#like even when i’m not depressed my brain isn’t fully functioning at all times

[gregmarriage]

literally the biggest mood of all time, ms williams

[this-is-me19]

Depression and Magick/Witchcraft

Please note this is a very long post.

Depression is called depression because it literally depresses your system — it makes your brain and body not work as it should. It makes you more stressed; makes your immune system not work as well so it’s easier for you to get sick. It makes your sleep not as restful or allow you to sleep at all which in turns makes you even worse. It is one thing after another that adds to each other so you’re stuck in this hole that you have no idea how to get out of. If you stay that way for a while, your brain stops making the necessary neurochemicals to function properly which is why Medication or other treatments can become necessary.

Depression is payback no one deserves, just like cancer.

Depression, however, is a manipulating liar that thrives on your belief, much like Magick. They are NOT the same. Depression wants you to believe that your practice is too hard, to challenging, too difficult, too much when it isn’t. It takes away the pleasure of your life and enjoys it.

The brain is this amazing and powerful device or tool that science still does not fully understand. The brain is the control center of our body and interprets every piece of our experiences. It has also been prove should you believe something, truly, your brain will make it happens and affect you. I don’t understand this but it does.

It is how children with cancer can draw pictures of their immune system going to war and eating their cancer and after months of this daily practice will be cancer free. It’s amazing the power of the human mind and of true belief.

I, myself, have not been doing well despite being medicated. I realize a few months ago that I need to add therapy of some kind to my healing process so I’m working on that search which can seem daunting. Ugh. That’s another story for another time.

Right now, I wanted to help you understand that depression does not have to control you. It is so hard. I’ve read that sometimes personifying your depression can actually help— think of it as a separate person who is experiencing these things or doing this to you.

As far as I understand the science, depression is almost guaranteed for life. That’s ok. It’s sucks. It’s heartbreaking and disheartening for me, personally. All these activities and ways I wanted to be as a parent has had to change for more than a decade and it can be so difficult. It can be done though.

Humans are these amazing resilient beings because our brains allow us to be.

We make magick happen when science says it, more than likely, shouldn’t and yet it does! Why? The human mind. That’s it.

While I am not saying you can beat mental illness of any kind with only your mind, I am saying that you do have more control than you may realize. Even if it is just a quick knot spell for healing or improving your mood. You could even make a poppet of yourself to help “lift yourself up” when your depression is being you down. You could also make a poppet for your depression and help heal it that way.

I do agree to always try the mundane before magick because that is how, as far as I can tell and from my experiences, humans are designed. Magick should be a last resort because humanity is strong and amazing, and can do anything if only you act.

[theemomarshmallow]

ALL OF THIS! (Rant incoming)

I can’t do physical activities the way I used to because Lymes has been fucking with my joints since I got it. Yeah I can lift weights, I also suffer after.

I can’t do high energy activities because of the chronic exhaustion I always have no matter how much sleep I get.

I can’t stay in places with more than one source of noise for too long without noise cancellation because it will set my nervous system on fire and make me want to scream and I will sob hysterically. It scrambles my brain so much and I can’t think straight. Then I have to stop whatever I was doing and go to another room to just ride it out. Because if I try to stuff it down it gets so much worse. It’s fucking unfair.

Since I’ve unmasked my ability to articulate myself verbally has diminished a lot. Including temporary verbal shutdown in some instances.

Since I’ve unmasked my tolerance for stress and mild pain has diminished.

Since I’ve unmasked my slow processing is at least way more noticeable.

When I feel even slightly slighted, I completely draw away for a long while. The rejection and sometimes even betrayal I feel is so potent and sharp. Especially if it’s someone I’m close to. I am working on the rumination but some days…

And when I’m truly betrayed? Truly hurt? You’ll know. You’ll fucking know because I will not fuck with you any more after that. I may forgive but forgetting? No. This isn’t the kind of stuff I get to forget.

If I don’t watch (primarily 24th century) Star Trek and listen to music and dance/pace all at least once a day I will get very disregulated and depressed. Long enough it will limit my functionality A LOT. And I feel silly for it. It’s all I can talk about and people I think find me irritating for it. And those are the socially acceptable special interests.

Since I’ve unmasked my meltdowns have become more prominent and more painful for me. Yes, they HURT!

Im in physical and mental pain damn near constantly even with therapy and medical intervention. To the point where now some days I need a cane for my knee pain specifically on bad days now.

I have to use a calculator for even basic math problems because my brain refuses to process the numbers and symbols; leading me to make the most basic mistakes every time. Remembering long numbers? Remembering even three numbers at once? Oh come now let’s not get crazy!

And most doctors *DO NOT LISTEN* when I tell them my autistic symptoms. They will not test me without me fighting tooth and nail. And I don’t have the fucking energy to fight tooth and nail I just don’t.

And so on and on and so forth.

I’m 24 and feel like I can’t be very open about it because most will at best pity me and at worst make it all some kind of moral issue. I told my Mom the other day about my cane and the look I got…mostly confusion but something else I couldn’t place. Whatever it was stabbed me in the chest with shame. She didn’t say anything. I felt distinctly I shouldn’t have either.

All of this, especially now that I’m a parent (hell of a time to discover the ol ‘tism right). Especially since I’ve not been able to hold a job or friendships or meet general “adult” expectations (eg. Driving, holding a job longer than maybe three months, keeping fully up with tasks like “normal” people). My babies are cared for-and then as soon as my partner is home and has settled in I need a few hours of recoup time at least. I’m fucking blessed to have him. And I struggle with it every day even though I know this is the only way I can parent effectively.

It adds to the parental guilt that always just seems to be there.

But hey I’m “high functioning” (fucking gross) so I’m totally fine, right?

I did not ask for this. I just wanted to ride my horse in the woods as a child. I just tried to fit in the best I knew how and foolishly still try to.

And all the while people will see my struggle and choose to judge. Without asking me what’s happening what need support with. They don’t care about us.

So if I complain, yeah, it sucks. I’m not gonna sit here and pretend it’s not happening at all. Talking about it is how we deal with it.

And dealing is better than ignoring.

All I wanna do is live, man.

abled people really act like if your illness or disability isn’t terminal then you’re not allowed to complain about it or grieve the life you thought you’d have and it’s so fucked up

[gavinsmg24]

I’m sorry you’ve been feeling depressed baby. It sucks. I know that just changing things for the better doesn’t always stop depression. Of course it there. But! Grrr. Sorry lost train of thought. But! I’m glad your at least. You know. Getting by and doing routines! At least you haven’t fully shut down! Obviously the feelings you feel aren’t fun. But! Think about how far you’ve come! Idk fully but just think. A couple years ago if you were depressed you may not have even been able to do routines. I’m not saying this off fact or anything I’m just saying you’re maturing always. So it makes sense that you’re handling yourself better day by day. Depressed yes. But! Functioning! Of course it’s not good to stay there. But. Your eating. And finding a few ways to entertain yourself. It may be hard now. But you’ll strive for that happy!

I’m proud your keeping things tidy. And! Keep applying until you land one you really think works for you! I’ve been throwing out applications even if I’m meh about the job just to see my options.

And hmph. It sounds like you disassociate to either not feel that nauseous can’t breathe feeling. Or. You can’t breathe and are nauseous from the stress of everything on your mind so your brain is taking you to a place it can relax. Even if not really. I’m not saying this to tell you something you don’t know. Just trying to understand you more is all. Or like. Once again. Make you feel sane!

I’m setting you some side quests!

I’d say today or this week but I dont want to make you feel pressured so!

Sometime whenever you feel like it! Daddy is giving you this quests!

Play a video game Youve wanted to play! Even if it’s not fully the vibe. Pick a chill one and dive in! There’s been times I wasnt even into the game I was playing at first but then after a bit I ger more invested. It’s like! Swimming!

When the water is cold. You shove your whole body underwater to get it over with!

So when the game gets boring. Dive in! I know that doesn’t really make sense but! My gamer girl has to get a good gamer score before I take you back 😝 (just silly “confidence”. Like oh yeaaa you’re gonna work for that score just to get my favor 😝. You can try and win my favor if you want but you have it 🥺 hehe)

I’m gonna come back to some of this most likely so if I seem short it’s just cuz sleepy brain. I’m not passing out so don’t be upset! I just mean I’m not as. Supportive. Lovey. Daddy mode as much at the moment. But! They can say all the right things but do they DO the right things. And when the wrong things are said. How bad are they. Are they listening to you. Are you listening to them. Etc. My point is! Someone can say and do everything right. And it sometimes just isn’t it. And it isn’t always something that can be changed. But it also can. Meaning. Maybe your not wrong. Or maybe you are.

Like. Based off the past things you’ve said. I think it makes sense that you feel nauseous or not appreciated at times. Once again. Not trying to stir the pot. If this was you and me I’d be trying to work thru it but directly instead of me like. Sort of giving advice hehe. I’m sorry I’m rambles. But you’ll love reading right 🥺

If you have that sign of relief when their gone it sounds like they stress you out. And once again. The posts about. Making food n being mad. Doing things and being mad would be frustrating! Like. Of course I’m not saying break up. Run away. Etc. But at the very least. Your feelings. May very well be justified.

This point was basically to ease your thoughts on. Him saying things right and you still feel shitty. We’ll. Don’t! Maybe they have a lot of making up to do with you first! Convos and arguments are stressful and exhausting. I hope your finding time to relax! Maybe go for a walk. Get some fresh air. Listen to music.

