#it's not hospice anymore which fucking sucks

[lobstermatriarch]

I believe I may have a job

[ibuprofinator]

this is a long, stupid, rant about the emperor and shit that happens in act 3 of bg3. watch out.

i still don't fucking understand the timeline for balduran founding baldur's gate and him turning into a mindflayer. i think bg3 changed him into an elf from human? but even so, after turning into a mindflayer he should've died ages ago right??

okay, balduran erected the first wall of the city in the mid 1000s DR, so anywhere from 400-600 DR, and then vanished. wiki says it started to be known as baldur's gate in 446 but I haven't verified that by reading the source text. presumably he wasn't turned into a mindflayer RIGHT away after traveling to moonrise. so when the fuck did it happen?

lets, for a moment, take him at his word (since nothing in-game contradicts him here at all, and there isn't even a passive role to see if he's lying) and assume that moonrise towers was already in existence when he turned. lets also assume that the wiki is right in the sense it was built in the mid-1300s. which, eh, I don't think anything in the game says shit confirming its build-date, and there isn't really a ton of external stuff about it. it also feels older than that but I digress. balduran would've heard about the treasure and pursued it (again, taking the emperor's word) before the shadow curse which popped up in the 1390s.

it's unclear as to if he went there before or after ketheric turned to shar, so that puts it anywhere from 1350-1390. which is weird because he implies it was something cool he heard about and presumably was already abandoned. except moonrise was VERY much actively used by a lot of people until the shadow curse...but whatever. regardless, doesn't matter, because he'd be an ANCIENT elf by this point.

lets assume he's, max, 70 when he fucks off after building that wall around grey harbor. lets say he leaves in 450 DR. that puts him at 970 years old AT MINIMUM as of 1350. honestly, no matter what dates and age you choose that's in the ballpark of FR canon it's bad and unrealistic.

cool, sure, lets go with it and assume that he's that old because TECHNICALLY elves can live that long. despite the fact that they're typically community elders and/or weird hermits by that point if they haven't sailed west because their bodies are decrepit and they're not, you know, still adventurers. again, whatever. maybe he hung out in the astral for a few hundred years. no one fucking knows. for all we know he was sucking the cock of eternal youth for an extended period of time before getting bored and going to moonrise.

now, he gets captured and turned into a mindflayer. mindflayers live, on average, up to 125ish years. if he's 970 when he gets turned (which idk that they'd use someone that old for anything but food because that brain has GOT to be juicy and full of cool shit, but again: WHATEVER) in 1350 and was turned the same year, he would be a 142 year old mindflayer by the time of the game. which would be insane. he'd be in the illithid equivalent of hospice and it would be a bit weird for him to spend a bit of time in the astral considering the whole githyanki living there thing.

if we change it so he's turned at the tail end of when he could've been poking around moonrise, 1390, he'd be a 102 year old mindflayer which is old but not "you're on death's door" old. but that'd put his elf self over 1000 making all this even more unlikely. put him in a damn home either way. it makes more sense, imo, for him to have been turned AFTER the shadow curse is in effect but that contradicts the bullshit vision he gives you that isn't disputed anywhere in the game.

and also, WHEN does he escape? is it a short amount of time after he turns? before he turns (which would be insane since after a day or two you are not you anymore and it's too late for an extraction, also he'd be basically inert for the rest of his transformation)?

a lot of larian's timeline assumes that he's a Super Special Guy who, through the power of Sheer Determination and Will, overcame everything in his path, including retaining his entire mind and personality as a mindflayer without the help of netherese magic that altered the tadpole we were infected with in the game.

which, I guess you have to be something of a special guy in order to have a long term romantic relationship with a bronze dragon. so one point for balduran's gay ass, I suppose.

MY PROPOSITION TO FIX THIS CLUSTERFUCK OF DATES AND LARIAN'S WEIRD ATTEMPT AT SHOCKING THE PLAYER WITH A TWIST DURING WHAT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE WYLL'S QUEST WHILE ALSO MAKING IT SO HE ISN'T COMPLETELY LYING ABOUT BEING BALDURAN

the illithid colony under moonrise is ancient. like, crazy ancient and has remained intact for an indescribably amount of time. maybe it's had a few different elder brains over the years. doesn't really matter. it's old and there's a lot of history there.

balduran can still be an elf, larian is allowed to still have that change because you know recorded history is kind of muddled anyway. lets say he gets captured and turned in the colony under moonrise way earlier on in the timeline. exact year doesn't matter.

so he's turned, and because he has terminal main character syndrome the sheer force of his will makes the illithid born from his corpse basically him personality and memory wise. mindflayers, historically, hate other mindflayers who keep even small unintentional habits from their hosts life - viewing them as defective. even trying to hide it, he would've been ostracized from the community very early on which is when he would've escape.

lets say, though, that he had a very big impact on the local mindflayer community causing more to leave once they're outside of the elder brain's range and seek him out. small elder-brain-less cult pops up. eventually they eat balduran-illithid's brain and inherit his memories etc, effectively passing along his "spirit". this continues for a good chunk of time, potentially diluting it over time. one of them (maybe even the emperor!) runs into ansur who tries to cure him, and it ends like it does in-game. the emperor then sets up shop in baldur's gate and runs the knights of the shield.

I like this specifically because it kind of ties into what squidlach says at the party as to how she's essentially become a graveyard of memories for people who were terminally ill and is a way for both karlach and all these people to keep living.

MY REAL PROPOSITION TO MAKE THIS ALL MAKE SENSE

the emperor is just lying and thought balduran was cool and wanted to get ansur on his side, and when you ask him about it he just lies to you again because he's embarrassed and thinks being balduran would make you like him

WHAT I WISH THEY DID INSTEAD

the emperor never met ansur pre-game and he's being weird about it in the tunnels because he genuinely thinks it's a waste of time.

balduran turned into a mindflayer ages ago and killed ansur, but it was long enough ago that his mindflayer-self is long dead. and then, being a revenant (WHICH THE GAME NEVER EXPLICITLY SAYS HE IS, BUT IT FITS TO A T) ansur smelled illithid shit and set his whole body to kill immediately.

also if I got dates or lore or whatever wrong and you read all this pls lmk

[marmolita]

are we just cursed in December or??? details behind the cut, cw for cancer, death (don't worry me and my husband and kids are fine)

So last December we went to visit my family for the holidays as usual and it was kind of a total nightmare. Mr Lita was having panic attacks because we found that chipmunks had excavated a city under our porch and destabilized it and he was afraid of rodents getting into our house, my sister had COVID, and Southwest airlines totally fucked up so that we had to book a different flight home days later than we intended. It was altogether a miserable month.

This year, my mom's coming out here and everything was looking good! Mr Lita was doing fine, nothing's wrong with the house, etc.

Except, we just found out his dad has stage 4 pancreatic cancer. This was literally a couple days ago so we don't have much info yet but his parents had a friend pass from pancreatic cancer recently and it was only six weeks from her diagnosis to passing. He's already trying to sort out his financial papers and make funeral plans and he hasn't even had a biopsy yet. I believe he intends to only seek palliative or hospice care, which tbh is very reasonable given the extremely short timeline for most people with pancreatic cancer.

The day after we found that out, my kid who has anxiety and emetophobia had her first major panic attack in months because having a cold with a wet cough freaked her out, and is still not quite back to her normal yet. We haven't told the kids about their grandpa's cancer yet.

My mom's coming out to spend the holidays with us next Friday and I'm like gosh!!! How am I gonna make this a fun holiday season for my kids when their grandpa is dying!!! How am I gonna make sure my anxious kid doesn't start having panic attacks about whether she herself might have cancer!!! I don't know if he's going to die in two weeks or a month or six months and I don't know how to plan fun things for my kids with the knowledge that we may have to cancel at any moment if things go south even faster than they already are.

My sister-in-law is on vacation in New Zealand for this entire month so gosh I hope he at least has a month of time so she can get back to see him. He has a biopsy on Tuesday and his first appointment with the oncologist the day after Christmas which seems interminably far away. I feel completely helpless to help my in-laws or my husband right now and I fucking suck at keeping a brave face because i will cry at a moment's notice.

We're going to have to tell the kids tomorrow I think because my brother-in-law is gonna come down and they'll want to get together and so they'll need to know. I know it's better for my kids if I can be calm and confident talking to them about it but I simply cannot have a conversation about this without bawling.

And I wanted to do all this fun stuff with my kids and my mom for Christmas! And I know that my father in law wants my kids to be happy and having fun and not worrying about him! But how am I supposed to do that!! My sister and her family are coming a couple days after Christmas too and idk whether everything will be fine or whether there will be additional drama there. 😩 What do I do if he takes a turn for the worse very rapidly and doesn't even make it through the month?

I kind of hate how this part of it was easier at least when my dad passed away. He was in ill health for a long time and we knew he probably wouldn't be around more than another year but we didn't have a specific terminal outcome for most of that time so it was easy to not think about it too much. Then when he couldn't do dialysis anymore it was basically a very specific timeline and we knew he would not be around more than two weeks from that point. It was awful and I hated it but at least we knew.

[mlobsters]

supernatural s14e8 byzantium (w. meredith glynn)

totally forgot about that alicia witt episode. is someone gonna burn up some soul for jack?

JACK Can you tell him… it's okay SAM Tell him yourself. He'll be back in a minute.

see i think i don't have a lot of lingering trauma from my dad dying when i was 16 from cancer, but like. they say this and all i can think about is my mom making me tell my dad, in his last days, unconscious in a hospital bed in our house, that it's okay. so, imagine that, but a hundred fold for all these memories associated with that. and then going through it again with my mom, so a new batch to add on to the existing set that still fucks me up. not many things poke at it, but when they do...

