakes. They did not divorce because one did something bad."

+=+

Claire knocked once on the nursery door, a hard thump, before entering.

"I need you to check my trollish." She shoved a three-ring binder at the Changeling.

"Uh?" said Enrique, not dropping his human face.

"For the love of," Claire muttered, not specifying what she was invoking the love of. "Fine. You know what, fine. Please check my trollish."

Enrique shapeshifted obligingly and took the binder. "Was that so hard?" he teased. He made a show of examining the angular squiggles, turning the first few pages with a solemn expression, and then handed the book back to her. "Looks troll-y to me."

She rolled her eyes and pushed it towards him again. "I meant see if my grammar's okay and I spelled everything right."

"I'm not much for spelling. And yeh'd have to read it out for the grammar bit."

"… What, you can't read?"

"I'm picking up English and Spanish okay," he said defensively, gesturing to the shelf of storybooks.

"Jim can read trollish."

"Yeah, well, Jim is a madman who thought it was worth the risk, annoying Gunmar's advisor like that. Plus he's had Strickler and the other Mister Six Eyes to keep the lessons up since he left."

"Left? Left where? The Darklands," she answered her own question. "But, wait, I still don't get it. If you guys are supposed to be spies, why didn't anyone teach you to read and write?"

"If we're s'posed to be spying on fleshbags, what'd we need to read in troll for?"

"Ciphers?" she suggested immediately. "I mean, it's still a language so it's still got patterns, but it would take longer for a human to decrypt one if it's not based on a human language."

"… Some of the higher-ups know it. Could be why the rest of us don't." Make it a status thing. Control access to information.

Or maybe Claire was just smarter about spy stuff than Gunmar was.

+=+

"So, we've been thinking about what you said," said Darci to Blinky. "And you're right. We went too fast, suggesting to Vendel that he should let us tell our families about trolls."

"And yet somehow I find myself suspecting that you are not telling me this as a precursor to setting that goal aside."

"We're asking him, all of you really, to trust complete strangers just because we vouch for them. And that wasn't fair. And there's not exactly a way for a troll to get to know a human without secrets coming out."

"Or is there?" said Mary dramatically.

Claire handed Blinky the binder he'd noticed she was holding behind her back. "We've collected some pictures of our families, for putting faces to names, and we're writing down stories about them – you know, anecdotes. Memories. Stuff they've done and that shows what kind of people they are. We're going to get Toby in on it, too. Maybe Jim, if he's got anything that can calm Vendel down about Dr Lake knowing already."

"And once Vendel knows everyone by proxy," continued Mary, "he should be more okay with actually meeting them."

Blinky took the binder cautiously. It wasn't heavy, and the stiff covers closed triangularly around the pages. Perhaps twenty pages, he estimated, which was quite respectable considering these three could only have been working on it for a few days.

It was divided, inside, with tabs to skip directly to any of the families described therein. The first section was Darci's family.

Several pages of photos grinned toothily out at him, captioned with names written in both the humans' Roman alphabet and phonetic trollish transliteration, and sub-captioned with each human's relationship to Darci. Mother, father, older brother; three living grandparents, plus one in a group picture who was noted to be deceased; and a maternal aunt and uncle and two cousins, with a note clarifying that Darci did not expect Vendel to agree to meet her entire family, only that knowing who these four humans were would help the stories make sense.

Blinky restricted himself to skimming only the title of each anecdote, though it was tempting to thoroughly read the one about the driving lesson right away, and move on to the section about Mary's family.

This section followed the same format. Blinky was impressed and proud that they'd managed to write almost the entire thing in trollish. He turned to the section on Claire's family and, three pages in, froze up.

The photo had to be of the Changeling that the humans had taken to calling Not Enrique – yes, that was how the caption identified him – lit by the blueish glow of the crystal staircase. The picture was lower quality than the others, as though the camera weren't as good, or as if it were a close-up of a larger picture.

Blinky already knew the Changeling had gotten into Trollmarket. They hadn't exchanged words yet, but he'd met the boy. And from his interactions with Jim, Blinky had really thought he was at peace with the idea that Changelings could be allies; friends; (perhaps family).

He should not be reacting to this image with the degree of shock and horror that he felt – this sense of no – this sense of wrong.

"I … do not think admitting to Vendel that one of your family members is known to be a Changeling will reassure him that it is safe to trust the rest of your relations."

"But he should take it better if we come clean than if he finds out later, right?" said Claire. "I don't think any of us can pull off acting like he got swapped after we tell our parents what's going on. And Jim said Vendel knows he's a Changeling."

"I honestly can't say what Vendel's reaction will be. But I can say," closing the book firmly, "that this was a highly dangerous picture to bring to Trollmarket." Hard evidence of Changelings amongst them …

Well, very strong circumstantial evidence. One slightly out-of-focus picture of a young troll with a handwritten caption claiming the youngling was a Changeling was hardly a compelling case.

It could still be enough to have Claire imprisoned on suspicion of conspiring with Changelings, since she had brought 'her little brother' to Trollmarket while knowing what he was. And from there, the Trollhunter's identity could be exposed, and even Vendel's protection – Vendel's collusion with the conspiracy to allow a Changeling Trollhunter to live and to operate freely – would likely not be enough to save Jim's life; and probably the best Blinky could hope for himself would be banishment.

"Okay," said Darci, jolting him out of his thoughts. "So what if we took the stuff about Not Enrique out for now, and told Vendel later? Do you think learning more about our families would help convince him?"

"… Possibly," Blinky conceded.

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Previous Chapter (Various characters try to comfort Toby in the aftermath of a nightmare)

Table of Contents

Next Chapter (Barbara finds out Draal has been living in her basement)

You would not believe how long an internal debate I had about whether Enrique would say 'spy stuff' or 'espionage strategy' in his own head. 

On the one hand, inside his head he's got no one to perform for except himself, and so he doesn't need to dumb himself down to remain underestimated. 

On the other hand, speech patterns can affect thought patterns and it sounds weird phrasing it like that when the scene is supposed to be in his voice.

[laurafrayz]

it felt like an eternity

(i don’t ever say much, but sometimes it doesn’t take much, so maybe a trigger warning about depressing, abusive relationships goes here...)

the last post i made was october 2018. it feels like longer ago than that. i didn’t know i was still making attempts then, to faire semblant, to keep it all up. it feels like it’s been years since i was ok, since i was creative, since i was alive. i’m not kidding, i dramatize things for the sake of the art, make it sound more astounding or profound. but this needs no talking up. all i felt anymore was the crushing weight of perpetual loss. that’s what happens when you love someone who doesn’t love you back. when they say they do, and you decide to believe them, because you want to be loved, but then they show you a thing that no one should mistake for caring. no one should accept that kind of love. but you do, for so many reasons that are all mistakes. they lie to you every time they tell you they love you, and you lie to yourself every time you accept it, every time you convince yourself that better isn’t out there anywhere. you start to believe that if this person loves you, and this is how they treat you, then this is how you deserve to be treated. you start to believe that this is all you’re worth. and you believe that somehow everything that goes wrong is your fault. so if you can somehow be better, you can fix this. or you recall who they were when they first wooed you, and you just keep waiting for that to come back. 

i lied to myself so hard i was so desperate i was so destroyed

because i wanted to believe in love, see. i wanted it so very badly. and i didn’t believe that love was perfect or beautiful or easy. i believed that it was hard work. so no matter how hard it got, i thought, i can handle this. this is just the rough patch we get through, we come out of it stronger together. but we weren’t in it together. he wasn’t in it with me. i told myself i could suffer through anything for the person i loved, until i wondered how long you were supposed to keep doing that. i believed very hard, that love survives anything and everything, if you are determined enough.  But i was running on empty, everything in me desert dry. (well, no, i cried all the time). i told myself i could not leave him because he needed me. because i wanted to be the one person in the world who refused to give up on him, so he could have something to believe in too. i told myself i could never love anyone else. i didn’t want to be alone again. (even though i was, either way). i didn’t want to think of trying to fall in love again. i didn’t think i could handle it ever again. because if this is love, love tears you up. i told myself i couldn’t even be attracted to anyone else. feel anything for anyone else. i told myself that even if i tried to find a new love, it would turn out just like this one, because this is love, this is what always happens to it. and this is the love i deserve, i can’t hope for better. if i found better it would be out of my league, and it would leave me. 

i was wrecked. i was depressed. i was anxious all the time. i laid on the floor and never wanted to move again. didn’t think i was even physically capable of getting back up, i would just lay there until I died. i wanted to self destruct. i wanted everything to be over. but i didn’t want to have to be the one to pull the trigger. i wished one of us would just die, except not really, i was totally losing my mind.  he was incapable of being there for me, incapable of feeling, incapable of coherent conversation. he was conscious a few hours out of a day, he was cruel, he was dangerous. and i was afraid for his downward spiral, his recovery, his ruin, his losing everything, his death. i lived constantly afraid. and constantly questioning why. why him, why me, why i could do nothing about it, why he chose to do nothing about it, why i was never enough. 

friends and family begged me to get out. i watched opportunities pass me by, even when they lingered extra long to give me a really good chance. i could not do it. every time i said, i choose to believe in him, i choose to believe in love, in someday, i can wait. i adjusted, acclimated to ever more pain, fear, disappointment. i was hurt, angry, confused, unstable. friends and family started giving me space. lots of space. i was hard to be around. i lost people who really loved me, waiting for someone who never would. he had made it very clear. but i did not want to accept it. besides, he still told me he did. it took talking it out with a psychiatrist. hearing myself confess everything, all of my fears to a totally neutral listener. the biggest hitch being that if i gave up on this, i would be giving up on love, and i wanted so badly to believe that love could survive anything and everything, and if i left i would be admitting that it couldn’t. that love really does just go away eventually, inevitably. she pointed to all of the red flags. she pointed to all of the lack of love. until i could admit that i wouldn’t be giving up on love at all, if it wasn’t there. i had clung very, very hard to potential. a potential future. his potential. the love we could have had, should have had, if he had come back around. i was afraid of losing things that did not exist. i was afraid of losing things i had already lost a long time ago. how long do you wait, before you realize it’s never coming back. 

for me, until you are absolutely, completely destroyed and can’t feel anything anymore. until they finally cross that one line you can’t forgive, because you will never feel safe with them again. and then you tell them it’s over and they say no. and then it gets even more complicated. they try to find ways to run you down even more somehow, so you won’t even be capable of leaving. but you’ve got your convictions, and your therapist now, and you drag yourself through to the end, that he keeps dragging out. the attacks on you, on your family, privately and publicly. the attacks from him, and his family, who never even knew you. they call you worthless. they call you weak. they call you a whore. they say you will never be loved. they say it was all your fault. that you are toxic and you will destroy everyone who ever tries to love you. they say things that were already creeping doubts inside of you, so that your fear finds them believable. reality becomes totally lost. 

i was traumatized. i lost reality, i lost friends, i lost my ‘love’, i lost myself. and i could not find it in me to believe in anything anymore. that things might be ok again someday. that love might exist and i could have it. that i was worth anything at all. that there were still people who existed who cared about me, genuinely, not just pitied me. i was building back up from nothing. maybe less than that. for the first time in my life i was having legitimate anxiety attacks. and so many things were triggers. i was afraid they would start ruining my life, i was a performer, a teacher, i needed to be able to operate under pressure. and then, of course, i found myself, and still do find myself, sometimes, terrified of men. they are not safe. i cannot breathe around them. they cannot be trusted.

it’s been about a year. a year and maybe a couple of months, and i feel tentative like a turtle or a snail, very slowly coming back out after you’ve poked it. i slowly re-collected parts of me. i believe in good things. i hope. i dance and sing and draw. and i almost write again. i meet people. and i believe that they are good. and i feel more like me, and believing in me too. and i have someone who says love to me, gently, like he knows i’m a forest creature that’ll spook at foreign sounds. i find it impossible to think about the future, or love on a long term scale. i find it difficult to fathom why anyone would love me at all. but i am learning to accept it again. 

i never imagined i would be taking time to heal from something so honestly, profoundly devastating. (and that even this gives me an impostor syndrome, like my hurt is not as big as anyone else’s, so i should not be so affected). 

what i mean is. please don’t ever let it happen to you. with all of my heart, and every fiber of me. i hope that you always know how much you are worth, and what you deserve. that you will not settle, or suffer. that you know what love is, and when it has left, and where to draw the line, before it gets so late. that you can be a romantic, but some things should not be romanticized.  please, please, don’t let anyone run you down, or steal everything from you. destroy you, and steal you from yourself. please only give your all to people who will not abuse it. please let yourself be cherished, supported, appreciated...