Idk if I finished the quest comment.. video games! A walk! Music! Playing instruments! Drawing! Journal entries. Abstract stories. Have you ever just put a pen to paper and just let your brain guid the pen? Like just a silly tale

Once upon a time! There was man named chaddington. And he was the master shredder of waves! One time he hit a wave so good he split in half like Moses! (Red Sea reference. Uhh I only say that cuz that spelling of moses seems wrong lol. Mosas? Anyways) this of course upset the merpeople down below bcuz now they couldn’t cross to the other side. They voiced there upsets but chaddington was to busy not giving to fucks bout the fish folk. Then he said “you can’t even do anything about it! I’m on laaaand” 😝 then the brave MerMcdonald swam so fast! He dove across the water. Tackling chaddington into the water on the other side! From there the merpeople beat chaddingtons ass! He said. “Wait” and put up his might hand symbol 🤙. And the split in the water. Filled back with water. He apologized and decided that instead of being a jerk. He was gonna shred with the merpeople! Like. This! 🌊🧜🏻‍♂️🧜🧜🏻‍♀️🌊🏄‍♂️ and chaddington and mermcdonald high-fived at the peak of the wave.. the end… (then they kissed 😝😂) the end!

Sorry that went longer than expected. Just rambling daddy. I hope you enjoy my words. I’m sleeping! Come cuddle daddy pleeeease 🥰❤️‍🔥 I love you so much. Feel my hands on your face. Your shoulders. Wrapping my arms around. Your feelings are valid. You deserve to feel happy. And you will. Now may be a hard time. Even if “nothing happens”. You’re allowed to be upset about things upsetting you. Also. Based on things you’ve said. You really are allowed! Of course you don’t wanna feel these bad feelings. But. I hope your partner works on fixing their end. Don’t rush the family thing! Of course they’ll wanna see you. And you want to. But. Just think of ways over time on how to break the ice.

I’m gonna finish up now. I really love you H. I want what’s best for you. Maybe one day that’ll be me! And instead of typing I’ll be able to take action!�� just do your best to enjoy! Whatever you do! Mwah. Mwah. And this last one! A belly kiss! Mwah!

🥰😍💘

[lululawrence]

Can u please be nicer on ao3? Maybe you should try answering people's comments

when i read the first line i was honestly flabbergasted and wracking my brain trying to figure out when in the world i wasn't nice on ao3 ever. because i honestly truly try to be nice to everyone always, even when i'm angry or frustrated or people are going after those i love and want to protect. if there was a time i WASN'T nice on ao3, i wondered if it was maybe because my comment had been misunderstood or someone saw me razzing an author i'm good friends with and they didn't get that we are close and i said what i did with so much love and appreciation, you know? like what??? did i do???

but then i read your second line. and please forgive me if i come off as rude in my response to this, because honestly i'm in a pretty bad spot mentally and emotionally in general right now, but PARTICULARLY today, and this ask triggered an anxiety response in me. so. i'm trying really hard to word this in a way to educate without being condescending or mean, but i might not succeed.

firstly, thank you for your comments i'm assuming you've left. i'm also assuming they were nice comments, in which case extra thanks. i'm sure i'll send you effusive responses on ao3 when the time comes.

secondly, please understand that sending an ask like this, on anonymous no less, is incredibly entitled. writing is not my profession, i receive no compensation for my works that i post for free online, and as a part of that it is not required of me to respond. i do my very best to reply to every comment i receive, but it is not always in a timely manner, because i have other priorities in my life. all of which leads us to my third point, which is:

writers do not owe you a reply to your comments. end of. there are no other qualifications or quantifying modifiers to be added to the statement. is it nice to be acknowledged and know your comment was seen? sure. but do they OWE you one? hell no.

in fact, i'd like to offer you a suggestion. a way of tweaking your thinking about the comments you leave on fics. instead of looking at comments you leave as being something that deserves a reply from the author, think of your comments as your way of paying the author for the gift of their time and talents that they have shared with you by posting their fic. that's how i think of the comments i leave for authors. i'm giving them my thanks for the words they've shared! i want to help THEM feel as amazing as they have made ME feel when i read their fic. in fact, my hope isn't necessarily a response from them, but instead my hope is THE GIFT OF THEM SHARING MORE FIC WITH ME. i'm a selfish bitch in that way and i always want all the fic to read. i never want that well to go dry. one way i can ensure that doesn't happen is by supporting authors and being kind to them and spreading all the love and excitement i can about their writing in the hopes that my words will inspire them to share more.

because whether they reply or not, i GUARANTEE they are seeing your comments. i PROMISE they are. and for all you know, your comment might be the one that keeps them writing even when their words aren't coming easily or when they are tempted to give up.

but, again, please remember that no matter what, these authors (including me) don't actually owe you anything.

the rest of this is going under a cut, because honestly my reply is already far too long and i have a LOT more to say now that you've gotten me started.

now, all of this in mind, i'll explain to you why i'm not great with keeping up with comments made on my fics the last couple of years. i don't owe you this explanation any more than i owe you a response to your comments, and i'm honestly not sure you deserve this explanation either, but i'll still offer it anyway. it'll help me feel better knowing i at least put this out there, whether you care or not, mainly because if i don't do that it will cause me greater anxiety having you possibly think i am not responding to people because i feel all high and mighty or that i think i'm better than the comments or whatever the fuck kind of motivation you're attributing to me to see my lack of a response as something "not nice" towards the commenters.

i'm not sure if you've noticed, but i put out a lot of fic. like a lot. a lot of words and shit. i love writing, it's often my therapy and a way for me to help keep my anxiety and depression and ptsd at bay.

now, more personal shit for you, i've got three kids ages 9 and under. the oldest has adhd which we have yet to find a med for that helps to the extent she needs without side effects that aren't healthy for her to continue with, she also has anxiety, AND she's extremely gifted and starting a new program at a new school, all in the midst of a pandemic. and all of those situations exacerbate her anxiety! huzzah! she's also dealing with the beginning of her tween growing up shit, which is great fun because it means where she used to be pretty damn understanding of her younger brother, she is finding it much more difficult to. because the second oldest? he's autistic with some pretty significant gross motor, speech, and socialization delays that have only been exacerbated because of the previously mentioned pandemic. PLUS he transitioned from his special needs preschool to a fully integrated elementary school for kindergarten last year and then had to deal with all the ups and downs of the switch from e-learning to hybrid to all in schooling when everything in him screams for a normal schedule he can rely on to keep his own anxieties and fears and struggles at their minimum. and that youngest child? he was born in january of last year. he STILL barely leaves the house and has only met other children in close range a couple of times because, once again, pandemic!

add onto all of this my own mental health issues, the fact that my husband ALSO battles major clinical depression, adhd, and anxiety, AND we live with my parents who have their own health issues, both mental and physical. i run the home for our house of seven. i keep this place functioning, fed, clothed, clean, and everywhere we need to be for all of our five million appointments every. fucking. day. there is a REASON i've been borderline burnt out for the last fucking year and a half.

now, for fun, i have fandom shit. i love it here, even if it is a dumpster fire on the best of days, and getting to be a part of the writing community is so very lovely. i adore it. honestly, it's because of those friendships i've built with other writers that i have been able to keep writing and have found just how helpful it can be for my mental health. but i'm REALLY. INCREDIBLY. BUSY. i hardly have time to get on tumblr for just a quick swipe through my dash most days. i put off asks so long i forget i have them. i don't have the mental and emotional capacity to talk to people on here or interact fully a lot of the time. but i do my best to do so and be kind while i'm at it even when i don't want to be.

then, on top of that? i also run fic fests like @wordplayfics and help friends run their own. because not only am i a writer, i'm a reader. i LOVE fic. fic has saved me soooooo many times over the past seven years that i've been here. i want to do what i can to support other writers the best way i can, which is to provide a space for them to create their works that welcomes and helps promote them, but also by doing my monthly fic lists and pocast highlighting what i've been able to read, reblogging their fic posts, and then commenting and kudosing their fics too.

sometimes i get really fucking down on myself because i'm so behind on replying to comments, but my brain is very much a "if you start this, you have to finish it" kind of a brain, and i feel even WORSE sometimes if i reply to comments on some fics and not all of them. but i do my best and reply when i can. i was actually really fucking proud of myself because i had a couple days to myself in june, and i spent hours replying to comments on 20 of my fics. when you have almost 150 fics (i think? i don't even know how many fics i've posted by now), that is only scratching the surface. but i tried and i was so so happy i did that many fics at once. it's exhausting, though, and takes a lot of spoons for me to reply to them in mass like that plus time consuming. so i tried to be happy with those 20 fics and the comments i responded to there and told myself that when i ha a moment to breathe, i'd go and work on replying to some more.

but see, that again causes anxiety and guilt. because i haven't replied to all of them. and that anxiety and guilt can cause me to put it off further OR to put off important things like feeding my children or getting sleep in order to finish it, so i have to make myself put things into perspective and ensure i'm doing the important things, like taking care of myself and my family, first.

and then, i have a moment where i CAN go ahead and reply to comments... but i also have MANY fics that are on deadline and i actually have a schedule. a SCHEDULE. for when i'm going to focus on which fics. i can spell it out for you if you really want. i made it back in APRIL to make sure i didn't sign up for too many fic fests because there are so many going on right now that i want to participate in, but i know i can't do all of them so i had to pick and choose. and when you are SO overscheduled and busy that back in APRIL you had to figure out what fics you would focus on at what time to ensure you got everything written when you wanted to through THE END OF THE YEAR, more choices have to be made.