DEAN I can't. It's not right, Cas, you know? It's just-- It's not-- CAS What? It's not fair? I know that. But he needs you.

suck it up, fuckhead. okay i don't know if that's actually in character for him but i gotta believe he would understand that and not walk out. certainly not if he thought he was that close to dying. whatever, more opportunity for angst over not even being there when he passed. hospice gave us a list of signs that someone is gonna die soon. doesn't account for rapid decline due to loss of archangel grace though i imagine

(while i look for the post [13x17 apparently] where i talked about some music reminding me of bloodfest by brian reitzell and whether it was the same just now, reminded as they stand in this hallway, where are all the fucking apocalypse world people)

spn 14x08 / hannibal 3x6 / spn 13x17

didn't come to any great conclusion. similar technique. nothing nearly as interesting or pretty as brian reitzell's, but it's not a fair comparison. both the spn episodes the music was christopher lennertz, this episode it was with philip white as well.

and fuck whoever made the decision to cut from the big emotional moment of dean coming into jack's room after he has died with basically a jumpscare to the title card with the flapping wings.

and then basically a jumpscare to thinking sam is leaving to go do something monumentally stupid.

come on, not even a hug? group hug? something? if you're going to put me through this, at least throw me a fucking bone

not sure i can do this. small break because a montage of them having a mini wake basically, drinking, reminiscing set to licensed music. done having my buttons pushed.

well. that's one way to disconnect me from feelings, jack in heaven with..... the empty cg goo flooding in

spn 14x08 as lily sunder / alien (1979) veronica cartwright as lambert

hey, now that's a recognizable voice

DEAN We're talking about that kid's soul. SAM Not all of it. DEAN Oh, okay, then. Tell me you're not cool with this. CAS Don't you think Jack should decide for himself?

using jack's own soul to sustain the magic for his body, didn't see that one coming. and yet another spin on the merry go round of bodily autonomy arguments. if heaven wasn't busted, i imagine he'd want to stay. which might be more interesting. and visiting kelly, buh. thought i was done crying this episode.

the empty shadow guy crashed heaven just to get jack? hokay

SAM Lily, I-- I know you're upset, but you can still do the spell. LILY That wasn't the deal. I've got to go. SAM We have nothing to offer you, noth-- nothing to say, but… He's our kid! LILY I'm sorry. DEAN You know what I think? Burning all that soul? You're not even human anymore, not really. SAM Dean-- DEAN Otherwise, how could you ever, ever let anyone go through what you went through? The pain of losing a kid? Don't do this to us.

continue to be surprised whenever they textually acknowledge jack as their kid. it's a good thing, and dare i say a smidge subversive with their non-traditional family structure. it's nice.

and for this ridiculous anubis thing, maybe her helping them can tip the scales more in heaven's favor.

COSMIC ENTITY Castiel, you know how this goes-- the good souls here, the bad souls there. The angels are mine. CAS Enough. COSMIC ENTITY Stop interrupting! Start paying attention. I'm taking him. And where I'm taking you is worse than Hell… because at least Hell is something. Ohh. Ohh, God, they look scared. Does that hurt you? Good… because I want it to.

the manic bitchy weird thing they're doing with the empty thing is ... weird.

COSMIC ENTITY: Deal. Oh, but not now. No, no, no, no, no. No, you see, I-I meant what I said. I-I want you to suffer. I want you to go back to-- to your normal life and-- and then forget about this and forget about me. And-- And then, when you finally give yourself permission to be happy and let the sun shine on your face, that's when I'll come. That's when I'll come to drag you to nothing.

huh. ok.

JACK Why? Why did you do that? CAS Because I made a promise. Because I love you, Jack. And Sam and Dean-- they love you. And they are fighting for you at this very minute. I hope that… They don't need to know what happened here. What I did-- I'm-- I'm-- I'm at peace with my choice. I don't want them to worry. JACK I won't tell them. I promise.

so he gets to sacrifice himself and sam and dean don't get to know about it so they don't have the chance to fix it. ok

and as i expected, lily got her happy ending in death too. sacrifice and family reunions all around

lol naomi giving out michael's location, ok sure. cas oh so smoothly bypassing questions about why she'd give them that :p

DEAN And we know where Michael is. Not quite sure how you pulled that one off. CAS Well, we, uh-- we still don't know where Dark Kaia is or the spear.

laughed because even he made it sound like what he was saying was goofy. anyway. i think i'm finally warming up a little more to cas. making him vaguely consistent in characterization and not making horrible decisions all the time apparently helps. and just plain being around and participating in things

hopefully we're done pushing my real life terminal illness buttons because it's exhausting and miserable.

hope dean leaves mary another voicemail giving her an update that in fact jack is not dead anymore

[winderlylandchime]

I’ve been waiting for 2x04 bc it’s one of my faves so i should say this ep was watched after his check up where he told a nurse about it and the nurse told him he actually watched it when it aired. To which my brother went ‘well watch it again bc I have to talk to someone about it man, she *points to me* is about as useful as an ashtray on a motorcycle.’ Anyway: ‘oh it’s pride weekend? Wait WEEKEND? Don’t you fuckers get a whole month? *points at me* dont start, that was meant lovingly’.. ‘so Godiva is like the Trixie of Libery Avenue? That reminds me i gotta watch her new youtube video..’ ‘maybe.. the reason your drink isn’t selling is that hair, sir that is outrageous!..why is he helping a homophobe. Although he’s just an employee so i get it, ill allow it one time Bri Bri’ ‘oh she has a motorcycle? I do too! Maybe this is how i start to like Mel..but mine is broken bc i fell..*he is currently sad over the motorcycle*’ at this point he was so angry at Mikeys coworkers that he paused the ep, went outside for a smoke, came back looked at the tv and went ‘not cool guys, that’s just tacky’ ‘who’s godiva again?! THE LIBERTY VERSION OF TRIXIE IS GONE?! OH NO POOR TRIX- i mean godiva’ ‘OKAAAY TED GET YOURSELF SOME DICK! Good for you! Maybe less talking bc it doesn’t seem to be your thing’… ‘is he making the drink gay? well that’s- WHY DID HE PUT ON THE GOOGLES TO SUCK HIS DICK? SIR YOU WILL CHOK- well i guess that the point’ he got very sad at the scene of Justin painting the sign. He forgot Justin was an artist and now he’s sad bc he can’t do it anymore..’ITS JEN! AT PFLAG! I knew i could count on you! She reminds me of our mom (cut to me saying our mom is a black woman) well..i didn’t specify HOW she reminds me-you know what? Leave me alone, I’m clearly going through something..oh god the shirt. I’m happy for her but Michael would not make me proud…unless he changes like 60 things about himself overnight’ btw he is feeling so proud of himself rn bc he swears that he is “chill” all while bouncing his leg so much my house is shaking. ‘IS THAT THAT BAT FUCKER?!! AT A GAY HOSPICE?! IS THIS SOME KIND OF A FUCKING JOKE?! HE DID NOT JUST WISH AIDS ON HIM AND DURING PRIDE?! oh kid i am your biggest fucking enemy right now, i hope you have an explosive diarrhea’ ‘okay so Mel used to be fun? What happened? Where did she go wrong?…A PITY FUCK?! TED DESERVES BETTER! WHAT KIND OF FUCKED UP JOKE IS THIS! That guy wasnt even that pretty so don’t worry Ted’ he got mad again here but less mad then before so no smoke break! ‘Oh he sobered up fast when he realized it wasnt a dream. Bri bri we need to talk about how youre in love. I swear I won’t tell anyone! OH FINALLY I AGREE WITH MIKE, IT WAS A SICK JOKE! Oh..i just know if that fucker did anything, Brian would be fighting right now..now i want to see Brian throw a punch, do you think he knows how to?..OH NO JUSTY, WE ARE GOING TO PRIDE! You are supposed to be proud of..wait what is he supposed to be proud of? Dick sucking skills? *looks at me genuinely* id be proud of that if i was him’ ‘oh my god! The ugly hair homophobe! NOW WHY DID HE SAY THE F WORD?! HE ISNT ALLOWED TO SAY THAT WHAT THE HELL! AND DURING PRIDE?! FUCK YOU!’ And we are back outside for a smoke break.. not to make my brother a liar from the last ep but he is NOT calm. ‘Okay im cool again..as long as no hetero pisses me off anymore. I love that big flag! Do you think they filmed this during actual pride?..WE ARE NOT LETTING BAT FUCKER WIN! Okay seriously now, how bad is Brians mom because he keeps making people march with their moms.. is that bc she wouldn’t do it if she kne- oh god i am now sad for Brian wanting to march with his mom but cant. This is too much for me to handle on a random Friday!..oh brian knew about that fucker? You know what? Hes a little rude but he keeps wanting everyone to just be them. I fuck with that! I shall do that too! But after i get back to my normal life bc this *waves hands* is not it’ 1/2 of 2x04

ANON I AM SCREAMING.

Your brother being pissed about Brian working for a homophobe... wait until he gets to Stockwell arc.

Does your brother watch...drag race? Is he a Trixie Mattel fan? I am seriously dying over this. Comparing Godiva to Trixie... bless. I don't know how accurate I feel that comparison is but I would need to sit with it to think of a better comparison. I take my drag race comparisons seriously.

Mel used to be cool... what happened? Lindsay! LOL

And that bat fucker! I love it. He's so protective over Justin and Brian. He's so worried about what Joan did to Brian and your brother is in for a sad sad shock.