[androgyne-acolyte]

The “I” in Christ

Commissioning, Community, and Lessons From Hamilton

(My second sermon, for Confirmation Sunday. You can also listen on Soundcloud.)

This Sunday, a few of us are about to confirm our formal membership in this community of St. Andrew’s; we do this with a profession of faith, along with a promise to seek justice and resist evil. Not only does the process of confirmation ask the question of what it means to be part of a Christian community, but this passage from Luke (10:1-11,16-20) also poses the question of what it means to live out our own discipleship beyond the walls of the church — especially in an age where the image of door-to-door missionaries is something of a bad joke.

Perhaps Christianity’s best-kept secret is this: the actual gospel of Jesus is tremendously relatable to anyone else whose mission is also to seek justice and resist evil. These first disciples were instructed to bear one message: that “the Kingdom of God has come near” — or, to put it in more contemporary language, we might say “another world is possible”.

Jesus says to carry no extra gear, going out like lambs into the midst of wolves; greeting no one on the road, but traveling in pairs. This is a radically vulnerable commission — relying entirely on the generosity of strangers, who may not even care if you live or die — but it is also a commission of interdependence and reliance on one another. Sometimes, we might retreat by ourselves into the metaphorical desert for a while to figure things out. But when we go forth and proclaim the good news of the Kingdom of Heaven, we’re not meant to go it alone. And so, from its earliest moments, Christianity is lived out in relationship.

We also see this in how the very early Christians came together in table fellowship — the root of our communion ritual. Jesus and the disciples had caught on to something that’s borne out by sociological science today (this is why we also had lunch as part of our confirmation classes): deep down, our brain associates “the people with whom you eat” with “family”. This becomes especially resonant when we consider that Jesus’ ministry seems to have been responding, at least in part, to the breakup and dispossession of families caused by Roman encroachment on Jewish ancestral farmlands.

So part of Jesus’ message to these seventy disciples is about going out and finding allies — and through that work, making new and cohesive communities in a time of tremendous social upheaval. Then and now, Christianity creates familial structures that counter the systems of injustice in the world with a message of radical community and genuine connection.

The New Testament, in the original Greek, calls this concept of community or fellowship koinonia, literally participation, partnership, or sharing, with emphasis on the element of relationship; a koinonos, used in the Epistles to describe the disciples’ relationship to Christ and to one another, is a sharer, partner, or companion; a joint participant. So, when we become part of the Body of Christ, we become partners, koinonoi, in acting out God’s intent, “on earth as it is in heaven”. As Jesus says when he is asked when the Kingdom will come (later on in the Gospel of Luke), “the Kingdom of God is among you” (Luke 17:21).

So I suggest that we can look at koinonia — this radical companionship — as a concept that has four pillars. They are economic, interpersonal, internal, and political — and together, they answer a world of imperial domination and hierarchical, transactional relationships with the egalitarian, reciprocal relationships of a truly divine community.

Most of us grew up hearing the Gospel story of how a few loaves and fishes fed five thousand people. When Jesus says “give them something to eat”, the disciples respond with “but how can we possibly go out and buy enough bread for everybody?”. But Jesus had a plan — and we are told that “all ate and were filled” (Luke 9:10-17). This isn’t just a fanciful miracle story; in Jesus’ world, everybody gets enough. This is a total reimagining of our economic model. 

We see this principle carried out in the book of Acts, chapter 4: among the growing circle of disciples, it’s said that “there was not a needy person among them”, because people sold their possessions and shared the proceeds; “they laid it at the apostles’ feet, and it was distributed to each as any had need” (Acts 4:32-35).

“But that could never work!” we say, just like in the story of the loaves and fishes. I may not be an economic theorist, but my guess is that what gets in the way is our own self-interest; of course it won’t work if you assume that you and everyone else are just looking out for number one. The missing ingredient here is what the Bible calls lovingkindness, or what I call radical compassion — the key to the interpersonal aspect of the Kingdom of Heaven.

Remember, Jesus’ program is about treating people like family. And what happens when people feel safe enough, trusting enough, to be able to treat each other as a functioning family? “You’re in need? That’s okay, I’ll cover you.” — “Whatever happens, you’re still my sibling in Christ.”

This ideal of the family of God doesn’t end at the steps of the church, by the way. This is what Buddhist teachings mean when they talk about widening the circle of compassion: Talk to your neighbours. Look a panhandler in the eye. Fall in love with the immigrant kids down the corridor who won’t stop bouncing off the walls. Invite that raggedy backpacker down on Spring Garden Road to brunch. But, Jesus cautions, don’t make a big deal out of it; this is just what we do.

But again, we worry, just like the disciples: what if there’s someone in this community who’s really needy, taking up all the available resources and emotional energy? Perhaps that’s where a community can do its best work: helping a person become self-sufficient. Finding them a therapist, even if it means emailing every private practice in [the immediate area]. Finding them meaningful work in the community, something that provides for them and reminds them that their life matters. Granted, that’s extremely hard to do under late capitalism — but maybe that’s a specific challenge for Christians today!

We don’t claim to offer miracle cures here, but we do offer compassion and grace and walking with someone on the road to healing. And if you’ve bought into the Christian message, you’re already imagining the possibility of becoming whole — recognizing the image of God within yourself — and if you know any trauma survivors, you already know that that’s half the battle.

And to support each other like this, we have to be comfortable with being vulnerable. Paradoxically, that’s very hard to do in our white, English, North American church culture! 

My childhood pastor used to say that a good church has to be so much more than just “a club for nice people” — part of that is because niceness and civility as we understand them involve building very specific walls around yourself, so that no one sees the mess and the struggle underneath your calm exterior. But when others see that you’re a flawed, messy human too, they respond in kind. 

The very best of my church relationships are the very few people to whom I can confess almost anything, and they can confess almost anything to me. We inevitably find ourselves going deep; we have long conversations that are intense and sometimes unsettling, but I always come away feeling more fulfilled, more whole than I was before. And what is salvation in the original Greek but a kind of healing, or “making whole”?

That leads us into the internal work of the Kingdom of God. The hardest lesson we can hope to learn is to give up our preconceived notions of how things ought to be and what others are like. This is where contemplation comes in; it’s about letting go of our hangups so that we can see the bigger picture. This process of self-emptying seems like such a bewildering thought, but it’s a fundamentally liberating process. Just ask our Buddhist neighbours.

So, Christian community calls us to break free from our own self-interest by living as members of one body; as a collective of voices working together in constant dialogue. One might say that there is no ��I” in Christ. 

And here is where being political comes in. When we live together in lovingkindness, in partnership, when we let go of our attachments to see things as they really are — we begin to see that this is exactly the opposite of what the world wants, both then and now.

We’ve heard [St. Andrew’s lead minister] Russ [Daye] speak of “sin” not so much as an individual moral failing, but as the state of a society propelled by self-interest and operating through systemic inequality, oppression, and violence. And when we see the big picture, we start to see that that’s exactly what’s going on.

A fully realized Christian life, lived out according to the principles of radical community, makes the scales fall from our eyes and highlights the terrible workings of inhumane disconnection and self-interest that our society is based on. That, in the eyes of our world, makes us dangerous. 

I recently had an extraordinary online conversation with another queer ministry hopeful, who is not afraid to state point-blank that “love cannot exist [or cannot exist fully] in a space where we are complicit in our neighbours’ suffering and exploitation”. We both agreed that a lot of us moderate Christians aren’t politically active because we can’t truly fathom how deep-rooted these systems of oppression actually are, let alone have any idea of how to stand up to them. 

But I invite you to consider that the kind of strong support structure that a fully realized Christian community can provide can be a living “no” to the Caesars of this world, and can empower us to speak our truth to their face, no matter the consequences. “We know love by this,” says the epistle of 1 John, “that he [Jesus] laid down his life for us — and we ought to lay down our lives for one another” (1 John 3:16).

Perhaps, then, there are many “I”s in Christ — together, we are the pillars that hold up God’s kingdom.

However we choose to confront the Caesars of our world, we must always centre our love for God and one another in our actions. This can mean letting our hearts break at the injustice all around us — remember, we are called to be vulnerable! — but it also means means finding and creating opportunities to speak out and stand up for justice; equipping one another with the skills to do so; and lifting each other up in support when those opportunities come.

Let me tell you a story about one such situation.

On June 15, only a few weeks ago, the Pride festival in Hamilton, Ontario was confronted by a group of right-wing agitators carrying giant banners with homophobic messages, shouting slurs, and threatening physical violence. Shamefully, many of these people had the gall to call themselves Christian, using our faith as justification for their hatred and aggression. 

Hamilton police, for their part, did very little to protect the Pride marchers. 

(By the way, I’ve tried to rely on firsthand accounts of this situation wherever possible.)

What did happen at Hamilton Pride was this: after a similar encounter a few weeks earlier in Dunville, Ontario, where homophobes and counter-demonstrators spent six whole hours trying to drown each other out, an affinity group formed in Hamilton with a new plan. They built a thirty-foot-wide, nine-foot-tall barrier out of black cloth, practiced moving it around as a team — and when the right-wing agitators showed up, the affinity group moved their barrier into position and physically blocked the agitators off from the rest of the festival. They intentionally did not raise their fists to strike at anyone.

But — they still got beat up. As the original members of the affinity group dragged themselves away from the fists and helmets of these right-wing bullies, they looked around to see people they didn’t even know rushing to the scene and keeping the barrier standing. The barrier, incredibly, remained intact until the police arrived a full hour later, escorting the troublemakers out of the park with their hateful signs in tatters. 

Community. We lay down our lives for one another.

When asked why the police didn’t get there sooner, an eyewitness reportedly heard the officer respond, “Don’t you remember we weren’t invited to Pride? We’re just going to stand here, not my problem”. [x]

There are, of course, many more layers to this story than I have time to get into here. But the ongoing aftermath of this situation is worth talking about. 

The queer community in Hamilton was furious and disappointed, if unsurprised. Remember that there is a decades-long history of criminalization and persecution of queer communities by police, and of police turning a blind eye to homophobic and transphobic violence. That tension doesn’t go away overnight, and it is still very much with us today.

A few days later, a local queer activist named Cedar Hopperton was arrested, purportedly because being present at Hamilton Pride had violated their parole conditions related to a previous act of civil disobedience. (Like me, Cedar goes by the pronouns “they” and “them”.)

But here’s the thing: according to eyewitnesses, Cedar wasn’t part of that incident at Pride. They had stayed at home, where their friends came to them for support and first aid following the confrontation. When Cedar got access to the paperwork associated with their case, it focused almost exclusively on a public speech they had given at City Hall in the wake of the events. 

And while they had been heavily critical of how Hamilton police have repeatedly let their community down, they framed their criticism with a prophetic statement: 

“...what I am interested in is building community around people who [have] a desire to build a shared idea of the world they actually want to live in. I feel like that’s a higher bar [which] is worth working towards.” [x]

That is what those seventy disciples were sent out to find: The Kingdom of Heaven is near. Another world is possible.