for example. my writing time and time for myself came down to only one evening a week for ALL fandom things i'm doing and a part of right now once the kids were out of school for the summer. it quickly became apparent that for my own self care i needed more time, so i worked with my husband to find two other days i could carve out at least 30-60 minutes to myself to write every week. and i did. but if i'm already only getting that much time and have committed to those fics and fests and things that you're running etc, you have to choose am i going to use this time to try to squeeze in some comment replies? or am i going to write? and i choose to write. simple as that.

so yeah. see it as selfish if you want. see it as mean. you can honestly see it as whatever the fuck you want, but for me? i know that as soon as i possibly can and i can breathe freely for once and not feel like i am constantly drowning in my day to day life and am doing pretty well when it comes to my fic deadlines and getting started on those christmas cards i'm once again going to be making by hand for everyone on tumblr who chooses to sign up for one this year out of the KINDNESS of my heart and the love i really do feel for so many of you, then i promise i'll be on ao3 catching up and commenting. my friends laugh and make fun of me for it sometimes, because they will sometimes get 10-12 replies to their comments in a single day. they know that's how i work. i WILL reply to every single comment i get, no matter how old it is. but for the love of all that is holy, do NOT add to the anxiety and guilt i already feel over it. the only place that will get you is the ask/comment getting deleted if it's a good day, a fucking long rant like this one if it's not, and a block if it's a REALLY bad day.

if you're asking me to be nice on ao3, then i ask in return that you also be nice by not demanding things of people that they are not in any way obligated to give.

[bangtanfancamp]

∴ summary: After spending a gloomy afternoon  trying to get out of your own head alone , you finally seek out your boyfriend for help

∴ masterlist

∴ one shot

∴ pairing: Kim Namjoon x reader

∴ word count: 2k

∴ rating: pg-13

∴ genre: soft angst, comfort, established relationship

∴ warnings: oc is struggling with something akin to depression, it’s alluded to but not explicitly stated

∴ author’s note: this is incredibly self indulgent and was written in one go. I’ll edit later. I’d rather have it here to share sooner in case anyone needs it as much as me.

─────────────────────

“Joonie, what are you doing? Are you busy?” Your voice comes out small as you peak around the corner into his office, sweater pawed knuckles sneaking around the edge of the door frame.

He doesn’t look up at first. Perhaps you really were too quiet. Or maybe he’s just that immersed in his book. It’s not a cover you’ve seen before so it very well may be the latter. You know how he is when he has a new thing to get lost in. Ever your astronaut adrift, exploring the moons just beyond whatever new world he’s found.

He looks so at home now. Cozy in his den of words and letters. Perfectly domestic amidst lofty thoughts and paragraphs. His skin is mostly bare today, his coordinated tank top and shorts exposing a golden expanse of toned arms, long legs . They’re folded up and crossed, a little boy lost in wonder as he sits on his futon.

His hair is a warm chestnut this week, fringe too long around the lashes but too short to pull back. The way it refuses to cooperate when he brushes it out of his eyes, trickling silkily, stubbornly back into place, exactly where it wants to be, makes you want to chuckle.

He still hasn’t noticed you’re there. Too far gone in whatever his newest philosophy is to notice the way you study the dip of his furrowed brow, how it juxtaposes against the relief of his shadowed dimples, smiling even as he frowns. He finds so much pleasure in being studious— just for fun. No matter how much concentration it takes. You’ve always admired that about him. Admired everything about him really.

Clearing your throat, though you hate to interrupt him, you try again. 

“Joonie?”

 Somehow it’s even quieter than before, and as he turns another reverent page, you know you’ll have to physically intervene to interrupt him. You sigh. You hate to break the spell. He loves days like this—with the rain trickling down the window’s glass casting shadows on his focused face— he’s so happy to read when it rains.

He leans forward then without looking up to take a sip of his Earl grey, bumbling when the steam unexpectedly fogs his glasses. He laughs at himself, folding his book so it splays across the seat to mark his place and removing his glasses. It’s the first time he’s looked up. He spots you then, his face splitting into the smoothest “there’s my girl” smile you’ve ever seen.

“Hey… how long have you been standing there?” His voices comes low, warm, soothes something in you that desperately needs rest.

“Long enough to see you blind yourself with tea, it seems.” You try to smile back, but it’s a weak, floppy thing. Your cheeks can’t seem to commit so it falls a bit too flat. His brows pinch when he sees it. Something’s amiss.

“Hey… are you okay?” His inscrutable eyes analyze you, and you let him. Too tired to resist or put up a fight.

“It’s not my day, joonie.” Your voice is pitiful, even to your own ears. You’d normally wince at sounding like this in front of anyone else. But honestly, it’s okay. It’s Namjoon you’re with. You don’t have to play games or hide things. Not here. Not with him.

“Yeah?” His eyes catch yours as his palms rub the tops of his thighs. It’s an invitation. You know the gesture by now.

“Yeah… again. There have been so many of these lately,” you say, crossing the room to him, his arms unfolding to welcome you into them. “They come too often and stay too long. They’re terrible house guests. I’m tired of them, joon. I can’t seem to get rid of them.”

You’re scooped against him now, head on the space between his neck and his chest, fingers twisted into his tank top, bum in his lap, knees tucked up til you’re as small as you can get. There’s a broad palm of his on your back, fingertips on his other hand traveling the length of your arm in tender caresses as his cheek rests atop your head.

“Maybe we should start charging them rent. I bet even they can’t afford to pay that in this economy.” He offers the idea solemnly, fully committed to carrying out the metaphor that your mental health really is just an unfortunate airbnb plagued with hideously mannered squatters.

“You know, I love that about you, Joon.”

“My inability to pay rent?”

You nuzzle a sappy no into the heat of his neck,” dummy, your very real ability to never minimize things that are hard to me.”

The dip of his chest as he exhales is oddly soothing. It makes you feel like you’re being rocked and god if you don’t need to be cradled right now. “Things  have been really hard lately, haven’t they?” He wonders aloud.

“It isn’t just my perception?” You look up, eyes entirely too pitiful, too round to belong to a functioning adult. No, Namjoon’s heart goes soft as he realizes he’s looking at the eyes of a very scared four year old you. The haunted gaze of an innocent girl who never got told everything would be alright. Even without knowing any more than that, it makes him want to cry.

“No, my sweet girl, it’s not.” Closing his eyes, he presses somber lips to your forehead, scooping you close to shield you— from the world, from yourself, from all the insidious things that took root in you so long ago you’re not even sure how they got in. His wide hands grip you tighter, a feeble attempt to help hold you altogether.

It’s silent then. A few beats of quiet, only disrupted by the clumsy clatter of irreverent raindrops on glass. His caress stays steady against your soft sleeves, his languid fingers perpetually in motion as he attempts to soothe the wounds that sit just beneath your skin.

You look up at him again, unsure what you’ll find. 

You almost cry when you see the gentleness in his eyes. No judgment anywhere within them. Just something kind that stretches into the lines his eyes carve as he smiles. How you itch to gently peel his horn rimmed glasses off the tip of his button nose and kiss it. Bless him.

God, you don’t know why he’s so nice to you, but you’re so glad that he is. The smile you give back to him is wobbly, trembly, poorly constructed— but so so sincere that it makes your sad eyes shine. He bumps your nose with his, burying himself against your forehead as you cocoon into him.

You want to ask him what he’s reading, listen intently to him as he tells you all about it, but you know you can’t. You can’t decipher anything today. It all feels too heavy. You can’t carry the weight of anything new with hands already full. At this point, you’ve lived in this soft hoodie of his , the one you stole after his tour two years back because it smelled like him, for the past 3 days. You don’t even have the energy to change. With that kind of retention rate, seems there’s no point in asking your brilliant professor to explain anything.

Still, it’s always so nice to hear his voice. Especially with your ear to his chest like this. 

So you ask anyway.

“Will you read to me, Joonie? Life always feels better when you’re reading.” You press your face deep into the copper of his neck, an open mouthed kiss placed against his pulse.

“It’s all kind of theoretical,” he chuckles. He’s bashful. If holding you weren’t occupying his hands, you know they’d be nervously fiddling with the back of his neck. A nerdy boy with a too big brain hesitant to share his discoveries.

“Is it good though? You’ve already read Jung to me, and I stayed awake through that. I think I deserve more credit.” You poke his throat with your nose. You’re not genuinely affronted, it’s just nice to remind him you're competent too. Sometimes.

His sweet chuckle then is earthy and rich, all dark molasses. “True. You actually gave pretty good feedback for that too. Fine. Didn’t mean to underestimate you. Just… bear with me if it feels odd? I haven't read it before. I can’t vouch for it all yet.”

“Fine by me. I’m just here for the cuddles and my Kim Namjoon audiobook.”

He can feel your smile against his skin. It makes him press you just that extra little bit tighter against him, exhaling soft through his nose when he feels you return the gesture.

Scooping up his paperback, he adjusts his glasses where they’ve slipped down his nose, clearing his throat to project like the narrator he claims he’s not but loves to be. He’s quiet for a few more beats. You can hear pages rustling as you sink against his skin. You imagine he must be trying to find where he was when you interrupted, or perhaps searching for a passage that seems apropos. Which he chooses, you don’t know, but you can feel when he settles, just before his caramel voice sweetens the thin air of the room.