And his take on Brian and Ted - "He keeps wanting everyone to just be them" is so so so accurate.

Your brother may be high off his butt on painkillers but he's very accurate in his takes.

[skullrock]

i have to use my tumblr as a diary bc i have no one else to talk to i fear 🫶🏻

if ur reading this i am going to be talking about illness and death so pls be advised

my grandma pretty much raised me when i was a kid and was the first person really to know i was gay (even before i knew lmfao) and she was genuinely my bestest friend in the world up until i was like 11 and started middle school. she taught me how to sew and she let me try on her vintage jewelry and gave me her mom’s jewelry when i was like 10 which was very nice of her. we used to sit on her countertop and make pepperoni rolls from scratch and honestly they’re like the worst pepperoni rolls you’d ever have but she taught me how to make them so they were actually the best in the world. we would watch cooking channel and she would tell me all about cowboys she used to have crushes on. i used to make up stories about roy rogers while sitting in her kitchen and i would do just about anything and say just about anything to make her and the rest of my family laugh.

two months ago she had a devastating stroke - she’s 92 years old. we didn’t get her to the hospital in a very timely manner because we didn’t realize she had a stroke until WAY late and the doctor told us it was 50/50 whether she would be okay or not. that was one of the worst nights of my life. next day she woke up and was talking!! moving!! smiling!! joking!! it was literally a fucking miracle and i still can’t believe she was okay after that. but the doctors wanted her to go to physical therapy bc she just needed some help getting her legs/arms/speech working again so she went to an independent inpatient which was basically a nursing home. she was there for 12 days and got ZERO CARE. to the point where she developed two bedsores, one very major. the facility did not even tell us she had it when she was discharged and my family found it on their own. a visiting nurse said the bedsore was stage 4 severe. i’m not going to elaborate on that bc it’s very gross but YEAH very bad stuff.

she was literally fine until the end of her stay at the inpatient place when the bedsore got worse. when she came home she stopped eating and drinking and became very lethargic. she went to wound care and they did some work on it but she still wasn’t doing well. she just went to the hospital again and they did surgery on the bedsore in hopes that it would clear up, but my grandma is still having a hard time eating and drinking.

they just put her on hospice and i am fucking. devastated. i’m devastated. she’s a shell of who she was a month and a half ago. she’s hardly able to speak. she can’t take care of herself, she can’t get up. she can’t eat and can’t drink. so now it’s a waiting game to see when she finally succumbs. and not being able to talk to her is the most horrible part of it. i visited her in the inpatient place a few weeks ago and i had no idea that was the last time i would have a conversation with her. it makes me feel so fucking sick every time i think about it. i won’t get to hear her say that she loves me again, i won’t be able to tell her what’s going on in my life, we won’t be able to talk about cowboy movies anymore. i’m so upset it is unreal. this is the first major loss i’ll ever experience and nothing could ever prepare me for it.

i just went to go see her tonight and my mom has been telling me that she isn’t talking or smiling when people visit her. i was expecting to get my heart broken but she actually smiled when she saw me. she couldn’t say anything but she smiled at me and now i’m so scared that’s the last time i’ll see it. because i have a stupid full time job an hour away from her and i might just end up getting the call after the fact.

this just fucking sucks !!!! i don’t have anyone to talk to about it it feels like. my mom is emotionally exhausted and is “taking it a day at a time” which good for her but terrible for me bc she won’t open up about things or let me talk about them. my dad is just like shrugging about it and so is my sister (who was never that close with her). and i think a lot of people in my life are sympathetic but they’re also like “yeah she had a stroke at 92 what did you expect :/“. like i know she is going to die of course but this is happening so fast. and so fast after she made such a miraculous recovery. and i can’t even be with her because of my job. i have to work both days this coming weekend for events and i’m so terrified that she will pass when i’m at work. but i have no backup! there’s no one that can take over for me if she passes or is on her last leg!!! and it’s sucks!!!

i just needed to rant i don’t think anyone will read this. but i feel a little better just getting it off my chest. ok love u if u did read it im going to finish crying now

[not-a-space-alien]

Your Own Side Outtake #14:  The Death of Adam Young

Series masterpost

On AO3

Adam Young was dying.

And he still insisted on doing things the human way.  Even to the end, he refused to try and regain his antichrist powers, he refused to let any of his supernatural friends restore his health and vigor. Without fail he diverted them to helping Dog, who was in his prime despite being 81 years old (that’s 567 in dog years, mind you!) due to the attention lavished on him.  But not Adam Young, no, not him, the most human human to ever human, craving the human experience down to his very bones, his very old, very brittle bones.

It started like most elderly human deaths, at the ripe old age of 92, with a fall that broke some integral bone, landing him in the hospital where he developed complications that necessitated a lot of tubes and wires and rhythmic machines, nurses checking in on him regularly and suggestions of hospice care.

The people coming to visit him often muttered about how young he was, which seemed like an odd thing to say, but everyone deals with loss in their own ways.

When they disconnected the life support, he was surrounded by loved ones, most of whom looked quite stoic and begrudgingly restrained themselves from various supernatural interventions, against their better judgement following his wishes.

Adam Young took his last shuddering breath and closed his eyes.

Then, he opened them, seeing a bright white light.  No, two, two pinpricks, looking at him.  And they disappeared, then reappeared like a slow, languid blink.

“Oh, bugger,” said Adam. “I’ve finally died.”

IT TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH, Death said.  I’VE BEEN WAITING IN THE CAFETERIA FOR FORTY-FIVE MINUTES.

Adam flexed his shoulder. “I feel…good.  Is being dead supposed to feel this good?  Did I just forget what it felt like not to have a bad hip?”

YOU ARE FREED FROM YOUR MORTAL FORM, said Death.  YOU NO LONGER FEEL ITS PAIN.

“Yeah, I guess,” said Adam. “Did they have anything good in the cafeteria?”

THE PIZZA IS SURPRISINGLY GOOD.

“I haven’t been able to eat pizza since I started getting heartburn. Can we take a stop on over there?  Before going on to, er…”

He looked at Death awkwardly.  He suddenly felt a little foolish.

WHERE INDEED, said Death. YOU PRESENT AN INTERESTING DILEMMA. HOWEVER, I’VE NARROWED THE CHOICES DOWN TO HEAVEN OR HELL.

“Oh,” said Adam.  “I mean, I guess.”

I OUGHT TO CONGRATULATE YOU. YOU ARE THE FIRST ONE TO EVER BE DISCORPORATED DUE TO OLD AGE.  HAD I NOT KNOWN YOU DID IT ON PURPOSE, I WOULD HAVE CHALKED IT UP TO NEGLIGENCE.

“Yeah, I g….Wait, did you say…discorporated?”

YES, said Death, leaning his scythe against the wall.  BECAUSE DESPITE YOUR INSISTENCE, YOU CANNOT DENY YOUR HERITAGE.  I SUPPOSE YOU OUGHT TO GO WHEREVER YOUR CLOSEST RELATIVE WOULD GO WHEN DISCORPORATED, WHICH WOULD BE HELL.

“Wait,” said Adam Young, gawking.  “Deny my heritage?  How am I…not human?  I mean, I guess I am Satan’s son, but…”

I KNOW OF NO HUMANS WHO HAVE WINGS.

“Wings?!” said Adam, standing up ramrod straight, and in the process involuntarily flexing muscles he had never used before.  This elicited an unexpected feathery whoosh.

“Whaaaaaat?!”

***************************

“Unfortunately, yes.”

Noah let out a deep breath. “Damn.  Okay.”

“I’m sorry,” said Beth.

“I should have gone up to see him one more time,” said Noah, pacing the length of the throne room. “Dammit.  I knew he wasn’t doing well, but…”

“What now?” said Maltha.  “We could start scouring Heaven and Hell for his soul, but if he has the same attitude in death that he has in life, he won’t accept the same help from us that Beth does, if we can find him.”

“He’s stupid,” Beth scoffed. “I don’t see why he has to put his own idealism before everyone else’s feelings.”

Noah slouched down into his throne and put his face in his hand.

“We can start searches, sire,” said Dagon, at his elbow.  “You needn’t upset yourself.  We can sort this out easily.”

“I supp—”  Noah cut off and jerked his head up.  “What’s…?”

They all heard it to as the silence fell:  A long, drawn-out, excited, gradually getting louder, “Broooooooooooooooooooooo—”

The sound reached a crescendo as the throne room doors were flung open, and the disembodied spirit of Adam Young bore down on them, carried on a pair of speckled brown sparrow wings, flailing in excitement.

“Adam?!” Beth exclaimed.

Adam bounced around the room hooting at the top of his lungs.  Mammon galloped in after him, winded.  “Sire,” she panted.  “I found him in Purgatory, in the spot where discorporated demons usually fall.”

“Bro!” Adam shouted. He accidentally rammed into one of the arches at the top of the room and rubbed his nose, then shouted again, “Bro, look!  Look, I have wings!  I have wings!”

“What?” said Noah, standing up, absolutely flabbergasted.

“He’s—” said Maltha. “He’s not a dead human soul, he’s a discorporated—”

Angel?  Demon?  It was hard to tell.  His aura didn’t feel quite like either.  His aura did feel like it was surging with the powers he had denied himself for decades, though.

“Death told me so,” said Adam.  “Death told me the lock I put on my powers wore off when my body died, because I had basically trapped myself in a mortal form.  Because I’m still closer to angel or demon than human, so my body is just a body, and—”

His erratic, graceless flight finally ended with him crashing unceremoniously into the foot of Hell’s throne, tumbling over and over to roll to a stop at Mammon’s feet.