In response to this and what would become at least four other arrests of queer community members, along with frantic attempts to save face by the police and by City Hall, the local activist community decided to go straight to the mayor. In a wonderful example of non-violent protest, some twenty people “dressed in gay masquerade attire” showed up on the mayor’s front lawn early on a Friday morning, and spent fifteen minutes making a ridiculous racket while planting hot pink lawn signs that read “The Mayor Doesn’t Care About Queer People”. 

Within an hour, the same mayor who had largely refused to comment on the issue of right-wing agitators harassing and assaulting people at a Pride festival was in the news decrying the lawn sign action as a “violent attack”, and vowing that the perpetrators would be prosecuted to the full extent of the law.

That afternoon, one of the organizers of the lawn sign action found herself cornered by no less than eight police cars. After being brought in for questioning, she was escorted by officers with assault rifles to the central police station, where she was held overnight. 

Only one of the right-wing agitators has since been arrested. The mayor, in a stunningly oblivious move, concluded the day by issuing a boilerplate supportive statement about the fiftieth anniversary of the Stonewall Riots.

The organizer who was arrested following the lawn sign action (who has chosen to remain anonymous) had some insightful words that I’d like to share with you. For me, they may as well have been spoken by an apostle in the first century. She said:

“[This is] about us as a community getting stronger — and them being afraid of that. We know [that] because within five hours they mobilized an investigation, manhunt and takedown. We know because they confront us with shaking hands and assault rifles. We know because they [subsequently] responded to a queer dance party with eighty officers on a Friday night. We see it when they make desperate arrests; [like] Cedar for a speech at city hall.” [x]

Because when we start to make a dent in the facade of unjust power, the mask slips, and the true cruelty and desperation of the people at the top gets revealed; just like the crucifixion of Jesus laid bare the horror that the Roman Empire was capable of. And yet, in ways that we do not yet fully understand, we are told that Jesus performed one last radical act of turning the tables; using that humiliating, commonplace death as a jumping-off point into the coldest, darkest reaches of the cosmos, where he sowed the love of God into the very ground of the universe.

Our anonymous lawn sign activist continues: 

“In that, we can also acknowledge something else; we are winning. They are afraid of us and what we can do. They are embarrassed. They are losing ground.”

This takes us right back to Holy Week — when the authorities start planning Jesus’ arrest in the wake of the non-violent protest march that we remember as Palm Sunday, because they’re afraid he’ll incite the people to rebellion. When we start to successfully seek justice and resist evil, the powers that be, propelled by self-interest and sustained by systems of cruel inequality, are terrified.

She concludes with this wonderful statement of commission — and I’d like to think it can be our commission too:

“So let’s keep this up. Let’s keep getting into ... public spaces. … Challenging the things that harm us — even when they are institutional and systemic. … Let’s build towards the world we want to see – and share and learn those skills together. … Not just every four years — [I would add, not just every Sunday] — but every single day”.

Amen. 

July 7, 2019 (Confirmation Sunday) — St. Andrew’s United Church, Halifax

Selected further reading:

Center for Action and Contemplation, “Consumed with Love”

Queer Theology podcast, “A Community of Care”

Rethinking Religion, “Buddhists Don’t Have to Be Nice: Avoiding Idiot Compassion”

[mschelseastone]

For as long as I can remember, I’ve known my grandpa was a child molester. Now he’s dead, and I have no idea how to mourn.

I knew my grandpa was a child molester before I knew what that really meant. When I was told he had raped children, I thought it meant he hit someone over the head with a rake. However, it didn’t matter that I fully understood from the start, because I knew that 1) my parents would never, ever leave me alone with him and 2) I needed to be careful around him.

He knew that I knew, and he understood why I knew. Unlike many abusers, he owned up to what he had done. I know for a fact that he apologized to his main victim and told her it wasn’t her fault. Until the end, he knew there was a dark part of him that had done horrible things, and it was important to him to be a good person now in an attempt to make up for it.

For me, there is a benefit to seeing the good in him, even though he was a child molester. That said, I know some people refuse to see humanity in people who do such things, because, in their mind, they don’t deserve the humanity after what they did. I completely understand that, and I have zero urge to change the mind of those people. Still, for me, I need to see both sides.

He has taken responsibility for his actions to at least one of his victims. He has taken an active role in numerous churches throughout the years (he was a preacher for some time), and many people have said he helped them in that way. He and his wife took in and raised numerous grandchildren when their parents could not. And, he was one of the first people to accept someone in my family that is transgender and call that person by the proper pronouns.

There are many wonderful things he did in his life, and I’m so glad he was able to do these things. After he died, I wrote on my Instagram:

“Thank you for trying so hard to be good, even when so much of you had been bad. Thank you for the good things you did do.”

Still, I refuse to let his bad side be a footnote. I don’t think the bad side of people always needs to be remembered after death – we all have flaws – but this is different. This is child molestation.

With one of his victim’s permission, I will reveal that I know her well. She’s my mom. His daughter.

I hate, more than anything, that this happened to her. Her life was permanently affected and harmed by his actions, and it kills me. I don’t want to erase the good things he did, and I’m not trying to ruin his legacy. Still, we cannot ignore what he did. He molested children. His own daughter. He did not forget, and neither can we.

But what do I do with this knowledge? What do I do with the memory of him in my mind? What do I do now that he’s gone?

I always want to assign meaning to things. This happened, but I learned this from it, so it had a purpose. What is there to learn from this? Maybe there’s nothing, and maybe that’s okay. Still, I need to cope with it. How do I cope? How do I reconcile these competing feelings? This feeling of missing a loving old man, and this feeling of hating the younger version of that man.

(Full disclosure: I’m in therapy, and my therapist is helping me with these feelings, of course. That said, I’m a writer, and writing it out is also necessary for me. So here I am.)

My grandpa’s funeral was by far the most disturbing funeral I’ve ever attended, and it, surprisingly, has little to do with the fact that he molested children. Both of my father’s parents passed away when I was a teenager, so this was the third grandparent’s funeral I’ve attended. I flew in from California to attend and be with my family. The funeral was important to me. I wanted to hear stories about him, and I wanted to hear about the positive impact he had on others. I wanted that small feeling of closure that I’ve previously gotten from funerals.

I didn’t get that, because this funeral was a recruitment for the church my grandpa had attended in the last ten years of his life. It’s hard to talk about this, because, honestly, it was incredibly disturbing to me. I was shaking during the funeral. I’ve had stress dreams about it. I’m full of anger when I remember the funeral. I feel like closure was stolen from me.

My grandpa was incredibly religious, so I absolutely expected religion to be a large part of his funeral. In fact, I wanted that for him. I find that religion can be incredibly peaceful to discuss. Personally, I am not religious, but I absolutely see, respect, and appreciate the benefit of religion for those who are religious. Additionally, I believe that the majority of churches would not have done something like this. This is not something where I am now upset with religion in general; I am upset with the preacher of this one specific church. The members of that congregation were incredibly kind to us, so I hold nothing against them either. Just him.

On an unrelated note, I have huge problems with cults, churches with dangerous practices, and closed-mindedness, but that’s not the current topic of discussion.

The funeral had a few good moments, but all of them came from other people telling stories about my grandpa. One of my cousins went up and spoke, and I’m so happy that he did that. You could see his love for our grandpa. You could see how my grandpa positively affected him. I love that, and I think many of us needed that.

The rest of the funeral consisted of the preacher trying to get us to go to his church. He told us that many of us would never see my grandpa again, because my grandpa will be in Heaven, and we don’t have a good enough relationship with Jesus to go to Heaven. He raised his voice at us and yelled at us for not doing enough to go to Heaven. He told us that my grandpa had given him the names of immediate family members that he worried would go to Hell, and, if we think our name was one of them, we need to talk to him [the preacher] immediately. He even made us all close our eyes and raise our hands if what he had said made us want to attend his church. The entire thing felt like being lectured for not being a member of his congregation. At the very least, we were being yelled at and demeaned for not being good enough. It was disturbing and upsetting.

If he wants to preach that way at his church, I’m cool with it. No one is forced to go to his church, as far as I can tell. That said, this was a funeral, and his method hurt me a lot.

Now, I’m not going to pretend to be perfect. We had food at the preacher’s church after the funeral, and I called a lady a cunt in that House of God. Is that out of character for me? Yes. I like the word cunt, but I don’t normally say it to people’s faces. But hey, shit happens. I called a lady a cunt in that church, and I think she deserved it. I’d do it again.

(It’s a long story, but the “cunt” was a distant family member who told my aunt – my grandpa’s legally adopted daughter – that she had no right being at the funeral. My aunt, who my grandpa loved and was happy to see and spend time with every time she came to visit. My aunt, who was crying throughout the funeral, heartbroken. This “cunt” tried to start drama at my grandpa’s funeral by hurting my aunt. She was a cunt, and I wasn’t having it. I’ve worked through therapy to become very good at communication. I’ve worked to not be “reactive” and immediately act on any anger I may feel. But hey, you act like a cunt to my family when we’re going through some shit, and I may call you a cunt in a church. Sorry, but I’m truly not sorry.)

I’m not religious, but if there’s a God, I believe he’s full of love. If there’s a God, I have no doubt in my mind that he would love me and would consider me a good person. I have plenty of flaws, but I try incredibly hard to help and love and understand others. I want to make the world a better place. It’s my goal in life. I don’t believe in God or Heaven, but if those things exist…you know, I’m not worried about it. Because God wouldn’t care that I didn’t believe. He would care about my heart, and he would know my heart without me having to praise Jesus every Sunday. (Again, if you praise Jesus every Sunday and that works for you – yay!! I would never judge that. Live with love and respect, and we’re good. Religion is not for me, and I find that most religious people respect that, and I hope anyone reading this will respect that too.)

The preacher who led the funeral said my grandpa had told him what he [my grandpa] had done in the past, but that it didn’t matter. The preacher said that all sins are the same. If you’ve sinned, but you love Jesus (particularly the way he believes you should love Jesus), you’re going to Heaven. If you’re good, but don’t love Jesus or worship God – see you in hell! I’m paraphrasing, but that was the message of the funeral.

I don’t think my grandpa actually believed that. I don’t think he would have liked the message delivered during his funeral, even if he sat in church every Sunday and heard something similar himself. I interviewed my grandpa after his diagnosis, and one of my favorite quotes that came from that interview was this:

“You know, the doctrinal church I don’t like. I like the bible church. The bible church is where I read it and interpret it, and the lord shows me what’s real. I think a lot of times, with church today, they got too many laws. They’re still living old testament laws and not living new testament love.”

This brings me back to the fact that my grandpa was a child molester. He didn’t forget that, and we can’t forget it either. Another quote from the interview was this:

“My story is hard to fathom what – you know – I just can’t see any good. Whenever I – I’ll give you something here, I haven’t shared with anyone. I’ll share it now, because you asked. In December of this year, whenever – before I found out about what’s going on with the cancer and everything – I had a thought in my head – what value am I? Who would miss me if I was gone? That was in December. And then, this came up December 31st. I’ve seen that now. That I’d be missed.”

I do miss him. I wish he could have lived longer. I wish he wouldn’t have gotten cancer. I wish he could be at my wedding in two years. I wish he could have come to California to see the ocean again before he died. Still, seeing only good things about him in his death disturbs me. I can’t say it enough: I cannot and will not forget what he did.

Shortly after my grandpa’s diagnosis of stage four cancer, another bombshell dropped, but I can’t reveal that at this time. Let’s just say, it somehow complicates things EVEN MORE.

I don’t know what to do with this situation. I don’t know how to mourn him and his life in the way that works best for me. Child molestation is incredibly prominent. I’m not knowledgeable on the statistics, but I know that I’ve met a LOT of people affected by it. I don’t know what to do about it, but I know it has affected me and people I love (though, fortunately, it didn’t happen to me), and I know I need to talk about this. I just don’t know what to say.

He was a complicated man. I feel like that is accurate, but also a complete understatement. I don’t want to diminish what he did. He’s a rapist. He’s a child rapist. He’s not just complicated, it’s much deeper than that. I don’t want to erase that. I don’t want the message of this to be like “well, we’re all complicated, and I mean, sure, he raped kids, but he said sorry!” It isn’t okay.