“It's the same with the wound in our hearts,” he begins. “ We need to give them our attention so that they can heal. Otherwise the wounds continue to cause us pain. Sometimes for a very long time. We're all going to get hurt. But here's the trick - they also serve an amazing purpose. 

When our hearts are wounded that's when they open. We grow through pain. We grow through difficult situations. That's why you have to embrace each and every difficult thing in your life.”

You aren’t sure when your eyes opened, not sure when they began to glaze over or when you started to cry. But you did. And you are. The salty things dripping down against Namjoon’s silken skin. Your sweatered knuckles try to knock them away, but to no avail. Your cheeks are still a wet mess and now his collarbone is too.

“Joon, what is this? What are you reading?”

“Oh… um, it’s— terribly long title but— Into the Magic Shop: A Neurosurgeon's Quest to Discover the Mysteries of the Brain and the Secrets of the Heart. Isn't that a mouthful?” his laugh is self deprecating, small, but still the most beautiful sound.

God, you hate how sensitive and soft you are right now. You don’t want to be sitting here at 4pm in your boyfriend’s lap crying over a paragraph in a book you've never even heard of before, but here you are.

“ is that… what the whole book is about ?”

“You know, I don’t know. I haven’t read it all yet. Jackson recommended it, I’m just now getting to it. Why - do you not like it? I can put this down. Read you something else if this is too heavy. You always like the poetry. I can grab that one anthology you like.”

You can feel as he starts to shuffle beneath you, eager to track down new reading material for you, afraid he’s scared you off, when the fluttering weight of your palm tethers him to his spot.

“No, stay. Keep reading. I want to hear the rest.”

You can practically hear him smile. Relieved. Can feel his dimples manifest without even trying. He kisses your hair, tilts your chin up to kiss you too. The complexity of bergamot and black tea making his supple lips even more bewitching than normal. The window in the corner is cracked open, the humidity it leaks in making your skin sticky as you lean against him.

He’s lovely like this. The rain soaked air mixing with his natural scent, a broad hand on your chin, warm thumb beneath your lip as you mold pliant into his kiss. He ends it with a peck to your lips, a tap of his nose to your nose, before hoisting you so close against him you just may fuse together.

And he reads. He reads until he’s exhausted. Til the rain has stopped, and you’ve drifted to rest pressed against the skin of his chest.

He folds the book shut once your breathing has stilled, his thumb marking the page as he tips you both to lay down sideways. As he extends his pinprick tingling legs for the first time in ages, you hoist yourself around him in your sleep like a koala, and he chuckles. That’s usually his move.

He kisses your hair then, traipsing fingers tenderly through the escaped bits of it that brush across your cheeks. He wonders if you know how madly in love with you he is. How often he’s wondered what he’d do without you. Today, like most days lately, your light was dim, but still kelvins brighter than anyone else’s.

He sends a silent thank you to whatever deity arranged things in such a way that he can hold you to his chest like this as the daylight saving’s darkness floods his studio office. You seemed so sad today, but he knows it won’t last forever. It’ll pass. It always does. He’ll just hold you until it does. And then some.

[generous1ty]

could you write for nagito x reader with depression? thank you so much <3

aww, hey anno, i hope you're doing ok!

personally, these kind of requests are ones that i love to do! as someone who struggles with very similar symptoms, it's something i can relate to very well. i hope that this can bring comfort to you, even a little bit. :)

thank you for requesting, lots of love. <3

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LIVING

genre: comfort/fluff warnings: gn!reader, takes place during the SDR2 killing game, overall depression symptoms/depressive thoughts, we’re mean <3 well more like easily irritable and aggrivated-- also the plot is everywhere i’m sorry this was literally off the top of my head in the time span of i-don’t-know-how-many-days and i really don’t like it but-, there’s no established relationship either since it feels weird for there to be romantic stuff in a killing game to me?? but like,,,, pining works so well,, SORRY FOR RANTING IN THE WARNINGS OMG but i swear there is fluff in this i promise word count: 1.93k

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the sight of the plain, white ceiling was a familiar one to you.

the feeling of nothingness, the fear of being empty, the overwhelming thoughts that would constantly wrack your brain, and the ones who were screaming at you to get up.

yet, no matter how cruelly they screamed at you, your body would not respond-- it was painful, it hurt to move.

you don’t quite remember the last time you were out of your cottage-- you don’t remember if you had went out of your cottage at all during this past week. you also didn’t know how many times a certain somebody would come to visit you while you laid in your bed, still staring at the ceiling in a sour disinterest.

even though you’d rather be watching a movie or doing a simple hobby, you knew not even that would produce any results for you.

it was just you, and the sight of the plain, white ceiling that was painfully familiar to your eyes.

knock, knock, knock!

the gentle taps on the door--from which you assumed were knocks--had made you sigh. you weren’t up for visitors- you weren’t really in the mood to talk in general, but you had known who was at the door.

you pushed your voice out of your throat, rolling over to your side with a groan.

“...come in.”

although with your face turned to the wall, and although he had been greeted with the sight of your back, he would speak in a soft tone. you could hear the soft noises of his feet carrying his frail body as they got closer to the bed.

they stopped, and the shuffling of his clothes had processed in your head before something was placed on to the floor. you assumed he was crouching right now, and that if you had forcefully rolled onto the opposite side of your body, you would be at eye level with him, staring into light green eyes that glowed with... hope. you think.

“good evening, [Y/n],” he greeted, not expecting much of a response back, “I brought you dinner and, like before, I won’t leave unless you wish for me to.”

your head tilted slightly left, your gaze being met with a boy with messy, white hair that seemed too fluffy to be real, a soft smile on his already too soft features, and understanding eyes that pulled you into a tight embrace.

yes, this wasn’t the first time Nagito Komaeda had barged into your room. --well, to say he barged in was an overstatement.

the first time he had entered, he hadn’t even entered. he stood out on your doorstep, a few feet away from you as he delivered food to you on a small tray with several plates on the doormat in front of your door. the setting sun and hues of gold glowing in his eyes shone brightly on his pale skin, giving him and almost majestic, angelic look to his thin frame.

“an ultimate needs their nutrition to fully function properly. though, i’m sure you don’t need someone like me telling you that-- and you probably would rather go back to doing what you were doing other than talking to a nobody like me --but i couldn’t help but notice you weren’t with everyone today, so i brought you a tray of food in case you got hungry, that’s if you’d take such an offer from me,”

he faltered for a second, but you stayed silent as to let him keep going. his friendly grin as he spoke had taken off some of the gravity of his words, and his welcoming tone had made you feel a bit more relaxed.

“of course, you can just tell me if you want me to leave and not talk to me at all, if you’d rather do so- that’s completely understandable. please don’t feel obligated to take things from disgusting garbage like myself either. if i were you, wouldn’t want to get my hands dirty as well.”

your lack of response was what he took as his cue to leave, feet shuffling against the planked floor in a backwards manner--to get out of your sights, mainly. he had opened his mouth to apologize, but you had done that first-

“sorry,” you muttered. you were quiet, but Nagito could hear despite the challenge in volume, “i didn’t mean to trouble you, really.”

you bent down and took the tray in your hands, handing it back to him in a subtle manner. he was.. stunned? shocked? he couldn’t express his words like he normally did- it was an odd feeling, really. to be speechless.

“thank you, but...” you had trouble looking him in the eye. you wanted to do everything but look him in the eye, “i really don’t deserve this, and i don’t have much of an appetite anyway, so your efforts would be wasted. i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize--” his voice was a bit abrupt, bringing your actions to a harsh halt, “you have nothing to apologize for- if anything, i’m sorry for bothering you!”

his voice, despite it’s volume, was kind and understanding. it was soft and brought a sense of security to you-- like you could feel... safe with him.

“i was hoping you’d keep it, since you didn’t show up this morning either. i was thinking in the case you hadn’t eaten, so i brought a few more plates than what everyone else ate.” he gently pushed the tray back to you with a smile, and your gaze had went down to stare at his long--and beautiful--fingers, “i think you should take it-”

he closed his eyes as he smiled, “unless you don’t want to?”

your gaze had stayed on his hand, and once he noticed your gaze was directed at them he had taken it back. he avoided your gaze and held his fingers in the other hand, “ah, apologies- they’re not very pretty and if you’d like another tray i can go back and bring one to you in gloves since my disgusting fingers had dirtied them.”

for the first time in this conversation, you had looked up. although the effort was minimal, Nagito could feel your effort. his chest tighten with your movements.

“i think they’re beautiful.” his grip tightened on his hands, “thank you.”

you slowly closed the door with a small smile.

his heart was pounding against his chest, he could feel it. it was loud inside his ears and prominent in his ribcage. he hoped you didn’t hear it- he hoped he didn’t embarrass himself during that interaction. he hoped that it would be okay to keep doing this, over and over again, to make sure you were okay.

yeah, to make sure you were okay.

“how many times have you done this, Nagito? you know it’s useless, i barely eat,” you huffed, chest dropping rapidly from the exhale.

“if you want an exact number, this is the 19th time i’ve come into your cottage to deliver you food, in short 2 weeks and 5 days.” he answered, gently tapping your shoulder so you got the memo to turn around, “and i’m just making sure you’re doing alright, since no one else will unless asked. i’m pretty sure they think you’re plotting their deaths.” he let out a breathy chuckle.