She looked down to stare into his eyes.  “You still need a lot of practice.”

Adam leapt up, wings trembling and fluttering.  “I never knew I had them, Noah, but it’s cool—cool—cool!”

“Aren’t you upset?” said Beth.  “You were adamant about being a human even when it sucked, and now you’ve been told in no uncertain terms you aren’t one.”

Adam stopped.  “Huh?”

“Would you like us to fashion you a new body so you can lock your powers again?” said Noah.

“No!” said Adam with horror, hugging his wings to himself.

“Well, you can’t go up to Earth without a corporation,” said Maltha.  “Do you want to stay here in Hell and live like a dead human?”

“No!” cried Adam.

“Then what do you want?” said Noah.

“I want you to look at my wings!” Adam cried.  “Look at them!  They’re so cool!  Why aren’t you excited?!”

“They’re very nice, Adam!” said Noah as his brother fluttered his wings in his face.  “But you’re essentially a discorporated demon now.”

“You don’t have to decide what to do right now,” said Maltha.  “I could make you a new body if you like, and then once you’re back up on Earth you can think about what you’d like to do.”

Everyone in the throne room had to listen for the next few minutes as Adam prattled on and on about whales, spaceships, cowboys, America, UFOs, a dash of philosophy about human nature and nuclear power.  Noah eventually managed to steer him into following Maltha up to the infernal incorporation department without making any commitments.

“All right,” said Maltha, sliding a pair of scissors through a roll of skin like wrapping paper.  “This should be easier than making Hastur’s corporation; I remember what you looked like much better.”

“Do I, er, do I have to look the same?” said Adam, shifting from foot to foot.

Maltha’s hands froze on the sewing supplies.  “I…suppose not.  What would you prefer?”

“Can I have different anatomy?” said Adam excitedly.

“I supp—”

“Does it have to be human—”

“What are you th—”

“Could you give me wolf ears?  And a tail?”

Maltha’s face creased with distaste.

******************

“DeviantArt.”

Aziraphale held the phone out at arm’s length, staring at it.  Then he drew it back to his ear.  “I beg your pardon?”

“Beth said it looked like DeviantArt,” crackled Maltha’s voice on the other end of the line.

Beth’s voice could be heard shouting manically in the background.  “He looks like a DeviantArt OC!  Oh my fucking God!”

“I managed to at least talk him out of the extra pairs of wings,” said Maltha.  “But he was insistent on the retractable claws.”

“Ah,” said Aziraphale. He rubbed his chin. “That’s….well, it’s something. Does he have access to his powers?”

“Yes,” said Maltha.  “The function he had used to seal them off was tied to his physical body.  I imagine any angel or demon could do much the same if they really wanted to and tried hard enough.  I doubt any of us would have the patience to live out our entire lives that way.”

“I certainly wouldn’t.” Aziraphale miracled a cup of cocoa and sipped it.  “And he’s...not upset he’s not living as a human anymore?”

The line crackled as Maltha took a contemplative breath.  “I think he’ll settle down once the novelty has worn off.”

“Maybe so.”

“For now…”  There was a bark in the background.  “He seems…ah…to find not being human quite entertaining.”

[sidpah]

Color Blind

Red socialist flags wave on recommissioned poles because even anarchists have a trademarked logo…  Sweet angels steal their wings from the spines of the poor…

Boasting red and white eyesores these houses rally as one set of bars and stripes, ambling across a distended tapestry – White door, red brick, white siding, red wood, white molding, red cheeks surveying the street through white window panes with unceasing paranoia, red blood, white skin, the rumble of distant red bomb skies and deep fried white potato freedom fries, and redcoats in red ties shooting because they can’t see the whites of their enemy’s eyes… Red flags in black basements mourning spilled blood, plotting how much more’ll need to be spilt –

While above, white women who wish they’d been born heiresses, blue striped scarves double wrapped around bronze throats in late August Sun sip burnt Starbucks under black anonymous glasses, shivering to each other because it’s never been cool to be hot – And they’re gone quick as they came ‘cause life’s about the entrance and exit – The stay’s the least climatic scene –

Left fingerprints on glass tables, toe prints clinking toe rings cast in pewter by an Indian tribe whose name they never cared enough to pronounce correctly, on glass floors where their skirts would’ve been looked up if they weren’t wearing jeans molded tight so every ghost of undergarment excised for sake of unsightly lines could be ogled by a red-eyed degenerate sucking thin white cigarette to pacify his oral fixation – It’s not lit. He doesn’t like the taste of smoke, but people look down on you when you suck your thumb or pens or cocks, but cigarettes still get the public approval for now, so he can hold his head up, as he looks up the skirts of little white girls carrying little white dolls with red blush on their high plastic cheekbones…

And they wear short white skirts, both the doll and the girl because the girl wants to grow up to be the doll and the girl’s mother waxes nostalgic about her days when she exuded the polymer mystique, fresh allure of that doll, lives vicariously through her daughter and her daughter’s sordid little doll, and her father sneaks covert glimpses at the doll and gets a little hard-on and he wonders why he doesn’t get one when he sees his wife who was once his pretty little consolation prize… A ribbon of white gold wrapped around the ring finger of his left hand reminding him of his duties to this little girl and her little blond doll and his miserable wife and their red and white house and Hawaiian blue swimming pool and jade grass and imported tropical flowers of ruby, amethyst, saffron, his black car and his white-washed office and his black secretary at his white-collar job with his black suit and white cuffs and his black caviar and white wine and the black eye he gave his wife after drinking too much white wine and the blackout that followed the same white wine and the red flush his ears take on when he lies, little white lies about not sleeping with his black secretary and not taking too many of those little white pills and not giving his wife that black eye as an anniversary present and not that he noticed the man with the oral fixation flipping a spare cigarette between his fingers, rolling it over and under each knuckle and thinking about nothing in particular other than panties and air –

He’s not so much thinking about them as seeing them superimposed on the rolled up screen of the coffin nail that’ll never seal his coffin because he had the good sense not to set it alight, and he doesn’t wonder who’s dying right now on the other side of the world, who’s dying in this city only a mile away.  Alone in hospice, alone in a motel, surrounded by family at a ski lodge, driving to a concert or wedding or peace rally…  Will they clear their mirror or cling tightly to their ersatz riches? – He doesn’t wonder who has a bomb strapped around his midriff and who’s making his peace with his god, or wondering is his god the same as the stranger’s god or who will be invaded tomorrow and under what false pretext, who makes up this shit, who rolled that cigarette, who picked that tobacco, who profited from that tobacco, how many people those poor tobacco pickers indirectly killed, how many dollars a year the white man makes who’s fucking his black secretary and snorting lines of white Go Powder, and whether he ever thinks about panties and air or whether that’s all trivial to him as the tri-colored ribbon stuck to his black Lexus trunk with a magnet that’ll be stolen by some privileged white teenaged suburbanite who’ll sell it for ten bucks to an old lady who’ll think it’s the most touching thing that this youngster is so patriotic and oh, how he supports his troops! And the kid’ll laugh as he spends the money on condoms and pot and searches for more ribbons to peel off to sell the geriatric population… (this only works in little old lady white neighborhoods…) The ones with the red and white houses flying tri-colored flags with yellow ribbons tied around their old oak trees and young maple trees and middle-aged pine trees (because it’s the thought that counts) –

Ribbons tied on in a red rush of commitment, the feeling that we need to do something even if it’s only this, even if it’s only putting a bowtie on local foliage, even if it’s only bombing the government infrastructure, even if it’s only assassination, only genocide, only nuclear warfare… The feeling that change must be made and that the red of muscle and carnage will be seen on nightly news, in papers, on the street, on the lawns of every little white house, every Big White House, every little red house until the blood stops being shed – it must stop being shed, there’s too much blood run loose of body, too much counterfeit innocence, too much manic sadness, these are the colors flying on every doorstep, up every flagpole, on every faded-out bumper sticker that proves these colors do indeed both fade and run… They fly on rooftops and car antennas and GOP rallies superimposed beneath a 9/11 two stories high, behind sloganeering defendants bullshitting the bullshitters, the blood, the fraud and the tears, and they say you can’t bullshit a bullshitter, so they cut you down to the ankle and suture your lips shut before you get the chance to try –

I must remember to have compassion, compassion for the seeds they sow, the seeds that may take millennia to sprout and bear fruit, but will form forests in the wake of their atrocities…  

They’re ignorant – a disease like malaria – and because they live life spiked on illusion doesn’t mean I can’t mourn their future incarnations, mourn their future pain I will feel next to them as their mother when they’re lying half dead on a battlefield fighting for the war they were close enough to start and too close to run away from…

All things seem safer from a distance – Until the bomb whistles its homecoming tune...  

Remaining shielded and safe in bunkers and resorts… Until they join the ranks at the fresh age of seventeen because of some compulsion they can’t enunciate – It’s deeper than in their genes, it’s in their karma – In the Alayavijnana – Even now they warn you not to mourn the dead, so don’t mourn them when their intestines are baking in the desert sun, don’t mourn them when you get the call saying your son has died in the line of duty, don’t mourn the collateral damage, don’t belittle their sacrifice. Could you imagine mourning the virgin who was given as gift to your Mayan god?  You’re not a red-blooded American patriot if you love your enemy, (or don’t fear your god) – you have to live and die in the knowledge of your enemy (who is your warlord god) – know his weakness, his hunger, his thirst, his dirty little secrets to exploit (both your enemy and your vengeful god) – and you know them well because they are your thirst, your weaknesses, your same dirty little secrets (you and your ignorant god are already one) – and don’t be angry – I try not to be angry but I am, there’s too much fucking red in all our eyes these days – History shows red streaks and great red oceans seemingly insurmountable by few awakened minds whispering calm to enraged toddlers hurling explosive toys across the living room...  