So, is it okay to somehow still see him as a human? Not for some people, and I get that. It’s difficult for me to do so, because seeing child molesters and murderers as human feels dangerous. But it also feels dangerous to ignore it – because then, you look at someone who does legitimately wonderful things, and it feels impossible that they could have done bad things. They donate money to charities. They helped you through the hardest part of your life. But then, you learn that they’ve done something unforgiveable. How do we appreciate the good while still recognizing that people can do (and sometimes have done) unforgiveable things? How do we recognize the humanity without diminishing the crime?

I don’t know the right balance. I don’t know the answer to this problem.

So, what have I learned? Has this taught me something that I can use in my life going forward? I can’t answer the questions in the above paragraphs, but I know they’re worth discussing. I believe we need to talk about this and recognize the complexity of it. We need to look into this so that hopefully we can do something about something. We need to talk about these things.

Still, I always want a concrete answer or lesson learned, even though I recognize, logically, that there isn’t always an answer or lesson learned. I want to be able to say “so, let’s talk about it, and then we can ______!” But I don’t have something to put in that blank.

I interviewed my grandpa in his final months, and I loved talking to him. When we talked, I put together a timeline of the events in his life. I’m so happy I have that. He talked about being hospitalized in a mental institution in his youth, before his first marriage. We talked about how mental health treatment has improved greatly in recent years and how important that is. That conversation meant a lot to me. I told him, for the first time, about my mental issues (diagnosed OCD and general anxiety – treated with therapy and medication). He told me how some of his mental behaviors had been focused on obsession as well. I love that we had that conversation. We bonded over that, and I will always cherish that conversation.

He also told me that he was proud of me. He was proud of me for chasing my dreams and never settling. He told me that I did things right, unlike him. I started college at 16 and ended up with a Bachelor’s Degree at 20. Then I moved to Los Angeles, literally days after my graduation, and I’ve been here since, pursuing a writing career. He started college at 16, dropped out, joined the military, and ended up in a mental institution.

I truly believe I was successful where he was not because of how mental health is treated today compared to how it was back then in the late 50s and early 60s. I had advantages that he did not.

That said – he molested children. That’s another level. I don’t know how to fit that into the mental health discussion. I don’t know how to reconcile any of it.

The last words he said to me were “I have a beautiful granddaughter.” I cry when I think about it. I cry when I think about him being proud of me. I cry because I miss him.

These are the things on my mind right now. A part of me wants to keep searching for answers to my questions. I want to read what others have written about these ideas. I want to try to solve it like it’s a math problem. Another part of me wants to leave it on the page and free myself from thinking about it all.

I’m not sure which way I’ll end up going.

I know this though: I’m allowing myself to love who he was in his later years, even though I remain disgusted by the actions of his youth. I haven’t found the best way for me to balance those two things, but I’m working on it. I know he loved me. I know he saw good in me. I know, because he told me.

I also know he wasn’t sitting on his porch giving his preacher the names of family members he thinks are going to Hell so that his preacher could shame them later.

Chelsea

PS. This felt out of place in the post above, but I can’t help but mention that this year has been a lot to handle in general. In addition to the above, my fiancé and I also both lost our consistent jobs this year, and I’m in more debt than ever. Also, a month before my grandpa passed away, my step-grandpa committed suicide. I wasn’t close with him, but he and I shared a love of Harry Potter, and I will miss him.

Fortunately, wonderful things have happened too. I got engaged to the love of my life. I’m tangibly making progress on the project that I hope will finally get me to break into the entertainment industry as a legitimate screenwriter. My fiancé is getting closer to achieving his dreams. I have spent valuable and meaningful time with my friends and family, and I love that.

PPS. I used to do background acting to make money, so a lot of my family members assume I’m an aspiring actress. I also did a semester of theater in college, but that was because of my dance background. Anyway, if you’re reading this – I love you, but I’ve never ever ever been an aspiring actress. However, I am a writer! I’ve been writing since I was 5 years old, and I’d love to tell you about that passion. Yay! I know this isn’t necessary to mention or related really, at all, but it’s a pet peeve of mine – I love writing so much, and it hurts that some people think it’s a second choice or something. Actors are awesome, it just isn’t for me. Hey! Like religion!

PPPS. If you try to tell me that religion can help me through what I’m going through, you didn’t get the point of all of this. I love that religion helps others! I respect that it is for you. That said, I know myself, and it isn’t for me. Please respect that.

[kae-karo]

things i’m grateful for

okay preface: i hate the reason thanksgiving was invented ofc but i do love the concept of taking a day to sit back and remind myself of the things in my life that i’m grateful for so here we go (and pls i encourage y’all to take some time and do the same) anyway feel free to read below the cut if y’all want way too much insight into my personal life lmao

my friends

without question, my experience both in the phandom and like in life in general has so massively improved thanks to these lovely people and i can’t say i’d be as happy a person as i am without them

of course my incredible gcs (jolly best friends and dickmates, “moderate sex references”, we have goldfish memories, katashen, and the gc that always changes names lmao) and the lovelies in them @thereisnobearonthisisland @philsroots @uselessphillie @daliensgrandads @severaltortillascollector @dnptrqsh @dip-and-pip-trash @transhowell @dreamdilddy @hey-itskxt @dreamdilddy @freckliephil @philsdrill @phloridas @lovestillaround @legdabs @amczingphil @phantasieslide @maanjha @manialester @sleeplessnightwithphan @phandumb @imnotinclinedtomaturity @auroraphilealis @ineverywordisay @glitterydanandphil @kerasines @workinprogress91 @merridewhoo @natigail @swissfuckingcheesegdi @phastelpink​ @stick-it-to-the-phan @phanarchy

my dearest friends irl with whom i never spend enough time and often bail on bc i’m tired of existing around people, but who never fail to be lovely and kind and wonderful friends anyway. i’ve known them for eight years now and i am so lucky to have found them and to still be friends with them

a very good friend of mine who taught me everything i know about customer service and just being a diligent person (she’s also literally the reason i link everything so uhh thank her lmao) who i consider my lesbian big sister and who i’ve been so so lucky to get to reconnect with and will get the opportunity to work with starting in december and who even remembered one of my fave bands like after literally two years when i only mentioned them one time i love her

my family

whomst thank fuck are not on this hellsite but i love them all dearly

my sister who’s like still figuring her life out and doing a way better job of deciding what she enjoys doing than i ever did and like she’s younger than me but it’s a constant lesson that hey look it’s good to be true to yourself and do what you want. and i’m so grateful that we don’t fight the way we used to, that we’re like partners in crime and that she actually likes spending time with me and thank god she’s not gonna see this bc she thinks i get too sappy sometimes but i gotta make up for hiding her glasses when we were younger and literally forgetting about them for two weeks okay <3

my parents who have always been steadfast supporters even when they don’t love my choices. without them, i wouldn’t be where i am today, i wouldn’t have the level of independence i do today, and honestly i wouldn’t have learned to find the strength to follow my own path. i also can’t thank them enough for supporting even when they don’t understand, like they literally do not understand dnp but my dad found out they were doing ii and asked if i would want tickets for christmas and my mom always asks about my writing

my grandma who, bless her soul, has been completely alone without my grandpa for two years now, after having been with him since she was sixteen, who reminded me (unintentionally) that people who are suffering from mental health issues (she’s had depression for years now) can so greatly benefit from having someone reach out. i’m grateful for our weekly calls where we just catch up, because sometimes i go for a year without seeing her in person (usually just for the holidays) and it’s good to know how things are going with her. i’m also eternally grateful to her for reminding me that people are just people. my parents often talk about her as if she’s some one-dimensional character who only has a handful of (negative) personality traits, and it’s nice to get to know her on my own

the rest of my extended family, who, although i’m not nearly as close to, are still always fun to see during the holidays, and i’m immensely grateful that i don’t have the kind of family that i dread seeing. there’s always entertainment, overflowing alcohol (not that i partake, but everyone else has a fuckin blast with it), and laughter and although i occasionally feel a bit outside the circle (lots of cousins getting married/in relationships/etc and uhhh can’t relate lmao) i never fail to look forward to seeing everyone

y’all

yeah ik it’s cheesy but i do really appreciate y’all so much? like. i just read this note i made to myself abt something unrelated a year ago but i’d offhand mentioned that i was so so thrilled to have almost a hundred people following me. like it just blew my mind that so many people were interested in what i had to say, in my writing at the time, etc. and now,,,,,i mean. jfc i can’t even begin to fathom what i must’ve done to deserve all of y’all, and to deserve you all being so kind. like since the minute i joined tumblr i saw/heard horror stories of mean anons, of people being rude for the sake of it, etc etc. and like. of the literal thousands of asks i’ve gotten, i can count on one hand the number of even vaguely unkind ones. it just makes me so immensely happy to know that such lovely, kind people want to participate in this blog. so please know that i appreciate the existence of every single one of you not just uwu bc u follow me and that’s what i’m supposed to say or w.e but bc you’re out here making a positive impact on the world and on me, and you’re the kind of lovely person that i’m so glad i have the pleasure of existing alongside

dnp

¯\_(ツ)_/¯ u knew it was coming, but honestly i am grateful to them as people

they set such fantastic examples for how to be good humans, constantly donating their time to good causes, reminding us to take care of ourselves, and doing their best to figure themselves out which yes is so incredibly important bc it’s this amazing example of how people aren’t any perfect shiny version of themselves, they’re real and raw and imperfect and that’s why we love them???? and by extension, that teaches us self love and love for others

that’s another thing i really didn’t realize at first - how much self-hatred i was harboring, how much internalized homophobia (toward myself! never others) and how much i just accepted about the world (heteronormativity, misogyny, the lack of diversity in media, the list goes on) and a lot of things said by both dnp and by the phandom have helped open my eyes to things like that. and dnp helped me realize that being ace isn’t a bad thing??? which was such a horrible thing i’d held onto for years and years

so i’m so grateful to dnp for existing, for being who they are and how they are and for encouraging the wonderful kindness and acceptance that they want to see in the world

my therapist

and to daniel and depression for convincing me to see one. i’ve let go of a lot of the baggage i was holding onto over the time i’ve been seeing my therapist and i’m grateful to her for, well, doing her job. and for doing it well, and for asking the questions that i didn’t think to ask, to get at things i didn’t think about before. and for reminding me (not directly, but by virtue of her existence) that honesty is one of the most important things to me

my job

or just generally the jobs i’ve had over the years that force me to interact with people, because it’s taught me that nobody’s ever angry or upset for no reason, and that people who are angry or upset and mean are not mean because they’re actually trying to be vicious but because they’re suffering in some way. so it’s a daily reminder to treat everyone with kindness and not take things personally, because ultimately most people are not intentionally vicious people. and i’m grateful to my job for reminding me how meaningful it is to me to help others

#privilegecheck

i think it’s important at this point that i stop and remind myself that i was born with a lot of privilege that makes my life immensely easy compared to others. i’m grateful for my upbringing and the ways that i’ve benefited from my privilege, but i need to acknowledge that i have benefited. not everyone is as lucky, and i need to be mindful of that in the things i do and say, and in the actions i choose to take, and - when i can - i should be using my privilege to help others

and finally, my greatest of thanks goes out to the fic writers, the gif makers, the edit makers, the phan artists, and all the other lovely people who make this community so wonderful

[spookyspacepixels]

I’m sorry this will probably be an annoying post for many of my followers, especially because I should be posting art but I feel like I need to rant about this

I hate how some people just acting so ridiculously negative towards the idea of safe space related things existing. I’m thinking about this because I just overheard some people on the news talking about that cry closet thing thing popping up in colleges. Don’t get me wrong, I personally think the concept is very strange, especially because students can instead be going to councilors or therapists to help resolve their issues and stresses. But this guy was talking about how the colleges and the colleges students that might use it are embarrassments to the U.S. or some bullshit like that and how no one should be crying over anything except the death of a loved one and I’m just so tired of people thinking this way, especially about young adults. 