“let them believe what they want.” you had slowly gotten up, groaning and letting little exhales escape your nose before sitting up properly on the bed under you. it was uncomfortable not having anything to lean on. “who or what they villainize is not my problem. they’re just idiots. all of them.”

“now, now, i don’t think that’s a nice thing to say.” he placed the tray on the bed, looking at you as if to ask for permission to sit on the mattress with you. you sighed and changed your position on to the wall, making room for the man to sit. he smiled. “after all, they are ultimates like you.”

“that doesn’t have to do with anything i said.”

“they harbor just as much hope as you do, so their thinking isn’t flawed at all. and neither is yours, no matter how much i disagree with it. since, i don’t really have a say in interfering with what you think.”

you nodded slowly, leaning your head on the wall and looking outside. luckily, your cottage wasn’t one of the ones stuck in between houses-- whether Monomi or Monokuma made that intentional or not, you didn’t really care.

it was beautiful out, as the stars made their way into the sky, painting it bright yet somber colors. it gave you a nostalgic feeling that lit up in your chest and refused to go out. with your silence came Nagito’s as well, staring out the window with you.

“don’t you think this whole thing is useless?” you asked, blinking mindlessly, “making us kill each other and stuff, creating motives for us to do so and having class trials to eliminate each other even more. there’s no point in doing any of it-- being suspicious of each other and villainizing people.”

“i mean, if i’m going to die anyway, there’s no point to leaving this cottage. or making friends. or talking to you or anyone else.”

your gaze had wandered into his, in which were staring at you in mezmerized adoration. your eyes held pity, sorrow, sadness.

“you don’t have to keep doing this, seriously. you don’t have to come visit me, or give me food i won’t eat, or talk to me, or listen to me. i’m just going to die anyway.”

“i just want to.”

his words startled you. the words that left his pretty, pink lips had given your heart a small surprise-- but to say you hated it would be a lie.

after all, all of Nagito’s actions were of his own accord.

it’s not like you ever forced him to-- nor did he feel obligated to, either. maybe at first, but he always came back-- no matter how many times you reassured him when he watched you eat in your cottage to make sure you had something for the next day.

he always came back. not because he felt like he had to, but because he wanted to. he wanted to check up on you, he wanted to see you.

but to Nagito, he just wanted you.

maybe it was your mild vulnerability towards him that had drawn him in at first, but to him, he just wanted the entirety of... you. he wanted to get to know you, to shelter you, to hold you. of course, those would never happen-- not in a lifetime, but he was grateful he could even be this close to you.

so to hear you say those words-- those words of “it doesn’t matter” or “i’ll die anyway”--his heart became heavy because of those words.

i mean, he had also been there before, after all.

with the many cuts and turns his luck cycle would take, it would eventually spiral into a deep depression. he didn’t know what caused yours, but he did hope he could alleviate some of it. that was what Ultimates and Hope’s Peak had done for him, after all.

he didn’t know if he was mixing up the feelings of romantic need with the need to help you mentally, but he just wanted to be. he wanted to be, with you. he wanted to live, with you.

“we all die someday,” his words felt heavy on your chest, “but i want to live with you.”

and your chest felt a little flutter in it that evening.

[hadesisqueer]

How do you feel about Yang and how she’s summarized in Vol. 8 as suspicious and emotional?

Late, but better late than ever. I've been waiting for this one. It's probably the longest because as I said, I make either two lines or just an entire character analysis lol. And I'm going to do it properly this time.

Okay, I straight (gay) up don't know where to start. I love Yang. I truly love Yang. She's not perfect, she has many flaws, but that's what I like the most about her. I can't help but laugh when some people say she's a Mary Sue.

Childhood, first volumes.

Yang starts the series as the funny blonde hot girl that goes around punching people. And I liked that, but I also like how she wasn't just that, as I said with Nora being the comic relief. Like, there's so much more in Yang than that, just like Weiss turned up to be much more than just the bratty tsundere.

Yang's mother abandoned her. Her other mother disappeared. Her sister was a toddler that didn't really get what was going on except her mother being gone, and her father was so depressed that for a good while, he wasn't even able to raise her daughters. Can you imagine being in that situation? I imagine she was, at most, six when that happened. She was forced to become Ruby's mother figure at six. She was forced to become the fucking adult in the house at six.

Damn, you can even see the difference between how Qrow talks to Ruby and how he talks to Yang, at least at the begining. He talks to Ruby as her uncle, as her mentor. He may tease Yang a little because she's still his niece, but when he talks to her, he always talks like she's an equal. Like, Tai still considered Yang a kid, but Qrow treats her like an adult, and knows and expects her to be the mature one. Because he saw her all those years, being forced grow up so fast. He trusts her to protect and take care of Ruby, and she trust him to protect her as well.

And damn, all of this really explains her behaviour when the series began. As Ruby got older and started to be able to take care of herself, and Tai eventually started to be functional again, Yang had more freedom. Her personality and eagerness for adventure and parties and all of that - is just her trying to make up for her sacrificed childhood. But even then she still was, out of all the girls, the most mature and nurturing of team RWBY. She is the party girl, yes. The hot headed one that will break legs. But she's still the adult of the group.

And then volume 3 happens. She gets framed in front of the entire world, two of her friends die, Beacon falls, she loses her arm in the most traumatic way possible; Weiss, her friend, is basically taken away from her and Blake -her partner, the girl she probably already had feelings for at that point- left, triggering her abandonment issues. And of course, PTSD, because she isn't fucked up enough already. She's so fucking destroyed that she can't even talk about Weiss, about Blake, about what happened. She doesn't even want talk to Ruby, because she can't stand the thought of her little sister seeing her at that state. She is not used to be the one people have to take care of, and it becomes more and more obvious in the next volumes.

Disability, recovery, abandonment issues

I like how volume 4 treats her recovery. I mean, I wish her storyline was longer, but I also like the DC comics. Now, the thing is, she isn't really recovered. In vol 4, she learns to live with her disability, she learns how to use her new arm, she learns how to fight better than she ever did before. It's about physical recovery. But is she okay? No. She hates being taken care of. She forced herself to be okay, or at least pretend she was, so Tai would let her go with Ruby. And in vol 5, she's anything but alright. She is pretending to be for Ruby's sake, because she is her mother figure and Ruby can't see her like that. She has to face her abandonment issues, she still has PTSD, and she is just not okay. Weiss notices right away, and tells her that it's okay if she is not okay. She noticed how hurt she was about Blake leaving. She just could see through the façade because if Weiss knows about anything, is about loneliness and pretending.

Her conversation with Raven at the end of the volume is just one of the best scenes, because you can just see how much Yang has grown. That scene deserves a post of its own because it's just amazing. But she finally faces one of her fears -her own abandonment issues, though they probably will always be there- and sees right through Raven. Because just like her, Raven just puts a façade to hide her own fears and insecurities, and the moment her own daughter isn't just taking any of that shit, she just starts crying. Because Yang is right. And deep down, she doesn't want to let Yang take the lamp, but she isn't just strong enough. Deep down, she wants to be in Yang's life, wants to protect her, and I think Yang knew that. But it was just too late.

More abandonment issues and relationship with Blake.

Now, to Yang, Blake coming back was huge. Not only in the terms of shipping, but as a whole. In her mind, Blake left her, just like Raven, just like Summer (though Summer didn't do it in purpose), and technically, just like Ruby, though she knew why Ruby did it and understood. But she's probably wondering “what is wrong with me that everyone always leaves me”. And she always has to be the one looking for the person who left her.

Not with Blake. After that talk with Weiss (bless the wingwoman), Yang was able to understand Blake's perspective better. But she didn't think Blake would actually ever come back, because no one ever does. But she did. Not only did she come back; literally, all Blake cared about once she entered the room and saw Yang was her (for once, someone is prioritizing her). And later, she was the one to walk and talk to the team, and tell them she didn't plan to leave again if they accepted her back. She didn't have to look for Blake because she was already looking for Yang. She was the one who made the effort, not the other way around. And to Yang, even though they still had issues to work through, even though she was still afraid at that moment that Blake would leave and break her heart again (All That Matters), that was enough to forgive her. Or at least give her another chance.

Now in volume 6 they clearly have issues. Like, Blake is very nurturing to the entire team because she feels like she has to make up. But mostly, she is trying to make up to Yang. She still feels guilty because of Adam, and she knew that Yang had already abandonment issues before she left and she probably made them worse. She was just trying so hard to be there for Yang so she could understand that she would never leave her again that she made things awkward. Yang is used to be the one who takes care of people, not the other way around. She thought that Blake “protecting her” was her seeing her a weak when actually, it was just Blake just genuinely caring about her but with the wrong words. Blake understood after that, and she changed the phrasing in the fight against Adam. Protecting each other. Equals. It really applies to the Bees relationship as a whole. “You're taking care of me, yeah, but I'm going to take care of you as well, no matter what”. For once, Yang is allowing someone to take care of her (well, except Tai, but again, she wasn't completely sincere with him, so technically she wasn't really allowing him to fully help her). And that's what I love the most about their dynamic, and why I ship it.

PTSD

Now (I'm sorry I'm taking so long), I've seen many, many people saying that Yang's PTSD is poorly written, or that the writers messed it up in the fight against Adam. Now, I have to ask those people: what the fuck do you think PTSD is?