Great Mayan pyramids stained crimson, ropes bleed from mouths and draw holy glyphs of implication – Kings shed their own life for the gods, shed the life of the queen through her forked tongue, empty their sex and their humanity onto an altar for the servants, for the multitudes who will never climb those steps, the surrogate self left locked in sandstone tomb painted the colors of sunset, too much red in those historic eyes too…

So the torn yellow ribbon still flaps years later because no one sees it anymore, least of all the little patriot who tied it there. Part of the old familiar scenery stripped of meaning.  Those solemn days are gone and he did what he could do, she tied a knot, bought a ribbon, profited a charity, supported her troops, hoped they’d stay there until the job was done which means one side or the other is decimated to the point of collapse.  

The error is in the distinction.  We see inside those vehicles, those layers of Kevlar and camo and remember these are human creatures, people, stories, and not soldiers… But that’s our error, because they’re Troops, they aren’t mothers and fathers, sons and daughters, they are the Military Machine. Visceral extensions of the tanks they drive and jets they pilot, and it is offensive to think of them not fulfilling their assigned duty, the culmination of their twenty-some year destiny.  Imagine the disgrace they’d wear in place of their fatigues, the indignation sported like the Purple Heart they never had the opportunity to earn because a bunch of commie liberals stood in their way...  They did what they had to do, as we all do what we feel we have to to believe we’re making a difference. Whether we want change or fidelity to the status quo. We are driven to allegiances straight and crooked, broken and bloodied, hidden and garish – unaware that in reality, there are no fucking flags – there are no fucking colors – only a single unbroken spectrum stretching far beyond our perceptual limitations…

Illusion! Illusion! Oh, most Immaculate of Illusions – When will we at last be tricked no more?  

[captawesomesauce]

7, 21, and 54

7, 21, and 54

7. earbuds or headphones?

I love my headphones, I absolutely love my headphones.... they're not MY headphones anymore. You know .... they're W's now! Just like pretty much everything I own.... it's all W's!

You see, some relationships are 50/50.... but W is bad at math, really bad at math. So bad she once said that 1/3 + 1/3 is 2/6... which.. is 1/3.... and stood there confused as she tried to figure it out lol.

So yeah, no... no 50/50.... it's more like everything that's mine is hers, and everything that is hers... is also hers!

And that includes my headphones! My nice, noise cancelling, comfy as fuck, headphones!

You see, when she first started taking the bus, I handed them to her because I know how noisey it gets on those things and it takes it's toll on your mental well being for long trips. She of course, rejected my offer... nah... she didn't need them, she'd always ridden the bus just fine without them! ... And then... she finally caved, and used them... and my god the change... THE CHANGE... the JOY in her eyes and on her face....

Yeah, ... they're hers now lol.

I do like earbuds for when I'm in bed though because I can lay on my side and read or rest, and still listen to music. I have a pair of cheapo panasonic ones that are great. But honestly, I hate having things in my ears for the most part because I'm usually munching on sunflower seeds and the cracking and sucking and spitting sounds get amplified and it's annoying.

21. obsession from childhood?

I was always really obsessed with books and military history. I was reading Tom Clancy in 3rd grade, I had read everything in both the school and local library, and would raid the used bookstore and spend every cent I had on the books. I played all of the strategy games, and would scour various encyclopedias for even more information!

What always fascinated me the most were the biographies of those people stuck in horrible situations, and how they persevered. Growing up in an abusive household, and facing difficult odds from a very young age, the things I read resonated with me in a way other fiction, fantasy, and stories just didn't.

Reading about kids running off to some fantasy world full of magic and bliss and stuff might be escapism for some, but for me... I just couldn't relate or escape or comprehend it. On nights when my father was so violent and drunk that I would sleep in the backyard with just a towel for a blanket fearing the sound of his footsteps or another outburst of violence, I could much more relate to someone doing the same on Guadalcanal.

I never got into sci-fi, or fantasy, or even sports really... for me, all i ever wanted were my books!

54. what did you learn from your first job?

This wasn't my first job, but it was the first job I learned a lesson.... One of my first jobs after getting my EMT license was to work extra hours at a senior assisted living facility that also had a hospice care for children next door. what I learned from dying children and old people on their last days was that life doesn't always work out. Some people never find love, even though they're good people and they tried hard. Some people struggle and suffer and their stories don't have happy endings... and they die. That's how their story ends.

For every person who has hope, and pushes through, and posts one of those DON'T WORRY!!! YOU'LL FIND LOVE.... I remember those who died alone, whose stories ended, and they never did.

Life isn't fair... life is often cruel... hope all you want, sometimes life just sucks.

@brainsludgemissives

[teambakerst]

I miss my grandma so much. I keep thinking I’ll write in one of my journals and put down all the feelings I haven’t been able to express with family or friends, but then no one will read it, so what’s the point? The same could be said about strangers on the internet reading my personal posts, but whatever. Talking to family just makes me cry and talking to friends doesn’t happen, because no one asks about it anymore. At the same time, I don’t want to put a burden on them, they have their own lives to deal with. It’s too graphic, traumatic, etc. So, I don’t know what else to do but lay it all out here.

My grandma died in March from multiple forms of cancer, all diagnosed too late, and at different times. First, the doctors found black spots on her lungs. Then it was pancreatic cancer. Then we found out it was in her bones.

I couldn’t even react when I found out about the bone cancer. My dad called my mom to tell her, and she told me and my other grandparents. At the time, my mom was in the hospital for an infection, which can be deadly for someone going through chemotherapy. Surprise! Two family members with cancer. They caught mom’s at stage 2. She’s doing better now, about to start radiation...

So she told me my grandma had lesions in her skull. We knew she was dying, but this was terrifying. Cancer’s a fucking monster.

I left the hospital a while later, not feeling well. I caught pneumonia, which sucked by itself, but had another impact on what happened next. The doctors told us my grandma might have two more months to live. They don’t offer real hospice care unless a patient needs a qualified nurse around the clock, so they set us up with a hospital bed and some other supplies in our own home (and a nurse who visited once every couple days). We rearranged our living room for her and brought some of her clothes, pillows, and stuffed animals over from her house. She really, really, did not want to stay with us. Not because she didn’t love us, but because she loved her house and was used to being independent. She’d been suffering from dementia for a long time, so she was often confused about the state of her health and couldn’t understand why we wouldn’t take her home no matter how many times we explained it.

Everyone agreed I shouldn’t be around my mom or my grandma when their immune systems were compromised, so I spent a lot of the time I was sick in my room upstairs. My grandma only lived for two more weeks.

I was so mad for most of that time, mad I was sick, mad the doctors weren’t doing anything for her. And I mean, anything. Apparently, my diabetic grandma didn’t need insulin anymore, because cancer feeds on sugar. Except when her blood sugar spiked too high and they had to take her from our house on a gurney to a rehabilitation facility (??? not a hospital?) to try to bring it back down.

I had a bad feeling when they took her. And nothing but bad feelings every time I went to bed, afraid she wouldn’t wake up the next morning.

During the week she spent at our house, she started hallucinating from not getting enough oxygen. And she was seeing weird things. Squiggly lines and pictures on the walls, rays of light, strangely negative biblical phrases (something about her being a sinner). Hearing things, too. A man behind her calling her name. Her dad, who passed away a long time ago. She would talk to people who weren’t there, sometimes in Spanish. We got her some oxygen tanks, but her condition only improved mildly. She was in and out of sleep all the time. I just tried to reassure her she was safe, especially when she thought she saw smoke in the house. She had a hard time moving and it usually took a long time to get her from the family room couch to the bed. I made sure she was comfy and we would usually talk a little bit, just us two, before I went to bed.

There was one good day where I gave her interview questions and she was lucid enough to answer them. Stuff about college and her friends and vacations. I wrote it all down.

But there was a shift when they took her to the rehab place. I worked the next day. I was taking pay at the drive-thru window when I felt my phone start buzzing in my pocket, over and over. I didn’t want to answer it, because I knew it would be bad news. Then the DQ phone rang and my coworker brought it over to me--my sister called. She said Nani wasn’t responding and I better come over there quick, because it might be the end. I just started sobbing at work. My coworkers/managers were nice and they told me to go. So I cried while driving to the rehab place, too, I couldn’t stop it--don’t cry and drive! My dad called on the way over, he’d noticed me a couple cars ahead of him. That was a little bit reassuring, and I calmed down.

My dad and I met up in the parking lot and found my sister and my other grandma with Nani in her room. Nani was sleeping and wouldn’t respond to her name or her arm being shaken. We thought it was a coma. Hours went by, she had some of her friends visit and leave after sharing their prayers. And then suddenly, she gasped and raised her arms and she was awake!

We’d thought that was the end. The rehab staff weren’t very helpful, not offering an explanation one way or the other. Come to find out she’d been given strong painkillers (or sedatives? Hard to know). It was hard to understand her when she spoke after that, she was very quiet and mumbly. She did say she wanted a “little hug” from everyone, and that made me happy. She asked my uncle to play a song for her. He’d brought his guitar and sung something special for st. patrick’s day. It was very beautiful and I ran to the bathroom in her room, because I started crying again and I didn’t want her to see.