Obviously people should try to improve how they handle their emotions but college, high school, and other adults constantly tell young adults and teens about how the world is so competitive and that if we don’t do extremely well in school they will never have the lives they want and everything will suck. This stresses almost everybody who cares about their futures at least to some extent and makes a lot of people feel extremely stressed about stuff like grades and their futures being ruined by how they do in school and college. The thought of adulthood, paying fees, jobs,  and living on one’s own are also stressful in general. There is also a lot of crazy shit going on in the U.S., which makes a lot of young adults especially worry about the future. Not to mention there are a lot of stresses related to specifically certain individuals, such as strict or abusive relationships, struggles in family, and struggles relating to identity, including the discrimination and oppression that might be faced as a result of being a certain way. This is all amplified greatly by those who struggle with bad anxiety, depression, and of the like. And yet instead of feeling sympathy for those who are stressed and promoting healthy ways to deal with it some people instead choose to shame and guilt anyone who expresses any anxiety or sadness towards anything, promoting hiding all emotions inside and letting it built up in an unhealthy manner, making them probably feeling even worse about themselves, and overall acting very shitty. 

It’s almost as if these people somehow have never felt stress or fear in their entire lives and somehow can’t fathom the idea of someone having a different emotional state and conditions than them. I’m just getting really tired of this attitude and I just wish that people would be more considerate towards anyone who might need some kind of safe space and try to promote healthier emotional habits instead of belittling them as if somehow that’s gonna make those people suddenly not feel the way they do.

TLDR: Im so tired of this attitude of “welcome to the real world!!!” and of people being “special snowflakes” towards people who use safe spaces and feel anxiety, sadness, or stress clearly over anything, especially towards young adults. Belittling people for having some kind of emotional issues or being a certain way isn’t going to make them magically become the better person of your image. It’s just makes people feel worse about themselves and I wish people would instead be more considerate to people and promote healthy ways to handle any struggles people have.

[callincalypso]

An unsent letter to Si-woo; Task 2

To Si-woo,

I’d like to imagine your first question upon reading this is not why I’m writing to you in such a way or writing at all, but instead why I chose not to begin this with ‘Dear father’. Or dad, whichever you like to imagine I’d say, as we’ve always blatantly ignored what actually happened in favor of our own twisted version. I’m distracting myself. I did not begin this with dear because I don’t believe you have any place near enough to my heart to be given a term of endearment. As I’m writing this it’s been three years since I’ve seen hide nor hair of you and it has possibly been the most revealing three years of my life. 

It’s difficult to decide where to begin this... or how to express myself adequately to you. Maybe it would be best with a simple explanation as to why my life has changed so drastically. First was the move to the United States, second and primarily was my diagnosis of bipolar disorder. I’m now imagining you gasped, or at the least made a face of disdain. But yes, it’s not nearly as severe as moms was, and I’m taking medicine for it and seeing a therapist. That’s the third, my therapist. I can’t say I’m a huge fan but they’ve made me realize a lot.

Primarily my issue with you. I don’t think it’s ever been a secret that since you put mom into that place I haven’t held you in high regard. I want you to understand, truly from the depths of me, I have tried to forgive you. But from the moment I started visiting mom on my own, taking the hour-long bus ride to see her just about every day, sometimes waiting even longer, or just waiting in the family room for hours hoping she could somehow feel that I was there for her, I think my capacity to care for you was rendered useless. I saw her slowly wither away despite all of my hopes and all of my efforts to keep her on the tangible plain of existence. I comforted her when she would break down, and I had no answers when she asked why she couldn’t be enough.

Sometimes I let myself daydream about what life could have been if you cared enough about your wife the same way I cared about my mother at thirteen.  And then I remember that daydreams are the root of all evil, and can give way to a festering feeling of the destruction emotion of hope. I have no hope you will see why I left, or why I began to become the way I became. I will admit, and this is an apology, partially. I apologize for being so thoughtless, and quite frankly self-destructive. To you, I am apologizing because maybe if I had tried to reach out instead of closing you off we could be under different circumstance right now. That is not the case, and for that, I am sorry. 

I’m not sorry for the abhorrence that is directed towards you. You didn’t try, it wasn’t my job as a child to care for my mother. It was yours and you failed, you let her waste away in a hospital and you let your son get pushed to the side for your new love. Now, don’t be mistaken, I’m not only angry at you for what happened to mom, but what happened to me. I can’t let myself be happy with anyone since my diagnosis. I have a fear that I will become mom, and that someone will become to me what you were to her. I don’t want to be her, nor do I want anyone to become you. I don’t want to find happiness only to be left distraught and twisted in pain from being left behind as though I mean nothing, as though I am nothing. 

I don’t know if I can ever recover from the effects of being raised the way I was, though try I will. I also don’t know if I’ll ever truly be free from the effects of things out of your control. I don’t know a lot of things, and that I can admit without worry. But I do know some things. I know that I am better off without your judgment, that I am better alone. I know that no matter how hard you try it’s likely you will always lay in bed and before you drift off into sleep be met with the terrifying guilt that comes with moms fate. I know this because I too face the same feeling. The difference is I can sleep knowing I tried. I pray you are kept awake by the ever consuming guilt for the pain you know you caused her. 

She was sick yes, but far sicker than she ever had to be. I talked to her doctors after her passing. They informed me she could have been on medication and sent home nearly immediately after her arrival to them. I am unsure if you knew this fact, but the odds are incredibly against you for this one. Maybe one day you will apologize, not to me but to her. But if I held my breath for that I’d be long dead before my time, and it’d be in hope, something I refuse to feel. 

I write this to inform you, you will never be forgiven, at least not by me. And to tell you just how much happier I am out of your grip. In part to maybe knock you off of that pedestal you have so fondly placed yourself on and envision is a fact for everyone else. No one sees you in a very positive light. Much less the person you consider yourself in love with now, or her son. You will surely get what is coming, be it soon or in decades to come. Karma is not a punishment, but to keep balance. You put so much negativity out, there is no fathomable way for you to live a life until your death in peace. To never hear from me again, you will get, but think of me everytime you do something you know is wrong.

For the final time, from Jeong.

[foreverxdaydreaming]

my quotes:

perhaps the reason I've usually been a quiet person is because the thoughts in my head do all the screaming..  (?/?/??)

I don’t know, I just.. ugh, god do I love you. And it sucks, yet it’s great. Because celebrity crushes don’t ever hurt you in the same way that real ones do. (7/18/17; revised 6/9/18)

I was a butterfly; flying free, spreading love and beauty warmth. But then you decided I was a moth; misguiding me to the light, smiling as you watched me burn. (7/18/17; edited 6/9/18)

i saw myself a butterfly. peaceful, loving, graceful, kind. but you saw me a moth. dirty, ugly, irritating, nuisance. then one day, i thought i'd flown into the light, thinking of bliss.. only to find out you'd set up a moth lamp, and the light burned me inside out. i cried out for help but you just laughed and told me struggling would only hurt worse, to just hold on until it would all soon be over. only you didn't know i wasn't a moth, nor a butterfly. i was a phoenix, arising from the ashes, stronger than ever before. and you, a mere fool, seeking redemption in the very light you let consume your soul. -Metaphorical Metamorphosis 🐛 (7/18/17)

they saw me crying and said they were sorry for my loss, but little did they know the person i lost was myself. (6/9/18)

Did I ever really love you? Or was I so fascinated by the pretty delusions that I refused to accept reality? (6/14/18)

To some, existence itself is a miracle. But to others, life is but a living nightmare. (6/14/18)

Demons aren’t always hideous, ten feet tall, fire-breathing creatures... sometimes they’re the people you loved the most, or even the voice in your head... (6/14/18)

Writing is a form of art, and I’ve always wanted to hone my skills. But sadly, I’m about as good an artist as I am a unicorn... (6/14/18)

Maybe I’m so fascinated by fantasy worlds and superheroes to escape my own mind... they give me a chance to pretend I’m someone stronger and cooler than I’ll ever be... (6/14/18)

Rain is fascinating. It helps sustain life, sounds relaxing, looks pretty rolling down windows, but most of all.. the rain reminds me of all the hidden tears within my shattered soul. (6/14/18; revised 7/4/18)

My body yearns for what it cannot reach.. My mind yearns for what cannot be seen.. My soul longs for that which cannot satisfy.. And yet, my heart yearns for that which can never be.. (6/14/18)

I’ve cried so much my tears may as well be an ocean, therefore I might as well be a mermaid amongst the sea. (6/14/18; revised 7/4/18)

The demons in my head scream so loud I can barely hear myself think anymore. (6/14/18)

Did I lose myself or did parts of myself just die along the way? (6/14/18)

How long did I ignore the pain for that I didn’t realize the cracks until I’d fully broken apart? (6/14/18)

Perhaps in death, the answers we could not seek throughout out lives may lie.. (6/14/18)

I used to cry at the thought of you, now I laugh at the sight of you. (6/14/18)

It’s become to troublesome to keep even a handful of people in my life at this point. Guess I’ll just stick to tv show characters instead of making new friends, they hurt me less. They can’t truly disappoint me if they’re not even real. (6/14/18; revised 7/6/18)

Life’s a pain when nearly everyone you trust just makes you not want to bother with people anymore. (6/14/18)

If I could meet myself... would I like her? Would I befriend her? Or would I fight with her the way I fight with myself, and never speak once more? (6/14/18)

The strongest battles I’ve ever fought... have always been with myself. (6/14/18)

I remember what it was like, wanting to die.. Strange, how it never truly went away. It just sort of subsided into my subconscious, waiting for the next round.. (6/14/18)

Not friends, nor family, nor therapist can help me.. I must do that myself. All they can do is guide me towards the tools to do so. But when you keep trying and failing.. sometimes you wonder what’s really worth it.. should I endure more or just give up? (6/14/18; revised 7/4/18)

It’s terrifying, not knowing what day you might snap and do something irreversible (to yourself). (6/14/18)

Sleep is both a paradise and a hell. It depends on what lies in wait beyond the passage of consciousness. Dreams and resting well are but a miracle; but more often than not, the nightmares feel like there’s nowhere left to run. (6/14/18; revised 7/4/18)

Am I capable of love? Will I ever be? Or am I destined to lust and hurt, with never much thought nor romantic interest? (6/14/18; revised 7/6/18)

What is happiness? The thought feels so utterly abstract.. I cannot even fathom it. The memories of genuine happiness feel so far and forlorn. There are better days, the usual days, bad days, and... /those/ days. /Those/ days are too often now... I miss when even my worst days didn’t feel this bad... (6/14/18; revised 7/4/18)

If I could turn back the clock and meet my younger self... I would give her so much advice. To speak up, to act out, to stop being a doormat and start living life. Maybe then... things could be different now. (6/14/18)

Would anything change if I could go back? Or was I predestined to feel this life of loneliness and misery? (6/14/18)

I miss the me who was more confident in herself and never cared about other people... how can I bring her back? (6/14/18)

I don’t hate people as much as I pretend to, I’m just scared of getting hurt and abused again. / Some days, it seems as though that’s all people like to do. (7/4/18)

Being someone who lives in a world sewn of deceit and pain is difficult when your deepest desires are laced with butterflies and sunshine. (7/4/18)

I do not seek to intentionally hurt people, not unless I feel wronged. After all, hell hath no fury like a Scorpio woman scorned. (7/4/18)

Love and trust feel great until the wrong person screws it up and poisons your kindness. Not every cruel soul began as thus, some were formed by hands not their own. (7/4/18)

They say one bad apple can ruin the bunch, but what can you do when you’re viewed as one without having gone bad? (7/4/18)

Power is one hell of a drug and jealousy is one hell of a killer. Nothing destroys you more than the sins such as arrogance and vanity. (7/4/18)