If a Great WriterTM reads this and tries to tell me I'm wrong, or that I don't know what I'm talking about and I don't know anything about good writing and blah blah blah: I have PTSD myself. Diagnosed. So yes, I acknowledge there are many things I'm ignorant about, but I'm quite familiar about this topic. Yang's PTSD is, at least by my point of view, very well-written. It isn't perfect, but it's still far so much better than most PTSD portrayals I've seen in TV, along with Korra's. And I've seen people saying that Korra's portrayal was so much better. Well, let me tell you, it isn't, or at least I don't think it is. It's just different, because the worst thing about PTSD (and what makes it harder to treat) is that it's different for every person; sometimes it can be really severe and obvious, sometimes it seems “light”. Damn, sometimes it doesn't appear until years after the event; mine didn't trigger til I was like sixteen, and the event took place when I was around five or six. And yes, sometimes I have nightmares or flashbacks about it if something triggers me, but it isn't the whole time like some of you apparently think it is. I'm not scared 100% of the time, what the fuck.

When it comes to the fight with Adam, saying it didn't affect her: did you watch the fight? First of all, at that precise moment, Yang was so full of adredaline and too busy keeping Adam from killing Blake that I don't think her brain even realised he was the cause of her PTSD. Second of all, when he triggers it, it does affect her; she starts shaking, he's able to land hits on her that he couldn't before. But PTSD is different in every person, and is a defense mechanism, not a freezing mechanism as some people think. If I see the cause of my PTSD in front of me trying to hurt me again, I'm not gonna freeze; I'm gonna do whatever it takes so they don't ever hurt me again. Same goes with Yang: some people think she should have completely freezed during the fight, like “oh my god this guy fucked me up really bad and now he's gonna do it again and there's nothing I can do oh my god”. No. As I said, PTSD doesn't work like that, at least not always. She's not thinking that, she's thinking “alright this guy really fucked me up once but there's no way I'm letting him do that again”. Again, PTSD is a defense mechanism. A fucked up one, but it's what it is. And the writers handled very well.

Yang being suspicious and not completely trusting someone.

Now, I'm not lying when I tell you that I have no idea about what this could mean. Well, it could be her disagreeing with Ruby and having a bad argument, and that would really break my heart because I just love those two sisters so much. It could also be about Ozpin; she's teaming up with Oscar and hearing Ozpin is back could bring some problems. Or maybe Raven just appears there and she's like Hell Naw. I have no idea.

Conclussion.

I love Yang. She's not perfect at all. She's a bit of a hypocrite with the whole Ozpin thing because she's keeping Raven's identity as the Spring Maiden a secret as well (or maybe she did tell them off-screen? Honestly clear that up already). But she's over all a really good friend and person, an amazing older sister and just one of the most inspiring characters in the show. I see part of myself in her, and I don't see that often in a character. I just love her.

Damn, sorry I wrote the Bible but my girl deserved that.

[deadmomjokes]

First time Stormlight Archives Read-thru: The Way of Kings Part One

Since I actually somehow made it through the library’s waitlist to get my Icarusian hands on a copy of this thing, and because I am a completionist who cannot leave character arcs unfinished, I’m dragging y’all with me on this adventure that I guarantee you doesn’t need to be this long.

Yes I’m salty about it and it’s gonna take some serious literary magic to make me NOT salty about it because trying to hold this book at a decent angle activated my carpal tunnel issues and now I can’t feel my pinky finger and my thumb is tingling. So yeah. It better be worth it.

Anyway, we just finished Part One. Wait, “we” you ask? Oh yeah, my husband loves worldbuilding and hard magic systems, so we’re taking turns reading chapters aloud so that we don’t have to hold onto the book twice as long so we can both read it, and we can keep reminding each other of what’s what.

ANYWAY, we just finished Part One, so have my thoughts, positives, negatives, and overall impressions. Then get your road trip snacks because like I said, I don’t do things halfway and I already started this journey so here we mcfreakin go I guess.

The Good Stuff

There’s some pretty good lines so far.

B. Sandy actually appears to know what he’s talking about with drawing and sewing? Wild.

I’m digging how the currency system is, like, also functional. The pieces of currency act as lights and power sources and stuff. Neat.

The two main characters from this section are: depressed mom friend and his Conscience, and a snarky nerd with delusions of criminal grandeur, and between them they have exactly 0.84 brain cells. These all belong to Jiminy Cricket the literal airhead the Conscience.

Depressed softboy who just wants to be a good big brother? Well darn it, you found my weakness. I’ll pull up my “adoption papers” folder.

Each chapter from a new POV has a unique voice. Rather hard to pull off in writing, but very clearly and expertly done here.

I have some questions moving forward, which is always a plus. However...

The Bad Stuff

I really, REALLY don’t like feeling like I’m the dumbest person in the room. While he did manage to avoid infodumping, Mr. Sanderson also managed to make me feel like I’m missing vital information at basically every turn. And not in the “ooh, what a mystery” kind of way-- in the “what the freak am looking at, I have zero idea what you’re describing because you’re using in-universe jargon.” This piecemeal revelation thing works for the characters’ stories and plots; I’m all for that! I’m intrigued at what’s up with Ms. Davar, and exactly how Kal ended up where he is, what’s up with the war, etc. The problem is with handling the worldbuilding this way when you’re trying to situate these mystery plots in said world. It is not immersive for me; it is distracting, frustrating, and makes it hard for me to focus on the story. A few points handled this way would have been fine, but I lost track of how many times I had to stop and groan because yet another new term was getting lobbed at me and my comprehension of the situation depended on having an understanding of the world which he just hadn’t given us yet. I’m really over it.

I get that we were trying to establish her character, but I could have done without these lead-up chapters with Shallan. I wasn’t at all as interested in her as I was with Kaladin. We could have learned all that we needed-- her family situation, her big plan, her big mouth, her skills, her mysterious past and the weird stuff about her father that we still haven’t learned fully yet-- in media res when she’s already Jasnah’s ward. It felt kind of tire-spinny, though I admit it was fun at times.

The sentences and wording get sticky at times. Especially with reading it out loud, there are quite a few places that make my brain stumble because the words sound wrong next to each other, or the same word appears in the sentence too many times, and so on.

There’s a lot going on that just isn’t important. This ties back in to the first point, but we’re getting so much information about this world that it becomes tiring and tiresome to keep track of all the different things we’re learning about-- cultural rules around slaves, ‘safehands’, eye color, and so on; ‘fabrials’; the currency denominations; a whole religious system, some of which appears to be important but also has a bunch of tiddly little details that don’t; a caste system; a military structure; however the freak the ecosystem works and all the different animals and plants; the weather systems; etc ad nauseum. How much of this is important to know? I don’t know! That’s what’s frustrating about it! So much of it seems like by-the-way kind of stuff, but some of it could end up being important, so here I am wondering what’s gonna be on the quiz and what’s just for fun.

Impressions and Thoughts

Why must carcinization haunt me even in escapist fantasy?

Am not a fan of the phrase “skyeels” and “poisonous skyeels.” Don’t like that one bit.

Dudes are religiously required to be himbos, and girls are religiously expected to be scholars and nerds. Am love.

I’m getting increasingly concerned by the death-blood-collection ominous mystery quotes at the beginning of each chapter.

I’ve only known Sylphrena for a day and a half but if anything happens to her I would.... Not.... Not harm anyone or myself because she would be sad. 😭

I was warned about “suicidal ideation” being a thing, but I’m going to put a little brighter of a warning label on that and say that if anyone is about to read this and gets upset or triggered by suicidal ideation, plans, and attempts, be very careful and know that’s kind of all a thing. Not sure how much a thing it’ll be moving forward, I’m hoping “not”, but, yeah. That was an attempt, not just ideation, tho I’m grateful for the person who warned me because if it had come out of nowhere instead of just being a step further than what I expected, I’d be really, really not okay.

Yalb is the real MVP.

Verdict Thus Far

On a scale of 1 to 10 where 1 is “I will actually find strength to abandon this book because I’m so done” and 10 is “I’m willing to give up sleep to read more,” I’m sitting at a 6.5 right now. Good, and I’m looking forward to continuing, but I have a little ways to go before I’m hooked. But thumbs up, thanks for convincing me! (from everyone except my tingling numb fingers, I should have tried the ebook instead -_-)

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

Religious Trauma Syndrome: How Some Organized Religion Leads to Mental Health Problems

By Valerie Tarico

Marlene Winell interviewed March 25, 2013

At age sixteen I began what would be a four year struggle with bulimia. When the symptoms started, I turned in desperation to adults who knew more than I did about how to stop shameful behavior—my Bible study leader and a visiting youth minister.  “If you ask anything in faith, believing,” they said. “It will be done.” I knew they were quoting [3] the Word of God. We prayed together, and I went home confident that God had heard my prayers. But my horrible compulsions didn’t go away. By the fall of my sophomore year in college, I was desperate and depressed enough that I made a suicide attempt. The problem wasn’t just the bulimia. I was convinced by then that I was a complete spiritual failure. My college counseling department had offered to get me real help (which they later did). But to my mind, at that point, such help couldn’t fix the core problem: I was a failure in the eyes of God. It would be years before I understood that my inability to heal bulimia through the mechanisms offered by biblical Christianity was not a function of my own spiritual deficiency but deficiencies in Evangelical religion itself.  