She stayed at that center for a few days, but because healthcare is weird and sucky they said they couldn’t keep her there. It was a rehab place, not a hospice, after all. (I’m still pissed they wouldn’t give her an IV when she stopped eating and drinking. AND they forgot her insulin and claimed they’d given it to her even when I told them I hadn’t left the room and never saw the nurse return with it. High blood sugar was the reason she was there in the first place.)

So they moved my grandma to another rehab place. This one wasn’t as nice. I visited her after school, because through all of this I was still trying to finish off the semester... The doctors helped my grandma into a wheelchair and we took her to a dinner table where the other patients could eat together. My grandma “ordered” some tea and did a little dance--I think my phone’s ringtone went off or something. She was almost normal. That was the last time I saw her alive. My dad, sister, and I let her have dinner with my uncle because he hadn’t gotten a chance to be alone with her.

They moved her, again, to what’s called a group home. My parents and sister visited her there, but I had school and work again. I got a text from my dad at work, saying I should probably leave now and come home. I knew she’d passed.

It was a strange feeling. I guess it would be called numbness. My sister was home and confirmed what I’d thought. My parents were on their way home from a family wedding. I went up to my room and kind of stood there.

Then my parents got home and we went to the group home. It was the first time I was seeing it. It was nice. The people there said they were sorry. I didn’t really realize we were going to see her body until my sister led the way to her room. I kind of lingered back, not knowing if I wanted to see. We all went in and my grandma was there on the bed, with her mouth open and her lips blue. My dad tried to “wake her up.” Kind of like before, when she hadn’t really gone. He blamed himself, outloud. But there was nothing we could’ve done differently. He told me she was still warm if I wanted to hug her or give her a kiss, but I couldn’t. I just wanted to remember what she was like alive. I knelt beside her and said a prayer instead.

I don’t remember what it’s called right now but we had a ceremony before the funeral where we prayed the rosary with my grandma preserved in her coffin. The priest had everyone make the sign of the cross over her forehead. I was the first to do it. I didn’t like it because her skin was cold and hard. I petted her hair, which felt the same. Soft. The funeral director gave my sister and I paper to write Nani a letter, which we folded up and put in her coffin. I thanked her for everything and all the time we spent together.

The funeral was very nice and I didn’t cry then. Lots of tears during the before-ceremony. I don’t know what it was at the funeral, but I’ve cried a lot since then. I still wish I could go back and not get sick. Go back and see her in the group home. My parents said she wasn’t really lucid or talkative when she was there, but I still want things to be different. I wish the hospital had given her a damn CT scan during the many, many times I took her there for her uncontrolled blood sugar, hernia, etc. Good to know the blood sugar thing is a sign of pancreatic cancer.

My mom having cancer at the same time is still something I’m dealing with. And she’s dealing with. And dad’s dealing with. On and on. I don’t like thinking about cancer in my future. We’re all trying to eat better and use natural products. Mom’s breast cancer isn’t genetic, but they never tested my grandma’s.

Everytime I think of a happy memory with my Nani, it’s followed by “and you’ll never see her/hear her/be able to do that with her again.” I would like the second part of the thought to disappear. I’ve been having weird dreams with her still. Not the kind where a family member visits you and bestows upon you wisdom, a friendly greeting, or an I love you. Instead, it’s her as a restless ghost, a corpse, or the confused version of herself before she died where in the dream I’m still aware she’s gone. I want her back, I want to forget all this sadness. I want the dreams to end. Or at least give me some peace.

[haliasjane]

.

some shit (ellie i talk about dad so if you’re avoiding that kind of thing, like, maybe skip this one)

like i haven’t been on here much recently because of a- the depressions and b- life shit. my dad was officially put into hospice at the end of may and is doing generally Not Great. i’ll think i’m doing okay with this but then also i will find myself almost crying at work for no actual reason so maybe i’m not. like, before he was diagnosed with cancer three years ago we hadn’t had the greatest relationship because he can be overbearing and stubborn and like kind of a jerk. but now he is dying of cancer and that really sucks because he is still my dad, you know? it has been so hard on my mom, who can’t leave the house anymore because she has to be there to help him, and my oldest brother who still lives with them. the paper my mom printed out and let me read says patients with his kind of cancer usually only have about a month or so of hospice treatment before they ultimately succumb to the disease. 

so.

that’s happening.

that’s the background noise to everything else going on in my life.

possibly related although possibly not my depression has been very, very bad lately. this past sunday i called off work and literally stayed in bed the whole day, only getting up to feed the cat and make something for dinner. i come home from work and am absolutely exhausted even though work isn’t busy right now. i’m writing this today because i feel Good Enough to do basic stuff but all i want to do is just sleep for like four months. the big summer sale at work starts next month and i am dreading it. i’m not going into it feeling at all well and yeah, honestly, my father might die before then so it’s really going to be a shitshow.

i can’t focus on anything long enough to do anything. i have a little shawl i’ve been working on on-and-off for the past like month and it still isn’t done. the last actual writing i did was that little snippet i posted last... friday? i think? i opened up my scrivener file to work on it on tuesday or whenever and i could only get down two sentences. and it took me a good three hours. this fucking thing still isn’t going to be done by the end of the year, which means another christmas season at where i work currently and oh man, i don’t know. 

i’m wiped out by everything. by nothing. by the whole goddamn thing. and here’s where it gets weird: i have never been, and continue to not be, suicidal in any way, shape, or form. please don’t worry about me like that (which, yeah... that’s a weird thing to have to assure people of but that’s where we’re at right now). i just... i just want a break. i just want to lay on the floor and not have anyone bother me for the next six months. just hang out exclusively with my cat and let everything work itself out.

i think i’m going to get an actual physical journal and start keeping it. if nothing else it will be some kind of writing every day, which i need to do. today i will start the fancy shawl that i bought the yarn for last week. tomorrow i will hang out with my sister who is home for another week before heading back to school. i will pet fairfax. i have to go grocery shopping. maybe i’ll vacuum.

i don’t know.

[lectergrahams]

just feeling like shit today lmao

slept so fucking bad, like i haven’t in so long. i felt manic out of nowhere last night before going to sleep maybe it was bc i listened to hospice while rereading wake and that made me feel like i felt last summer while writing it. i had to go to bed with no word from ed which always puts me so on edge bc he usually only doesn’t text me at night when he’s pissed at me or threatening to kill himself. i woke up at 5 and he didn’t text me til he got to work even tho he was on instagram, and connie doesn’t sleep in my bed anymore and it makes me feel like he hates me and was just making me want to cry so bad. this morning bella is here and her and olivia left to get hair dye and i started watching metalocalypse while working & while they’re in the bathroom and that’s also the same exact day i lived through in august and september so it just feels like nothings changed and i think i triggered myself. which also sucks bc this is my comfort show lmao so like what am i supposed to do tht it’s triggering me a little rn. i guess just shouldn’t watch it while working now or something. ed’s being weird today and bitching about splitting weekends like we’ve been doing it forever even tho we literally just did it last weekend. and like yah it’s not my fave but idk why he acts like it’s SO unbearable when it’s like,,,,, literally not a big deal? and next week i go on a trip with my family the day after his birthday and i feel like he’s gonna be mad at me for that even tho he was literally invited to go too idk i’m so nervous. i only have one gift rn too so like i gotta figure out more and no matter what i’m gonna feel like it’s not good enough soooooooo cool feeling Bad today

[aenariasbookshelf]

I’m trying to accept the fact that my grandpa is dying.  I mean, death will come for all of us eventually, but now, for him, it’s an inevitability.  There’s no time frame; it could be days, weeks, months, but it’s coming.  His heart’s failing, and every medicine cocktail we put him on doesn’t seem to be working as well as it should anymore.  My dad and my aunt are talking about things like assisted living, nursing homes, even hospice care at home because we know grandpa will be happiest staying at home instead of spending his last days in some facility.  Some days he looks so old and frail, and then other days, like today, he’s smiling for his home health care aide, eating food, and complaining about everything, which is status quo for him and something I like to see.  We got a pic from the health care aide this afternoon - he’s looking good.

I’ve been thinking, especially after my uncle passed, that the whole process would be easier if we could see it coming, if we have time to prepare.  In a way, I’m finding that’s true.  That when that call comes there won’t be any of that sharp heartbreak that I felt with my uncle.  It will be impossibly hard, and I can’t imagine the upset I’ll be feeling, but there’s also the acceptance that he’s lived a long life, and that we knew this time was coming.

It still fucking sucks, though.

Then there’s the selfish part of me that keeps rearing its ugly head.  That I want him to hold on for as long as possible because I’ve been waiting for this wedding on Friday for months now so me and my parents can celebrate with my best friend because we could use some happiness in our lives.  My mom already told me I should go to the wedding regardless of what happens, but I don’t even want to think of what I would do.  But maybe if I think about it, that means it won’t happen?  I don’t know.  There’s also the other, selfish thought that if something happens to grandpa I’m basically out of an apartment.  I’ll never be homeless, but it means moving back in with my parents once the house is sold until I figure out what to do next.  Is it wrong of me to think like this?  I feel like these thoughts aren’t original ones to have, that so many of us have these thoughts when going through this process, but actually putting them into solid words is hard.

Mom says not to worry - that it’s out of our hands at this point, and what will be will be.  So I’m trying to cling to that and just keep going, one day at a time.  That’s about all we can do at this point.  

Onward we go.

[obishenshenobi]

Okay, fuck today. I was thinking about whether or not I wanted to post anything, but I’ve had some wine and ice cream and pizza (oh gods, what the fuck am I doing to myself!!!) so yeah...