To pity yourself but never help another is to be the biggest arse whilst expecting love. You must first give what you so hope to get. (7/4/18)

Never put all your eggs in one basket; an ally today may be an enemy tomorrow. For how will you make an omelette to survive if you’ve no eggs and thy neighbor has a double supply? (7/4/18)

Keep your friends close and your enemies closer, they say.. but what can you do when those you trusted were the ones who’d planted the knife instead? How does one explain a murder they set themselves up for? (7/4/18)

[fairycosmos]

lmao im actually so desperate to die im considering swallowing two peach pits just to see if i will choke to death because nothing else ive tried has worked so far . you know what my life doesnt fucking matter ill do it. with my luck it wont work i feel im being punished and thats why i cant die. ill do it. if i dont get back to you something happened but i doubt it. im tired like you said i deserve peace. we do. bye maybe i hope this works this is pathetic but im desperate to die

hey, i'm really sorry to hear you're feeling this way. it seems like you're totally overwhelmed right now and i completely understand how debilitating that can be. i know there's nothing i can do or say that will really change how awful it feels, and you're probably not in the headspace to read all this. but if you ever want to come back to it, it'll be here. maybe you could try some of these grounding exercises, here / here and here beforehand to get you in a place where you can focus a little. it's alright, there's no rush or pressure. i just wanted to say first of all that this is not pathetic in the slightest. sometimes the world gets on top of you and you go througn so much trauma and hurt that it really does feel like giving up is the only option. people can only take so much, and i get it. that's the trick of the suicidal brain though, i think. it uses life's suffering and your own past experiences to convince you that it is always going to be this way. to romanticize death and make it into something it isn't in your head. it is actually very hard to die, as i'm sure you know. and it's not the peaceful option or escape you're looking for, either. and the most paramount thing i want to say is that your life 100% does matter. this was never up for debate. you were born with an inherent worth and it hasn't went away just because you can no longer see it. you honestly can't fathom how you've impacted peoples lives, directly and indirectly, and even just the world itself. you don't have to be anybody but who you are, i promise, the whole point is just having the human experience you're having. you're fulfilling your purpose by existing, no matter how hard it is at times. i think it's a good sign that you reached out to me, i honestly think it shows that you have a lot of self awareness regarding what's going on and that you're truly capable of asking for the help that you need. you're not in a place right now where you can trust your thoughts and feelings, so it's good to seek an objective perspective from somebody else. this state of mind is so transient, it's so intense that it's not built to last. i'm not trying to downplay how unbelievably hard to live with, of course, but it can be freeing to acknowledge that this is not all there is, no matter how difficult it is to endure currently. you deserve to be here and to exist in a way that heals you, no matter what your mind is telling you. there can be a variety of underlying causes for suicidal feelings, and obviously they're very serious issues that need real medical attention in order to begin to overcome. but with that and with time, it is totally possible to learn to live a full live along side all you've been through. even though right now i'm sure that's the lastthhing on earth you want to do.

are you currently working with a mental health professional of any sort? your doctor, a therapist, a support group, even a hotline? if not, i would really urge you to get in touch with them as soon as possible. and if you already are, let them know where your thoughts are at lately so they can focus on upping your level of care. if you're worried about money, there are cost-effective choics available, like finding a therapist who offers a sliding scale price, or looking into mental health resources within your community. i know your brain is probably screaming at you to do the opposite, but i promise any baby step in the right direction is going to pay off. the prospect of reaching out and being honest is a daunting one, and i'm only bringing it up as something to consider at the moment (or when you feel able to) so please don't write it off all together. you don't have to do anything right now, just know you have options. you honestly do. and talking to someone really is not as bad as your brain is probably building it up to be. just like with physical illness, mental illness can be confronted and treated. it's all about learning how to manage your unique mind, and even if it takes a lifetime, it is so possible to lessen the frequency of episodes like this. or to become more prepared for them so they feel less erratic when they do occur. discussing about what you've been through, pinpointing root causes of your suicidal thoughts, learnng how to implement healthy coping mechanisms into your daily routine, building a support system, finding the medication for you if needed - all of this is going to make a tangible difference. it is not going to fix everything, obviously, but it is going to lighten the weight and broaden your perspective on yourself and on living. you deserve to be supported without judgement and with genuine care, you deserve to be listened to. there are a lot of people, professionals or otherwise, even just strangers like me, who are willing to filling that role for you.

idk how it is for you and i won't pretend to, but sometimes suicidal people don't want to lose their lives, they just want to stop living the way they are. with so much chaos and unresolved pain and exhaustion. you don't have to hurt yourself in order to get there. i know when you're in this mindset, any even slightly positive piece of advice just feels impossible to believe. but even if you can't seriously take it on board at the moment, i hope when you're in a more grounded place, you can at least consider as an alternative to absolute hopelessness. you may as well, because you are alive and that is not always going to feel like a curse. it is so hard to believe it, i get that, but it is a fundamental truth. you are in an extremely difficult moment but that is not your whole existence. the future is ever changing, and you've already made it through the past, so the only thing that really matters is this moment. focus on what you need, not what you want, but what you need to do right now to truly self - prioritize. even if that feels like the last thing on earth you want do. if self destruction and self harm was gonna make you feel better, it would've by now. welcome the idea of trying something new, maybe just the notion of attempting to guide yourself through this with a bit of self-compassion. please, if you feel like you are an immediate danger to yourself, please exercise any sense of self preservation/ survival instinct and call the authorities, a hotline or a friend/family member right away. no matter what bullshit your brain is telling you, no matter how heavy your heart is right now . everything is always always always changing and things are going to change beyond recognition, it's the one thing you can count on. you deserve to stick around to see it all, and once you've made the decision to do so, you won't feel so stuck and conflicted anymore. i'm going to leave some links that i think might help a little in this moment, but like i said, please call someone if you feel you can't be alone right now. i'm rooting for u a lot and i really hope you are able do the right thing for yourself. if it's all too hard, focus on getting through the next hour. if that's too much, the next minute. and if that's too much, the next second. break it down into what you can handle and let yourself live. and then just go from there. sending you all my love.

list of hotlines

coping with depression

coping with suicidal thoughts

so you feel like shit?

template for creating a safety plan

[your-dietician]

Leave of Absence: A Business of Law Editor's Story of Postpartum Depression in Unprecedented Times

New Post has been published on https://depression-md.com/leave-of-absence-a-business-of-law-editors-story-of-postpartum-depression-in-unprecedented-times/

Leave of Absence: A Business of Law Editor's Story of Postpartum Depression in Unprecedented Times

Editor’s Note: As The American Lawyer continues its focus on mental health and reducing stigma, we aim to share our own stories and highlight the many life experiences that can impact one’s well-being. 

Some say artists create their best work when they’re in the depths of a depression.

If that’s the case, my daughter is my masterpiece.

I knew motherhood was something I wanted, but selfishly I hurtled into it unsure of whether I really would be able to do it.

When a pandemic set in, 10 weeks before my due date, my first instinct was to scold myself for starting the family I wanted. “You should have known better,” rang through my head. But who could have known? So, given no other choice I rolled with the punches, retreating into the bubble and tricking myself into thinking I had done so of my own volition. I convinced myself that a baby shower would have been a needless hassle, and that time alone was what my husband and I truly needed in our last few months before becoming parents. It’s for the best, I lied.

As my belly expanded to full capacity, I was still unsure whether I had what it takes to parent a child, let alone in a public health crisis. We’ll be all alone in those first two weeks. What if we didn’t study enough and we make a grave mistake with nobody here to correct us? Even after I birthed her in June, I asked the nurse, what if we get home and I forget what to do?

Then, in the darkest moments my mind has seen, a mother emerged from inside me, held her close and kissed her head. I realized in my deep loneliness that despite it all, I had found this one thing I was capable of doing, at least for now. To her, Mommy and Daddy were everything. Accompanying that sense of accomplishment and gratitude was an ever-present drumbeat of potential doom: don’t you dare mess this up.

My baby was a good baby. She slept when she was supposed to, ate plenty—even too much sometimes—and brightened each day with her developmental leaps.

I hope she will forgive me for letting others believe differently. For not correcting them when they blamed her for my exhaustion. “I remember those sleepless nights,” the veteran parents would say, and “I just can’t imagine,” said the empathetic non-parents. Nodding, I would answer with a smile, “she’s worth it.”

Little did they know, my baby slept soundly through the night from just a few weeks old, my perfect soldier. But I never did. I would lay awake and wonder which disaster would consume us first, knowing I would most certainly be to blame.

Mornings were the best part. As the sun shined in through the windows, I and the rest of the world were for a brief moment in sync. This feeling of stupor in which I existed full-time was shared with every human just now waking with the sun. And, reflecting my joy at that moment of solidarity, the baby too was at her best in the morning, cooing and snuggling in her early weeks, then smiling as she learned how. “It’s another great day to be Sidney!” I would tell her. In these moments, I believed perhaps it would be a great day for me too. I would get some exercise during her first nap, and maybe make myself some coffee and breakfast. Maybe today I’ll have energy to read during her second nap, or go for a walk with Sidney when she wakes up, I would think to myself.

But that little bit of alone time during the first nap flies quickly by, especially in those first few weeks.

It starts with an unsatisfying workout—actually physical therapy to help my body heal from pregnancy and childbirth. I was a gym rat before getting pregnant, but now I’m limited by the fear of pushing my postpartum body too far. With each movement, I imagine the awful things that could happen. If I throw my back out, how will I lift the baby? If I overexert, could I damage my fragile pelvic floor? If I drop something and break my foot, it’s back to the hospital, where I could be exposed to the virus, and two weeks of isolation starts again.

My session of underwhelming physical exercise and overwhelming mental exercise is followed by a shower and getting dressed—a once-simple act that is now tedious. Knowing that any second my daughter could erupt into a cry, it feels as though I can’t move quickly enough. Nothing really fits, and there’s no use in buying clothes that will just end up covered in spit-up, milk stains and a whole lot of sweat. So it’s another day, another old t-shirt and shorts. I fold my wet hair into a braid, and that’s it. I consider, for a moment, some mascara. But I quickly abandon the thought. It’s not as though I’ll be leaving the house anyway. I catch a peek of myself in the mirror and try to remember what it was like to get dolled up and go see friends. The only new things I’ve worn recently are the additional wrinkles I’ve grown around my eyes.

Don’t get me wrong—I’m in awe of my body for what it did during 40 weeks of pregnancy and the first months of motherhood, and gratitude runs deep in my soul for the science that gave me a child.

But this person I see staring back at me doesn’t feel like someone I’ve known all my life, let alone somebody I’ve been.

It’s not long after my shower that the baby wakes—in those first few months, her naps were scattered through the day, but the longest ones weren’t much more than an hour. If I’m lucky, I was able to eat some oatmeal or peanut butter toast before her cries traveled down the stairs, and the second part of our day began.

Days of maternity leave during a pandemic are consumed with so much “no” that saying “yes” to the options that remain feels like a chore. Evading the monotony becomes futile. Isolation is a responsible choice, not a red flag for depression. Withdrawal from your usual hobbies is a requirement. Friends can’t see over a phone call, or even a video chat, that showing interest in anything has become a performance. Connecting with other new moms, which was once done at Mommy and Me classes or library read-alongs, now takes place in group texts or Facebook groups. It’s a safe space where funny anecdotes and joyful updates are punctuated by posts that cry out in desperation and run-on sentences, as mothers of all experience levels reach their breaking point and grasp through the socially distanced safety of cyberspace for understanding, even if what they need is an actual shoulder to cry on.

New activities of maternity leave include diving into a rabbit hole when a notification pops up on your phone, warning about another development in the virus nightmare that could be a danger to your family. This hones your mental math skills, as you quickly calculate the probability that this newest danger will come to affect your home. That activity pairs well with another: shutting your eyes when the baby sleeps during the day, not so much for physical rest but in an attempt to leave this dark reality for a moment.