Dr. Marlene Winell is a human development consultant in the San Francisco Area. She is also the daughter of Pentecostal missionaries. This combination has given her work an unusual focus. For the past twenty years she has counseled men and women in recovery from various forms of fundamentalist religion including the Assemblies of God denomination in which she was raised. Winell is the author of Leaving the Fold – A Guide for Former Fundamentalists and Others Leaving their Religion [4], written during her years of private practice in psychology. Over the years, Winell has provided assistance to clients whose religious experiences were even more damaging than mine. Some of them are people whose psychological symptoms weren’t just exacerbated by their religion, but actually caused by it.  

Two years ago, Winell made waves by formally labeling what she calls “Religious Trauma Syndrome” (RTS) and beginning to write and speak on the subject for professional audiences. When the British Association of Behavioral and Cognitive Psychologists published a series of articles on the topic, members of a Christian counseling association protested what they called excessive attention to a “relatively niche topic.” One commenter said, “A religion, faith or book cannot be abuse but the people interpreting can make anything abusive.”

Is toxic religion simply misinterpretation? What is religious trauma? Why does Winell believe religious trauma merits its own diagnostic label?

Let’s start this interview with the basics. What exactly is religious trauma syndrome?

Winell: Religious trauma syndrome (RTS) is a set of symptoms and characteristics that tend to go together and which are related to harmful experiences with religion. They are the result of two things: immersion in a controlling religion and the secondary impact of leaving a religious group. The RTS label provides a name and description that affected people often recognize immediately. Many other people are surprised by the idea of RTS, because in our culture it is generally assumed that religion is benign or good for you. Just like telling kids about Santa Claus and letting them work out their beliefs later, people see no harm in teaching religion to children.

But in reality, religious teachings and practices sometimes cause serious mental health damage. The public is somewhat familiar with sexual and physical abuse in a religious context. As Journalist Janet Heimlich has documented in, Breaking Their Will, Bible-based religious groups that emphasize patriarchal authority in family structure and use harsh parenting methods can be destructive.

But the problem isn’t just physical and sexual abuse. Emotional and mental treatment in authoritarian religious groups also can be damaging because of 1) toxic teachings like eternal damnation or original sin 2) religious practices or mindset, such as punishment, black and white thinking, or sexual guilt, and 3) neglect that prevents a person from having the information or opportunities to develop normally.

Can you give me an example of RTS from your consulting practice?

Winell: I can give you many. One of the symptom clusters is around fear and anxiety. People indoctrinated into fundamentalist Christianity as small children sometimes have memories of being terrified by images of hell and apocalypse before their brains could begin to make sense of such ideas. Some survivors, who I prefer to call “reclaimers,” [8] have flashbacks, panic attacks, or nightmares in adulthood even when they intellectually no longer believe the theology. One client of mine, who during the day functioned well as a professional, struggled with intense fear many nights. She said,

“I was afraid I was going to hell. I was afraid I was doing something really wrong. I was completely out of control. I sometimes would wake up in the night and start screaming, thrashing my arms, trying to rid myself of what I was feeling. I’d walk around the house trying to think and calm myself down, in the middle of the night, trying to do some self-talk, but I felt like it was just something that – the fear and anxiety was taking over my life.” Or consider this comment, which refers to a film [9] used by evangelicals to warn about the horrors of the “end times” for nonbelievers.

“I was taken to see the film “A Thief In The Night”. WOW.  I am in shock to learn that many other people suffered the same traumas I lived with because of this film. A few days or weeks after the film viewing, I came into the house and mom wasn’t there. I stood there screaming in terror. When I stopped screaming, I began making my plan: Who my Christian neighbors were, who’s house to break into to get money and food. I was 12 years old and was preparing for Armageddon alone.”

In addition to anxiety, RTS can include depression, cognitive difficulties, and problems with social functioning. In fundamentalist Christianity, the individual is considered depraved and in need of salvation. A core message is “You are bad and wrong and deserve to die.” (The wages of sin is death [10].) This gets taught to millions of children through organizations like Child Evangelism Fellowship [11] and there is a group organized [12]  to oppose their incursion into public schools.  I’ve had clients who remember being distraught when given a vivid bloody image of Jesus paying the ultimate price for their sins. Decades later they sit telling me that they can’t manage to find any self-worth.

“After twenty-seven years of trying to live a perfect life, I failed. . . I was ashamed of myself all day long. My mind battling with itself with no relief. . . I always believed everything that I was taught but I thought that I was not approved by God. I thought that basically I, too, would die at Armageddon.

“I’ve spent literally years injuring myself, cutting and burning my arms, taking overdoses and starving myself, to punish myself so that God doesn’t have to punish me. It’s taken me years to feel deserving of anything good.”

Born-again Christianity and devout Catholicism [13] tell people they are weak and dependent, calling on phrases like “lean not unto your own understanding [14]” or “trust and obey [11].” People who internalize these messages can suffer from learned helplessness. I’ll give you an example from a client who had little decision-making ability after living his entire life devoted to following the “will of God.” The words here don’t convey the depth of his despair.

“I have an awful time making decisions in general. Like I can’t, you know, wake up in the morning, “What am I going to do today?” Like I don’t even know where to start. You know all the things I thought I might be doing are gone and I’m not sure I should even try to have a career; essentially I babysit my four-year-old all day.”

Authoritarian religious groups are subcultures where conformity is required in order to belong. Thus if you dare to leave the religion, you risk losing your entire support system as well.

“I lost all my friends. I lost my close ties to family. Now I’m losing my country. I’ve lost so much because of this malignant religion and I am angry and sad to my very core. . . I have tried hard to make new friends, but I have failed miserably. . . I am very lonely.”

Leaving a religion, after total immersion, can cause a complete upheaval of a person’s construction of reality, including the self, other people, life, and the future. People unfamiliar with this situation, including therapists, have trouble appreciating the sheer terror it can create.

“My form of religion was very strongly entrenched and anchored deeply in my heart. It is hard to describe how fully my religion informed, infused, and influenced my entire worldview. My first steps out of fundamentalism were profoundly frightening and I had frequent thoughts of suicide. Now I’m way past that but I still haven’t quite found “my place in the universe.”

Even for a person who was not so entrenched, leaving one’s religion can be a stressful and significant transition.

Many people seem to walk away from their religion easily, without really looking back. What is different about the clientele you work with?

Winell: Religious groups that are highly controlling, teach fear about the world, and keep members sheltered and ill-equipped to function in society are harder to leave easily. The difficulty seems to be greater if the person was born and raised in the religion rather than joining as an adult convert. This is because they have no frame of reference – no other “self” or way of “being in the world.” A common personality type is a person who is deeply emotional and thoughtful and who tends to throw themselves wholeheartedly into their endeavors. “True believers” who then lose their faith feel more anger and depression and grief than those who simply went to church on Sunday.

Aren’t these just people who would be depressed, anxious, or obsessive anyways?

Winell: Not at all. If my observation is correct, these are people who are intense and involved and caring. They hang on to the religion longer than those who simply “walk away” because they try to make it work even when they have doubts. Sometimes this is out of fear, but often it is out of devotion. These are people for whom ethics, integrity and compassion matter a great deal. I find that when they get better and rebuild their lives, they are wonderfully creative and energetic about new things.

In your mind, how is RTS different from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder?

Winell: RTS is a specific set of symptoms and characteristics that are connected with harmful religious experience, not just any trauma. This is crucial to understanding the condition and any kind of self-help or treatment. (More details about this can be found on my Journey Free [15] website and discussed in my talk [16] at the Texas Freethought Convention.)

Another difference is the social context, which is extremely different from other traumas or forms of abuse. When someone is recovering from domestic abuse, for example, other people understand and support the need to leave and recover. They don’t question it as a matter of interpretation, and they don’t send the person back for more. But this is exactly what happens to many former believers who seek counseling. If a provider doesn’t understand the source of the symptoms, he or she may send a client for pastoral counseling, or to AA, or even to another church. One reclaimer expressed her frustration this way:

“Include physically-abusive parents who quote “Spare the rod and spoil the child” as literally as you can imagine and you have one fucked-up soul: an unloved, rejected, traumatized toddler in the body of an adult. I’m simply a broken spirit in an empty shell. But wait...That’s not enough!? There’s also the expectation by everyone in society that we victims should celebrate this with our perpetrators every Christmas and Easter!!”

Just like disorders such as autism or bulimia, giving RTS a real name has important advantages. People who are suffering find that having a label for their experience helps them feel less alone and guilty. Some have written to me to express their relief:

“There’s actually a name for it! I was brainwashed from birth and wasted 25 years of my life serving Him! I’ve since been out of my religion for several years now, but I cannot shake the haunting fear of hell and feel absolutely doomed. I’m now socially inept, unemployable, and the only way I can have sex is to pay for it.”

Labeling RTS encourages professionals to study it more carefully, develop treatments, and offer training. Hopefully, we can even work on prevention.

What do you see as the difference between religion that causes trauma and religion that doesn’t?

Winell: Religion causes trauma when it is highly controlling and prevents people from thinking for themselves and trusting their own feelings. Groups that demand obedience and conformity produce fear, not love and growth. With constant judgment of self and others, people become alienated from themselves, each other, and the world. Religion in its worst forms causes separation.

Conversely, groups that connect people and promote self-knowledge and personal growth can be said to be healthy. The book, Healthy Religion [17], describes these traits. Such groups put high value on respecting differences, and members feel empowered as individuals.  They provide social support, a place for events and rites of passage, exchange of ideas, inspiration, opportunities for service, and connection to social causes. They encourage spiritual practices that promote health like meditation or principles for living like the golden rule. More and more, non-theists are asking [18] how they can create similar spiritual communities without the supernaturalism. An atheist congregation [19] in London launched this year and has received over 200 inquiries from people wanting to replicate their model.