My uncle was diagnosed with colon cancer almost a year ago and today he had the final possible surgery, which was aborted after only 15 minutes because the cancer has spread too far. As he’s not able to eat anything anymore, he’s just become terminal, my aunt is arranging hospice care for his last days/weeks. This sucks so much, I am beyond words. He’s a really good dude, only retired two years ago after working as a social worker and parole officer, running a gateway house and implementing work programs to reintegrate felons. Like, he really cared and he really made a difference. He was a boy scout leader for as long as I can remember, biked everywhere - even once across the alps after having had a gigantic aneurysm removed. Like, he’s this gigantic (almost 2 meters tall, muscular) and well-spoken and well-read dude that could not only beat you at arm wrestling, but also at Trivial Pursuit. And now he’s just past 60 and dying and it just makes me angry. I’m so sorry for him and my aunt, my mom’s baby sister, who met him when they both started their training as social workers. She’s the same age my gran was when her husband passed, 58. They’ve been together since she was 17 and I just can’t imagine her without him. They have three great kids, all grown, but my youngest cousin only just finished her bachelor’s as a - you guessed it - social worker. Honestly, just fuck this fucking fuck with a cactus. Repeatedly.

And as I haven’t seen or heard from my flatmate in two days, I guess her mother also got a crappy diagnosis but I really don’t want to ask. 

TLDR; Fuck cancer.

[acelucky]

I left work early today, I got half way through the day, I’d already cried in the toilets twice and just... I couldn’t do it. I went into the toilet again and watched the end of the short film ‘Grandpa’ based on Raymond Briggs’ book, I know I’ve spoken about this movie movie and how I often dream about the ending... I then watched the ending of the Snowman. I was uglyyyyy sobbing, so my lovely managers drove me home and made sure I was okay.

I figure one of the best things I can do is write out about how I’m feeling about my grandfather, my mother, their deaths. It’s gonna be long, I’m gonna cry writing it but I think it’ll be cathartic and quicker than writing in a journal. 

Also y’all today is Blue Monday so it fuckin’ figures you know? 

Here come the content/trigger warnings because there’s a fair few....Death, suicide, emotional manipulation/abusive parenting, blackmail, eating disorders, self-harm, depression and discussing PTSD. 

As those of you who saw yesterday, my grandfather passed away in the early hours of Sunday morning. In a way it was a relief, it was a long time coming and he’d been sick for some months, diagnosed with terminal cancer just over a week ago.

I’d thought about whether we should go see him again, but we’d already said our goodbyes in December and made peace the best we could. I realised if I saw him again and he was like his old self, or accidentally called me Cathy (his daughter/my mother’s name) or started talking about my mother and how she died, or got angry at us... well it wasn’t worth ruining the somewhat nice memory we had from last month. 

His death for me is closure, and whilst closure is good (I guess the real closure is at the funeral) there’s parts of this closure that I didn’t want. It was a thing I didn’t want to end because I had hope beyond hope, that somewhere in the middle of the madness that is my mother’s family, I might get answers, I might get an explanation, a sincere apology, I might receive some of the things I was promised. With his death there is a death also of that hope. I suppose in a way, whatever was said, nothing is going to bring my mother back, nothing can make up for the years we’ve had of pain and fear and confusion. Nothing will take away the fact that all three of his children and two of his grandchildren were left with many mental scars, depression, anxiety, alcoholism in some instances, self-harming in others, suicide in the case of my mother.

Now, it wouldn’t be fair to lay all the blame at the feet of my grandfather, especially so recently departed. My grandmother has something to answer for also, all the adults do, the world/society does and of course my mother/individuals themselves. I do have happy memories of my grandfather, he had this smile, he gave hugs like a teddy bear, he was one of the few people who did encourage me when I said I wanted to work in the film industry, he gave me some money when I was younger which helped, he used to teach me history, tell me stories of all the countries he’d lived in... He’d teach me about Australia and about what Dubai was like once upon a time, he’d recall takes from his youth, how his father was the manager of the Royal Opera House in Covent Garden. He’d tell me south African folk talks... He was wise in many ways and foolish in so many others.

He was the richest man I’ve ever known and yet with all that money, he couldn’t buy happiness. He could have made a real difference in the world, but he didn’t. He shouted at his children and grandchildren, he emotionally blackmailed us, threatened to disown us from the family if we did things he didn’t like (get tattoos, date people that weren’t of the opposite sex, he didn’t like the idea of us dating people who weren’t white...) He was sexist, racist, homophobic and it wasn’t just an elderly thing, there was hatred there...At times it softened, at times he demonstrated that he was growing, understanding even, becoming a better person, but then something would happen and it would be back to normal.

I developed an eating disorder because of him (as did my mother) and have never been confident with my body or my looks, a lot of this is down to how he used to speak to us. I used to self-harm when I was younger because it was a behaviour i’d learnt from my mother, it was behaviour that I didn’t think was even that strange, I was so used to being shouted at or told what I was doing was wrong. The pain was a short release from everything else. 

He struck fear into the hearts of all his family, to the point where every time the phone rang my mother would have a panic attack and shake and rock backwards and forwards on the floor in tears. 

My grandmother told me when they were younger, an exorcism was performed on the family. I don’t really have a lot to say about this, neither does anyone else, that’s all I know.

My mother went on a pilgrimage to Walsingham, when she returned she was never the same again, so driven was she, so committed to the idea of ending her own life. She believed she heard the word of God in the Cathedral, believed he spoke to her and told her it was her time to join him. It’s pretty fucked up, I don’t have much else to say about this.

There is a sorrow for a thing that could never be, a type of nostalgia for a life, a love, a grandfather that never existed.

I spoke to my uncle in New Zealand and he feels the same, my grandfather spent half his life retired, he could have done so much more. He promised to show me and my brother and world and didn’t. Promised to take me to LA, to send me to the New York school of Film and didn't. He could have made it up with his eldest son, but he didn’t. He could have helped my mother more, and didn’t. After my mother committed suicide, my uncles, grandmother and grandfather sat round a table for the first time in years and vowed to try, for the rest of us. my grandfather dominated the conversation, shut everyone else out and that was that.

I’m glad we went to see him in December, I decided that in the end it wasn’t worth hating him, it wasn’t worth fighting with him in his dying days. I know it must be easy to feel remorse and apologise when you’re so close to death. My grandfather was stubborn, proud and a coward. He probably feared what people would think of him when he was gone, and worried there really was a hell. He apologised in his own way, told us if we made only half the mistakes he made, we could be much better and greater humans than he ever was. He told us if we lived with more love in our hearts than hatred and shouting/anger/discipline... 

He told me he loved me, he would always love me, he HAS ALWAYS loved me. And it broke my heart, these were virtually the same words my mother spoke to 10 year old me, stood in her bedroom when she had already overdosed. The last words she ever spoke. 

He also told me how proud of me he was, it’s funny, all my mother ever wanted from him was to know her father was proud of her and that he loved her. 

The thing is, I thought about it for several years, whether or not to confront him about my mum’s suicide, about everything.. But I realised something, hatred begets hatred.... In the end, it wasn’t worth me sacrificing myself for that and letting him win. If I’d confronted him, he might have had a heart-attack and died, then I’d never of forgiven myself. He’d have written me out of the will and probably my brother (and even my cousins too) to spite us... the others don't deserve that due to my decision, it would be selfish of me. Plus, his money did little good in death... But what we inherit, it’ll be enough to make sure if I have children they have a good life, I can donate a lot to a mental health charity in my mother’s name, I can adopt a dog, I can afford the film equipment which would make up for his broken promises, I can afford to see my mother’s family in New Zealand. The word is full of so much pain and suffering, and in the end I couldn’t bear to inflict anymore on my grandfather in spite of everything he’s done. I chose to live with love in my heart and forgiveness, to be the bigger person and say - No more, this ends here.

My heart breaks because there is no resolution now, it is done. There are people who won’t understand, they’ll say grandparents die, that’s just life. I know how lucky I am, to be 30 and have 3 (now 2) grandparents left. But what people don’t realise is when half your family live in New Zealand, your uncle, due to alcoholism and depression when younger (now ill health) loves you but cannot be there for you, when your mother committed suicide when you were just 10, when you had to raise your brother, protect your father. When you had to be the one that was strong, to stand up to people like my grandfather and fight the good fight. When life isn’t remotely simple, those grandparents were more to me than just grandparents...

I feel tremendous guilt about everything, even though he doesn’t deserve my guilt, he barely deserved my forgiveness... I feel bad that I didn't call my step-grandmother last week... But then I remember

* I went and saw him last month, we said our goodbyes, told him to say hi to mum if an afterlife exists, told him how much I loved him. We hugged and cried

* They had a card, plant and christmas present from me

* i sent a letter with a photo of us to him a few weeks ago which he loved and took to hospital

* Every time I called my step-grandmother I told her to pass on my love and to hug him.

It sucks that we only got the direct number to the hospice late the night he died... I feel bad I didn’t call sooner, but what I did or did not do, would not have changed a thing. Just like my mother’s suicide, or being a victim of sexual assault and rape, or being in a controlling relationship.... The death of my grandfather triggered my PTSD in the worst ways, i’ve had nightmares, keep thinking about drinking and taking a bunch of tramadol to help with the pain... I’ve had panic attacks, been hyper-ventilating. I’ve been re-living moments, hearing my mother’s voice... I’ve been shaking and scared but I’m determined not to let this moment be my undoing. I will not give him that satisfaction in death. I know it is not my fault, I don’t have to carry this guilt on my shoulders anymore. I hope that with his death I finally learn how to let it all go, at long last, this pain has cut far too deep and I cannot let it go any further....