But, be warned, reopening your eyes and leaving that respite when she wakes feels impossible. So you let her dad, who should be working, take a turn at caring for her while you sink further into the cushions, shutting out the light shining in from the windows. It’s another reminder that unlike in the early hours of the morning, everyone else is up and operating. But you, you are useless.

For those first couple of months, I existed in roughly the same way each 24 hours, quickly depleting my emotional energy and sputtering through the rest of the day. My engine got a jumpstart, a momentary high, when I nursed my daughter, as oxytocin rushed through me. Conversely, I came to despise pumping, when I was flooded with a strange sadness. Sitting there, alone and stationary, looking down at the bottles pulsating, I felt like a machine.

Evening was the worst. Each day the cumulative exhaustion paired with a sense of no accomplishment. The conclusion: you are pathetic. Looking across the room at my husband I’d remind myself that he spent the whole day working, then immediately pivoted to help me take care of the baby. I’d convince myself that he probably wishes I hadn’t insisted on starting a family when I did. That he probably feels like I forced him into this life. That he probably would be happier if he had married someone else.

But, like the wonderful person he is, he clearly loves the baby despite all of that. So maybe I should just get out of the way, I tell myself. That way, he can find someone new, beautiful and energetic to be with while he’s still young, instead of being stuck with me. And the baby will have a new, beautiful, energetic mother figure.

One evening, as these thoughts cycled through my head again, it became too much. The thoughts poured out of my mouth, and even though my ears heard them and my brain quickly rejected the twisted logic, my heart ached as the sadness that had plagued me wrapped itself up in a declaration—you and Sidney would be better off without me.

My six-week postpartum doctor visit was the next day. My husband called my doctor as soon as I left the house.

I started therapy, not for the first time in my life. But unlike in previous iterations, this therapist saw me over video call. There was no secret formula to fix this feeling, but I saw this as a step in the right direction.

One way or another, around 9 or 10 weeks I began to see a flicker of myself again. I started wearing my hair down once in a while, instead of yanking it into a wet, knotted braid. I thought about my job, to which I’d be returning in a couple short weeks, and though I couldn’t fathom making it through a day of work and childcare, the thought of speaking with adults about something other than babies and housework thrilled me.

Since my leave ended and I began working full-time again, albeit from my home, I’ve shared baby care shifts with my husband, as well as my father-in-law who comes over a few afternoons a week. On days when it’s just Mom and Dad on duty, we pow-wow in the morning, comparing calendars to see who might take the morning feed and the afternoon playtime, who will be on standby in case naptime falls apart, which meetings are casual enough for a baby guest to join, and what actual work we can squeeze in.

The nice thing about multi-tasking in this way is that there is no spare moment to realize just how tired you are. My worries about getting through the workday without collapsing quickly dissipated in the first week. Surprisingly, the days I noticed my exhaustion most was when I had a several-hour stretch with no meetings or impending deadlines. This was my time to “think strategically,” as my boss encourages us to do during downtimes. I even blocked it out on my calendar. But in all honesty, my strategic thinking usually drifted toward how nice it would be to just close my eyes for a few minutes.

The less-nice thing about multi-tasking in this way is that, despite the distraction, the exhaustion eventually catches up. The breakdowns still happened in the evening every few weeks or so, usually at times when my to-do list lengthened and another unexpected addition caused me to spiral. There are times when I think I can’t possibly do this one more day, especially now that my mini-me naps much less and wants to be on the move constantly.

But, now, there’s a light at the end of the tunnel.

Sidney’s 11 months old now, and her parents will be fully vaccinated soon. We secured a spot at the daycare—the same one we visited and loved two weeks before the world abruptly locked down in 2020. She’ll start there just after her first birthday. Instead of worrying about whether the other parents are isolating safely, or whether the building is properly ventilated, I’m just excited to think that my daughter might play on a playground, learn some silly songs and make new friends.

Maybe she’ll get a sunburn or a stomach bug, and we’ll have to go to the doctor. And that will be OK.

For the first few weeks of my working mom life, I woke up at 5 a.m. a few days a week to pump and get in a workout before the baby was up. I was determined to have that alone time, get back in shape so I could enjoy exercise again, and get an early start at work once the baby was fed.

But eventually, I realized that rush to start my morning didn’t make the rest of the day any less stressful. I started sleeping in later and later. I beat myself up about it at first, having been an early riser my entire adult life. But beating myself up didn’t make it any easier to get out of bed.

So I leaned into it and implemented a new, cozy routine. When Sidney woke, I’d shuffle over to her room and bring her back to mine, where she would have her morning milk in my bed followed by snoozy snuggles. The snuggles only last about 60 to 90 seconds before she wants to bounce on our mattress and step on my chest to look out the window. But for a brief moment, it’s quiet. Then I sing to her, “you are my sunshine.”

In that moment, I try to remind myself that these are the things I’ll look back on in a few years and yearn for. A baby who lights up when I pick her up from her crib. A little one who fits easily in the crook of my arm. The sounds she makes that aren’t quite words, but hold a great deal of meaning.

I never want to forget all of these feelings. And I never want to forget the depression either.

Because someday, I hope, if my daughter chooses to be a mother, I’ll share this with her. I’ll tell her all of this, so when it envelops her, she won’t be as afraid.

Instead, I pray, she’ll see herself in the mirror and know that while the pieces of her have scattered a bit, she is still there. And she is still my greatest masterpiece.

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[bemine7]

I need to say these things. They don’t change anything between us and we don’t have to talk about it once you finish reading this. But I need you to read this. As I know you know, my life hasn’t been easy. So please try to understand what it means when I say, this last couple weeks and a half has been the worst of my life. Every thought I’ve had, every word that has come out of my mouth, every nightmare I’ve woken up from in sweats, every interaction I’ve had with the world around me has been about my depression. I didn’t want it to be that way, but I couldn’t control it. I’ll never be able to describe the pain I was, and still am, in. There are no words that will make you understand. But I need to try. Imagine not sleeping for two days straight because you can’t stop thinking about all the hours you would lose. Imagine spending all those hours of not sleeping, crying instead. Imagine a brick in your stomach. A brick that makes it impossible for you to breathe. No matter how many breaths you take or how long you hold them, you will never get enough air. Imagine flinching every time you hear another person. Every time you even think you hear a door open or close, you stop breathing. Every noise makes you feel like you just jumped out of a plane. Imagine fighting back tears that burn your eyes on the way to work in the morning. And while sitting in meeting taking notes. And on the car ride home. And while making a dinner that will taste like nothing and talking to your friends and doing work. And then imagine it for the next 500 days. Imagine carrying around the heaviest backpack you’ve ever felt and then imagine that it’s magnetized to the Earth’s core. Imagine trying to get out of bed with it. Imagine trying to shower with it. Imagine walking to the train with it. Imagine sitting with it in class. Imagine making food with it. Imagine forcing yourself to eat that food even though you’re not hungry. Imagine going grocery shopping, doing laundry, hanging out with friends, doing work. All with that backpack. Exhausted yet? Imagine the feeling of shame when someone discovers one of your secrets. Hold on to that shame and carry it around. Live in constant fear that someone will discover your darkest, most shameful secret, even though that secret doesn’t exist. Imagine that everyone close to you thinks you’re a burden. They’re tired of putting up with you. Everything you say, everything you do is wrong. You’re annoying and needy and boring and not fun to be around and you ruin everything. They never wanted to be friends with you in the first place. Nobody likes you. Imagine feeling guilty. Now imagine feeling guilty over everything. Everything you do, everything you say, every interaction you have, every choice you make, every choice everyone else makes, it’s all your fault. Everything is your fault. Imagine feeling worthless. Feeling so worthless that you’ll wait until midnight to eat for the first time because someone else was in the kitchen and you’d be in their way. Feeling so worthless that you don’t use condiments, dishes, containers, entire rooms because they are not yours. Feeling so worthless that you don’t accept help. Feeling so worthless that you feel like your physical body takes up too much space. No matter how small you curl up, you are still taking up too much space. You’re taking up too much oxygen. You don’t have the right to breathe. Because you are worthless. Imagine that after months of feeling all of those things, that you wake up one morning and feel nothing. Not empty, just nothing. Imagine that girl in the horror movie, the one in the psych ward who stares despondently at a wall and never talks or eats or moves. You’re that girl. Except you have somewhere to be, so you’re that girl while in class and with friends and at work. Imagine wanting to be done. Wanting to rip a hole in the space-time continuum and curl up inside of it and never come out. Imagine wanting to stop time, stop days, stop everything around you because things- work, health insurance, bills, friends,

goals, ambitions, they just keep lapping you. And you just want to make it all stop. You want everything to just stop, for one minute. Because you are done. You can’t do it anymore. You can’t keep surviving. You’re too tired. It’s too much- Then realize that these thoughts are the beginning. The beginning of not wanting to live anymore. Of wanting to kill yourself. Now imagine trying to explain to someone why you’re upset. Try to explain what caused this. Try to explain why you can’t talk about anything except your depression. Try to help someone understand why you dropped off the face of the planet and can’t even be a human being, let alone a friend. Make them comfortable with just how not okay you really are. Make sure your symptoms don’t make them uncomfortable. Make them understand even though you don’t understand. Even though it’s not your job to educate them. Because if you don’t hold their hand and walk them through it, they’ll leave you. And really, no one actually cares about you. You should just stop trying. They don’t care. They’ll never understand. You’re a burden to them. They’ll leave you and it will be your fault. Because everything is your fault. Except that, for the first time in my life, I understand that the ruins of my relationships are not my fault. I’m not saying I’m blameless. I hold responsibility for my actions. But I didn’t do this. I am not responsible for my depression. It’s an illness and I don’t have to keep internalizing every thought and action and choice that my depression shoves me into as if it defines who I am and what I’m worth. how a person seeks treatment is their choice. We don’t wish to feel this way and to some of us, it’s embarrassing. It’s much easier then, to hide and close yourself off from social situations, than to talk to your friends and family about the way you’re feeling. I can personally say that the hardest thing I’ve ever said to anyone was “I don’t want to be here". I wasn’t talking about the room I was in, or even the town or state. And the look of utter appall on people’s faces when you are finally brave enough to say those words is one of the most beautiful and horrific things I have ever seen. Because you see, society treats depression as something to be ashamed of. As a result, it’s not the easiest thing to discuss. I’ve had depression since I was twelve, probably earlier if you ask my therapist. I am now 24 almost 25, and only recently have I become comfortable with discussing my depression. I believe mental illness should be discussed in the same way that cancer and heart disease are. But at the same time, excuse those around you for maybe not being as open as you’d like them to be with their feelings on their mental health. They probably don’t want to burden you, and to be quite honest, most people can’t handle or fathom the pain involved anyway. To you they are the universe but you are just another person in their life who makes them smile. And maybe that should be enough but it pains you to see them fall for someone else. Your hearts longs to be more but would it be worth the risk of losing them entirely. It’s just another feeling that is sure to pass but what if you had the courage to be brave and take a chance. It wouldn’t matter you know the reality is that they could never love you but your heart is stubborn and doesn’t mind the aching feeling. Because in the end you’d fall for them a million times and never regret a thing. want to fall in love again. But it’s terrifying. Knowing that someone could tell you they love you and that you are their world, only to leave you shortly after saying so. Giving someone the power to hurt you, but trusting them not to do so. How could I possibly believe anyone again, after all that you put me through? I wanted to believe that I could someday look back on my memories of you and smile and be grateful for what we had. But looking back now, I really was just a fool for believing your cheap, pretty words. No, I’m well aware that we weren’t meant to be. I just miss having as much love for someone as I did for you. I

[thatgaylittlefrog]

Is it too late to request all the TAZ asks

Not at all, my dear anon! (Side note: you should listen to The Adventure Zone if you haven’t already!)

PCs:

Remmy: Love is a motivator - who do you want to make proud?