Links to Grandpa if you need a cry - https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UbXF2oASor0 

[a-glutton-for-punishment-blog]

What I Think of Marijuana

For most of my teenage life, marijuana has been described to me as a party drug. I had subscribed to that idea for the vast majority of said teenage life, and into my adulthood as well.

I first started smoking it when I was 16 years old, and for me then it was just something fun to do. It rocked, I loved the feeling I got while I was on it, and it just made everything feel better. 

That was the year I stopped cutting the first time. See at this point I had been cutting for 2 years. By age 16, I was to the point of not even trying to hide it in school anymore because I just didn’t give a fuck. I was done, done with school, done with rules, done with people who just really didn’t give a shit about me, and done with everything. 

I was being bullied, I had broken up with who I still consider to be my first real love, (who to this day if he genuinely asked me to consider dating him again I would say yes immediately. It was the... WORST decision to break up with him, and although I live my life to the idea of ‘no regrets because every experience made me who I am today’, the decision is one that comes very close to a regret.) and I was learning that some of the friends around me that I thought were my best friends, were just using me to make themselves look better, and because I walked them through their homework and gave the answers at the end so they basically ‘liked’ me because I (didn’t realize at the time they were using me and thought i was actually helping them but in hindsight i realize otherwise, and because) did their goddamned homework for them. 

So I gave in. I had a couple stoner friends, they always seemed so damn laid back, they enjoyed life, my life sucked. I was lashing out on my body because i liked my personality (still do), so I saw the only reason everything bad happening around me must have been due to my body size. I started stealing things, basically my life devolved. 

I asked my stoner friends to hook me up, and one finally said yes after she told me I had to take a month to really think about why I wanted to start and then if I still wanted to, she’d help. She was really one of my best friends, and not one who used me. We had the best of times, and I kinda felt like I fit right in to her family. They were a family that smoked together, drank together, and partied together. Even up to grandma, yes my high school friend’s grandma got in on that stuff. It was amazing, and still some of my fondest memories. 

I came back a month later and I smoked with her. Stayed a week at her house was stoned every waking hour that I wasn’t in school (we didn’t bring it to school too risky), and it was amazing. 

After that week had ended, and the effects wore off, I found myself withdrawing again. I had gone right back to how I was before. Constantly fixated on everything that was wrong in my life, obsessed with death to the point of seeking out and watching people get murdered and commit suicide on camera on some of the most fascinating and horrifying parts of the web, and falling down an emotional roller coaster faster and faster. Daddy told me that he thought I was depressed and that I may have taken after him in the anger issues department and told me to watch that so I didn’t get put in jail for shit I’d regret later. (His words.)

At this point my dad put me into my own apartment the next town over from him. He paid the rent for me, and I lived there alone... until I let my boyfriend move in... and then let the guy who I didn’t know who my neighbor had kicked out move in cause he seemed nice and like he just really needed a place to crash. 16 year old me did this. The guy we let move in beat the shit out of his girlfriend who had also moved in with a 2x4, and the cops got called. Then he returned later and stole my tv, some of my clothes, some of daddy’s clothes he kept over there for when he visited, and some of my boyfriend’s clothes. Needless to say, it was an enlightening experience about letting complete strangers move in with you.

Then I realized that I wanted to cut again. And then I realized that that week I was high, I didn’t wanna cut. It made life ridiculously tolerable. I decided then I wanted more, and so my friend and I pooled our weekly money together, and got stoned usually 4 of the 7 days of the week for like the next year.

At the time I didn’t realize it because I had spent far too much of my time thinking that marijuana was just some party drug. I often combined it with alcohol, which more often than not led to me puking my guts up because I’d drank way too much, or hitting on everyone withing talking distance. But when I didn’t combine it with alcohol I was relaxed, I was content, I was--dare I say it? Happy! I hadn’t felt this kind of happiness since my last big family christmas with my mom’s side of the family. Life was beautiful, and on those days I never had the urge to cut.

I moved around a bit, and every time after that I had marijuana, the effects were much the same. As I aged, I wound up with several bodily pains due to shitty decisions while drinking. Let’s just say my right knee, right hip, mid right back, upper back, and neck all have related problems with them, all due to dumb ass decisions of mine.

Over time I started to notice that with certain strains of marijuana, my physical ailments began to stop hurting nearly as badly. While still present, they became tolerable, and much less pained. 

This on again off again cycle of soul crushing self hatred that I had built up, which only got worse with the cutting, which only made the cutting worse, then flipping to total complacency, kept me from understanding and seeing the full benefits of marijuana. In fact, well into my adulthood I still didn’t understand. I began to start comprehending it when I was around 26. 

But it wasn’t until today that I can fully understand the mental impact marijuana has on me. To give some backstory of today, my mom is dying. My stepdad and I are overwhelmed, mom has given up and refuses medical treatment. She’s on hospice and wants to let her illnesses kill her rather than seek help. She’s done, and now we’re just waiting, trying to keep her as comfortable as possible, while she dies.

I’ve been taking care of my mom for over a year now. I’ve been doing everything from bathing, helping use the bathroom, cooking, cleaning, and fetching whatever she wants whenever she wants it. She never asked me to, I’ve put myself here. Part of the reason, she took care of me as a baby. It’s the least I can do to care for her back when she no longer can as well. The other part of the reason, I feel responsible. I was the catalyst of an accident that caused a major injury which had her bedridden. For about 6 months she was bedridden and I felt it was my fault. Still do.

This led to complications with various illnesses she had, which progressively got worse. Now we’re to the point that hospice believes the infection set in her from the cellulitis and the necrosis in the skin seeping into the muscle is going to be what kills her, and sooner rather than later. Now it’s 14 months later after the initial injury, and I am overwhelmed with guilt that I caused this. Everyone and their damn brother has told me that this isn’t my burden to bare, but it is. So long as the blame fits, it sticks. My mind will not change on this matter at the current trajectory of my life.

I’ve been having some problems coping with the situation as a whole, and recently, after 3 years of being self-harm free, I started cutting again. Only on the nights with alcohol or sobriety. And I think the stress is really getting to me, because I’ve started seeing and hearing things that aren’t there at all. Some examples, heard a baby crying in my living room, heard unintelligible chatter from behind me, saw rain coming out of my phone, saw old wounds fill with blood then drain the blood, and that’s just to name a few. I’ve been hearing things lately about 3-4 times a day.

Today when I came in to help my mom, I had done well, I’d thought. I cut on the weekend, ripped off some skin, felt MASSIVELY relieved that I’d done so, got enough sleep to stay up today, knew hospice was coming to help take care of some things with me, and even took a tranquilizer before I got here to ensure I wasn’t as bad as the last time I was here when I almost cried that one time.

Then I walked in... and the first thing mama said to me was, ‘blue pig’ and then she giggled and shook her head. Over the course of the day, I realized just how much she’d deteriorated in 4 days. Then she asked me if I had let the little mouse out of the cabinet. There was no mouse ever. She asked if I could explain the difference between a waist and a pair of overalls, she told me I needed to get a friend with a little T & A for my bird. I don’t even have a bird. 

Everything else she tried to tell me was unintelligible. I’d have to say ‘What?’ so many times that it frustrated her and she’d just go ‘nevermind!’ after the 5th or 6th time trying to tell me. I really was trying to understand, but I couldn’t. She was slurring her words, and what little I could make out didn’t make sense.

Today I had 2 shaking fits, 6 bouts of crying, took two more tranquilizers to calm panic attacks, spoke to a crisis center, and had the overwhelming urge to cut so much that I almost stole a razor to cut in the bathroom. I started contemplating if life was worth this, if this was going to be how I felt for the rest of my days, and if my fear of blinking out of existence would be enough to keep me from killing myself,  Then I lucked out. 

Let’s just say some things happened, and I managed to get my hands on some marijuana. Immediately after my third hit, it all went away. The urge to cry, the intense need to slice my leg open, the shaking, the feeling of utter hopelessness and despair, and the feeling as though I were teetering on the edge of a panic attack on one side, and insanity on the other--ALL OF IT was gone. No longer contemplating if fear could keep me from suicide for much longer, no longer having obsessive thoughts to the point of pacing around outside so mama didn’t see me, and no more physical pain either. 

Right now, I’m content. I understand why my mom is as she is, and while I still feel some guilt, I also understand that she’s been ready to die for years now, and she sees this as the catalyst to stop her own pain. Right now, while I have marijuana in my system, I’m able to process this. I’m able to talk about, sympathize with, acknowledge, and understand the situation. I’m not burdened by fear, anger, and oppressive depression. Right now, death is although still scary because of possibilities, only another stage of existence. Right now I can hope that death brings an evolution of sorts, beyond our physical bodies and the petty worries and strifes of mankind, into a more peaceful and knowing state of being. When I’m sober, I can’t fathom that that could ever be true, because while I’m sober I live in daily walking fear of possibilities beyond my control. 

Side note; I’ve just noticed I haven’t been counting everything I’m doing in fours. So we can add calms obsessive rituals and the compulsion to complete them to the list of reasons. For me, marijuana isn’t a party drug. It’s an antidepressant, antianxiety, and a panic attack stopper. It’s a single naturally growing herb that takes the place of the several chemical pills which my doctors would prefer I take. It’s cheaper than my pills, it doesn’t make me feel sick like my pills, and I actually look forward to being alive and awake while I’m on it.

TL;DR -- Marijuana isn’t a party drug, it’s a god damned life saving sanity preserving medicine.