I’d love to make my family proud. I’m not always on the best terms with them, and I just can’t help but always feel like a disappointment. I know in theory that I make them proud, but I just want to know that they’re proud of me, you know?

Nadiya: Be proud - talk about something you’re good at.

I’d like to think I’m a pretty great singer. I’ve been in the top choirs at my schools for years, and have a good ear for music and can learn it with relative ease. Now if only I could transfer that talent to other instruments..

Irene: You are brave - describe a time you persisted despite your fears.

Just recently I was searching out for spooky places on campus with two dear friends of mine. Now, I’ve had a fear of the dark for as long as I can remember. Don’t get me wrong, it’s gotten better since I was younger. However, it’s started to resurface a bit more lately due to my fascination with horror games. Despite this, I found myself leading them around dark buildings. I felt brave, and had a load of fun with them.

Kardala: You are divine - describe a time you felt free.

Honestly, I’ve felt really free since I’ve started going to college. There’s something about living on your own that really forces you to be independent. Now that I have my own room on campus, I feel even more free. I can choose who I spend my time with and what I spend my time doing. It’s devine, and while I miss my family and friends from home, I just feel like I can finally be who I want to be.

Merle: Even if we forget, we are important - name at least one way you matter.

I’m capable of doing good for so many people. I have rather big plans of being a therapist or a social worker. I’ll do my best to help those in need of it.

Magnus: Don’t always take the big hit - what is your definition of strength?

Truly strong people use what they were given to help others.

Taako: You’re worth more than you think - how do you defy expectations?

I’m much more intelligent, insightful, and friendly than my introverted demeanor lets on.

NPCs:

Lucretia: We have calcium in our bones, iron in our veins - what was a time you thought you couldn’t go on, but kept pushing?

Oh heck, I’m about to get a bit vulnerable here. Well, high school was a whole lot of that. I went through a lot of really shitty friendships and just really didn’t feel wanted. Anxiety and depression reared their ugly heads, and have never truly left. There were some points where I just felt so alone that I didn’t want to be alive. I never attempted anything, but I was also so afraid to get help for a long time. Thankfully I got help, and while my depression and anxiety are still with me, I’m equipped to handle it now.

Lup: You are so loved and love in return - gush about at least one sibling, friend, or partner.

I’m going to go ahead and gush about my little sister. We’ve always butted heads with each other, much to my parents dismay. She’s a hard headed little girl with very little filter. She gets into a lot of trouble for it and isn’t always well liked, but I love her and appreciate her so much. She came to my dorm and helped me organize and place all of the new supplies brought for me. She also is the person in my immediate family that’s most accepting of the LGBT community, which is such a tremendous relief. And honestly? I miss her a lot, and I really hope she knows how much I love her. She’s my baby sister, and I won’t let anyone hurt her.

Barry: Home isn’t just a place - recall a joyful reunion.

My first reunion with my pets after leaving for college was joyous. I had gone a month without seeing them, which has been the longest I’ve been away from them. When I first entered the house, the dachshunds were barking at me like I was a stranger. It took them a moment to realize who I was, but when they finally did, loud, excited barking followed. All four of my dogs were equally enthusiastic to see me. My cats even reacted, meowing loudly at me and demanding to be pet. The pets were so excited to see me again that there was a brief moment of peace in which my cats actually tolerated being around our big dog. It wasn’t necessarily a fear of mine, but I’m still glad I wasn’t forgotten.

Davenport: Become the stars you gaze upon - how have you been defined by a journey (literal or metaphorical)?

I’d describe my realization of my bisexuality as a journey. I’ve come a long way from when I was first questioning it, but I still have a way to go. Still, I’m much more comfortable with this aspect of myself. I still need to face coming out to my family though, so we’ll have to see how well that goes.

Angus: Adoration might be hidden - describe a time you felt loved or appreciated.

Last month I went back for a birthday party of a friend of mine. It was at the theatre I used to work at, so I got to see a lot of old coworkers of mine. Plus, going into the theatre to be greeted by a huge group of people happy to see me again was just incredibly reassuring.

Kravitz: It’s never too late - what makes you feel alive?

Honestly, being outside. This can be hard to do when it’s so damn cold out, but even now I just find myself invigorated by the sunlight and fresh air. I feel like I’m at my best when I’m outside. I’m pretty much a plant.

Julia: No battle is forever - what is your happy ending?

Oh heck man. I suppose in a perfect world, I’d like to have a secure job and settle down with someone I love. I’d love to have kids if possible, but if not definitely some dogs. Dogs are a must in any happy ending of mine.

Johann: You will not be erased - what do you want to be remembered for?

I want to be remembered for the good I did. I don’t have any religious beliefs, so I really just want to be a good person for the sake of being a good person. There’s so much pain and suffering in the world. I want to do my best to help combat it, even if it’s just in small ways.

Arcs:

Commitment: Don’t give up - what are you committed to?

I’m really committed to getting my education. A year ago going to a four year college didn’t seem to be on the table, yet here we are. I don’t want to waste this opportunity.

Here There Be Gerblins: Embrace nostalgia - what was your first encounter with a loved one?

Ohh this is a doozy. I have a best friend from home. This friend has been in my life since the fourth grade. Now, I’ve always been a bit of a socially awkward little nerd, so I was going around my computer class asking everyone if they played Wizards 101. She was the only one to say yes. What started out as a person I played Wizards 101 with grew into my oldest friend. I miss her dearly, and wish I could see her more than I do now.

Moonlighting: Tomorrow is a new day - when have you begun a brighter chapter of life?

Honestly, college. I went through a pretty bad breakup at the end of my senior year that took me awhile to get over. College was a fresh start, a clean slate, a chance to forge myself. I’m super involved here, getting good grades, and have made some amazing friends here. So yeah, I’d say things are definitely looking up.

Murder on the Rockport Limited: Not everything is clear - how do you feel about mysteries?

I’m open to them! I like the challenge of trying to solve them, so long as they aren’t spoiled for me. Then it can just be frustrating.

Petals to the Metal: Sometimes we need to let loose - when have you done something you shouldn’t have because it made you happy?

Over Thanksgiving Break. It was my first time really sneaking out late. Now, if it’s all the same with you, I’d rather not go into any more detail.

Crystal Kingdom: There is more to existence than we could ever imagine - discuss.

Humans can’t even begin to fathom just how small we are in the grand scheme of things. We haven’t even fully explored the Amazon Rainforest or the Ocean. Beyond our planet is the vast universe, which we haven’t even begun to explore. It’s just so exciting because in the expanse of space there is most likely life elsewhere. We have no idea what else is out there, and at this rate, we never may.

The Eleventh Hour: There is relief in letting go - write about it.

So… That aforementioned breakup. I had dated this guy for most of my high school experience. We broke up because he lost feelings for me and he didn’t want to date anyone in college. Nine days later he’s dating a new girl. I was hurt. I was angry. For the longest time I thought he cheated on me, and just questioned what was wrong with me. I’ve gotten the chance to talk to him since then, and he didn’t cheat on me. I forgave him for what happened, and I’m doing my best to be on good terms with him again.

The Suffering Game: This too shall pass - how are you stronger for your struggles?

High school sucked. I’ve talked about this in a previous question. I survived it though. And because I survived it, I’ve learned how to cope and combat it. I’ve grown from it. It still really fucking sucked though.

Reunion Tour: Everything can change in seconds - what is your definition of trust?

I suppose trust is allowing yourself to be vulnerable with a person. Letting down your walls and opening up to somebody else. It is so exhausting when you don’t have anybody you can trust. You always need to have your defenses up and never can really be real with people.

The Stolen Century: Bonds have power - who do you consider family, and why?

Well, there’s obviously my family, but they’re far away from me. I’ve found my own family here. I have a support system here, and some good friends who I consider family.  (the found family trope is the best trope.)

Story and Song: You’re going to fight and you’re going to win - how or why?

Because there’s still horrible inequality and injustice in this world. Because there are people around the world who struggle to survive day to day. Because it’s my responsibility as a caring human being to fight against inequality.

Goofy:

Tom: “That one was called… Wizard Shout” - tell us about a time you hilariously failed at hiding something.

I ordered twenty dollars worth of stickers. Most of the stickers were McElroy based, and pretty.. Eccentric. For whatever reason, my computer had my neighbor’s address saved in it. So, my stickers went to my neighbors how

Lenny: “You may remember, you subscribed to the cylinder of the month club” - what is something you are well-known (or notorious) for?

Among my family, my crazy liberal ideals. Among my friends, my horrible jokes consisting of both memes and puns.

Troth: “Go home and pray for sunrise” - when have you said something badass?

The only things I can think of are the times I’ve basically told customers to fuck off in my customer service dialect. It usually goes something like “Well, I’m very sorry you felt that way. I hope you can have a good day after this” Customer service is so passive aggressive. It’s excruciating at the time, but it makes for some excellent stories after.

Tres Horny Boys: “Nobody ever say that out loud ever again please” - what is your worst nickname?

Probably Gabbus, although my friend called me Babby today so that takes the cake.

Team Sweet Flips: “Me and Carey and a robot ghost with a gun arm, fuck yeah” - if you and your friends had a spin-off show, what would it be called?

I have two groups. One is Tales and Tights, while the other is Two and a Half Men.

Reapers: “ARE YOU AFRAID?” / “Merle, it’s me, Pan” / “Also! Greg Grimauldis-” - do you have a flair for the dramatic?

I’ll sometimes get into bits with friends where we just go off citing quotes from some shared pop culture interest. I also have had a few good one liners. One of my friends has been keeping track of funny things our group says. He’s an angel and I appreciate him greatly.

Magic Brian: “Haello haello welcoeme to my caeve” - do you have any unique speech patterns?

Ooohhh dear. Yeah. Apparently I have a horrendous Minnesotan accent, so I over pronounce my os. This habit intensifies when I’m made fun of for it. (You have not lived until you’ve been cussed out by someone with a heavy Minnesotan accent)

Jenkins: “…aaaand he misses by a country mile” - are you any good at planning?

I try my best at it. But damn, I’m indecisive. To help combat this I’ve been keeping a planner.

Marvey: “Well, let’s see if I can make a mark in that book on my– in my– hey, fuck you!” - are you any good at comebacks?

I’d like to think I’m a pretty witty person. As of late it seems that most of my comebacks are positive in nature, and lift my friends up. I can still sass with the best of them, though.

Garfield: “Do you like deals?” - describe a time you expertly negotiated.

I was able to convince my parents to let me stay at my significant other’s house in high school, which felt like quite the feat at the time.

Lunar Interlude: “I hand Leon the token” - how do you make your friends laugh?

With my excessive use of stupid jokes, memes, and puns. *finger guns*

Fantasy WWE: “I Morco [guitar sting]” - describe your wrestlesona.

(NOTE: it is past 1 and I am weary) I’d be the gingerbread man. Enough said.

Camp Goodfriend: “You guys know you earned a teamwork penalty for that one, right?” - do you work well with others?

I pull my own weight and keep group morale up when I’m working with others. I don’t like having other people carry me, and would prefer to carry my own weight.

Neverwinter High: “Magnus, it’s another day of high school! Taako and Merle, you immediately realize something horrible has gone wrong” - how observant are you relative to others? Has this led to any goofy situations?

I’m good at reading emotions. I can usually tell when someone isn’t feeling well and will ask them about it in a safe space. However, I cannot for the life of me interpret when someone is being flirty or friendly with me. Just recently, this led to me thinking of a coffee outing with someone I was interested in as a date. These hopes were shattered when she told me about her new partner. So yeah… It’s hard navigating this stuff.

Tomb of Horrors: “I expected you to catch a fucking fish in the fish minigame!” - when has something gone ridiculously off the rails? Were you the derailer, the voice of reason, or a bystander?

As the Mom Friend, I try to be the voice of reason in most scenarios. Sometimes though, it is out of my hands, and all I can do is sit back and watch the disaster unfold.