Some people say that terms like “recovery from religion” and “religious trauma syndrome” are just atheist attempts to pathologize religious belief.

Winell: Mental health professionals have enough to do without going out looking for new pathology. I never set out looking for a “niche topic,” and certainly not religious trauma syndrome. I originally wrote a paper for a conference of the American Psychological Association and thought that would be the end of it. Since then, I have tried to move on to other things several times, but this work has simply grown.

In my opinion, we are simply, as a culture, becoming aware of religious trauma. More and more people are leaving religion, as seen by polls [20] showing that the “religiously unaffiliated” have increased in the last five years from just over 15% to just under 20% of all U.S. adults. It’s no wonder the internet is exploding with websites for former believers from all religions, providing forums [21] for people to support each other. The huge population of people “leaving the fold” includes a subset at risk for RTS, and more people are talking about it and seeking help.  For example, there are thousands of former Mormons [22], and I was asked to speak about RTS at an Exmormon Foundation conference.  I facilitate an international support group online called Release and Reclaim [23]  which has monthly conference calls. An organization called Recovery from Religion, [24] helps people start self-help meet-up groups

Saying that someone is trying to pathologize authoritarian religion is like saying someone pathologized eating disorders by naming them. Before that, they were healthy? No, before that we weren’t noticing. People were suffering, thought they were alone, and blamed themselves.  Professionals had no awareness or training. This is the situation of RTS today. Authoritarian religion is already pathological, and leaving a high-control group can be traumatic. People are already suffering. They need to be recognized and helped. _______________________________

Statistics update:

Numbers of American ‘nones’ continues to rise

October 18, 2019

By David Crary – Associated Press

The portion of Americans with no religious affiliation is rising significantly, in tandem with a sharp drop in the percentage that identifies as Christians, according to new data from the Pew Research Center. …

Pew says all categories of the religiously unaffiliated population – often referred to as the “nones” grew in magnitude. Self-described atheists now account for 4% of U.S. adults, up from 2% in 2009; agnostics account for 5%, up from 3% a decade ago; and 17% of Americans now describe their religion as “nothing in particular,” up from 12% in 2009.

https://www.csmonitor.com/USA/Society/2019/1018/Numbers-of-American-nones-continues-to-rise

_______________________________

Marlene Winell interviewed by Valerie Tarico on recovering from religious trauma Uploaded on January 31, 2011

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fIfABmbqSMA

24:12

On Moral Politics, a TV program with host Dr. Valerie Tarico, Marlene Winell describes the trauma that can result from harmful experiences with religious indoctrination. Dr. Winell explains that mental health issues are widespread and need to be understood just as we understand PTSD. There are steps to recovery, treatment modalities, and resources available as well. She now refers to this as RTS or Religious Trauma Syndrome. _______________________________

Links:
 
[3] https://www.biblestudyonjesuschrist.com/pog/ask1.htm 
[4] https://marlenewinell.net/leaving-fold-former 
[8] https://journeyfree.org/article/reclaimers/ 
[9] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/A_Thief_in_the_Night_%28film%29 
[10] https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Romans+6%3A23&version=KJV 
[11] https://valerietarico.com/2011/02/04/our-public-schools-their-mission-field/ 
[12] http://www.intrinsicdignity.com/ 
[13] https://www.maryjohnson.co/an-unquenchable-thirst/ 
[14] https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Proverbs+3%3A5-6&version=KJV [15] https://journeyfree.org/category/uncategorized/ [16] https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3qrE4pMBlis 
[17] https://www.amazon.com/Healthy-Religion-Psychological-Guide-Mature/dp/1425924166 [18] https://www.humanistchaplaincy.org/ [19] https://www.christianpost.com/news/london-atheist-church-model-looking-to-expand-worldwide-91516 [20] https://www.pewforum.org/2012/10/09/nones-on-the-rise/ 
[21] https://new.exchristian.net/ 
[22] https://www.exmormon.org/ 
[23] https://journeyfree.org/group-forum/ [24] https://www.recoveringfromreligion.org/

_____________________________________

Get God’s Self-Appointed Messengers Out of Your Head

Valerie Tarico Which buzz phrases from your past are stuck in your brain? “God’s messengers” were all real complicated people with biases, blind spots, favorite foods and morning breath. They were not gods and they are not you. So how can you get them out of your head or at least reduce them to muffled background noise?

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ElfyYA420F0

[prorevenge]

Ridiculed, accused of lying and incompetence, I shoved burning facts down their throats and made a successful business in the process.

"The best revenge is massive success." -Frank Sinatra

TL;DR; Told I was lying and didn't know anything about game design. Made a spite video game that became a huge hit. Jackass is also forever immortalized within the game credits.

PREFACE

This is a very unusual story compared to the typical posts you've read here. There's a lot to unpack but I'll try to summarize everything as best I can.

I hope you'll find it as entertaining as I did. And, what's great about this story is that it happened very recently, it happened here, evidence is searchable, and it's still kinda on-going. It's a tale of trolls, video game addiction, self-righteous arrogance, harassment, winning an impossible bet, a viral hit in Russia, and massive success with even some little revenge sprinkles for added measure.

Quick background about me: I've worked with game developers for decades and I'm an avid researcher and supporter of unorthodox and ethical video games used for educational and clinical purposes.

HOW IT STARTED

Two months ago, there was a new reddit post about "using video game to ease depression" that caught my attention.

The reason it caught my attention was because it was a game & study that I had in-depth knowledge of (from over a year prior.) Unlike everyone else in the thread, I was the only one who had actually seen the game, played it, knew the developers, and even had the original technical game design documents.

The article discussed a variety of topics but never addressed exactly HOW the video game was able to ease depression. So, I provided a quickly summary of what the game actually did.

[SKIP THIS SECTION IF NEUROSCIENCE & GAME DESIGN DON'T INTEREST YOU]

A quick side note about this article, for those that like extra details: One of the cool properties of ketamine is that, not only can it provide rapid and temporary relief for depression, it also actively heals damaged brain circuits. Then there's dopamine. A chemical that we internally produce, that has similar but less potent effects. There is no cure for depression, but these are promising treatments for some. The article focused on what's called "flow". Using certain game design methods you can induce a "flow state" by causing a sustained dopamine release. When used ethically, it can be highly beneficial in stimulating/training the brain to perform certain activities, improve or learn memorization, adapt to challenges, learn new concepts, exercise motor skills, and meanwhile rebuild pathways/synapses. While all of this is happening, the user is receiving pleasurable rewards without realizing it. This process can create new pathways, repair old circuits, and increasing their neuroplasticity. Increased neuroplasticity means improved cognitive functioning, reducing impairment of the reward process, and improving the effectiveness of antidepressant medications. Video games can be a unique non-drug option to accomplish this while easing symptoms. Research has already shown that many popular games can already accomplish this (unintended effects by the game developers). By comparison, the game design they used in this theoretical study was highly limited in scope, so permanent benefits were negligible compared to the temporary respite brought about by basic dopamine release. Science is still barely scratching the surface of neurotransmitters and flow state. There are still many unknowns, but dopamine isn't just a pleasure chemical that the media would like you to be believe. It can do quite a number of things. Research has shown that "flow state" can modify synaptic plasticity, improve connectors between cells/synapses, ultimately helping cells in the brain communicate better as a network and improve neural system intrinsic properties.

My summary posting was fine for a while, until predictable trolls arrived led by an "armchair game developer". Dr. Armchair definitely did not appreciate my post. It was an affront and insult to his profession. Within a few minutes, it dropped 30 karma. I don't care about imaginary internet points but I don't like being accused of lying. Dr. Armchair and his pals started with the usual "do you even lift?" Then it was quickly asserted, from their armchairs, that I knew nothing about flow, psychology, dopamine or game design at all. From their high horses, they contributed nothing useful; only taunts, defamation, attacking my character and physical appearance, and accusing me of being a liar and incompetence.

Apparently it was a very sensitive topic. Who knew?

It quickly devolved into Dr. Armchair gleefully, and repeatedly claiming, that he won, he was right, and I was wrong. He demanded that I essentially write a 300 page peer-reviewed study to prove him wrong, and when it couldn't be provided within 5 minutes, there were more gleeful cheers of "HAHA! I WAS RIGHT! I WAS RIGHT! I'M NOT LISTENING TO YOU LALALALALA.."

Obviously, it was going to be impossible to reason with Dr. Armchair and his buddies. But actions speak louder than words.

So, I claimed that I would provide undeniable proof in the form of a video game "a few months from now" that he could actually play for himself. Once again, claiming that I was lying and it was impossible. And more of the usual "It's been 5 minutes, where is it? Oh, you can't do it can you. HA! I was right! I BEAT YOU! I BEAT YOU!"

It was weird.

Eventually the mods had enough. Dr. Armchair and his cronies harassment, ad hominem attacks, accusations and inflammatory attacks resulted in multiple posts being removed. But my promise still stood and I fully intended on keeping it.

THE BOLD CLAIM

The plan was simple:

Create a proof of concept that demonstrates just the critical neuroscience principles that induce flow. To prove it beyond a doubt, I intended to also prove that MOST COMMON INGREDIENTS of a game are completely UNNECESSARY to accomplish this.

So, I made the very confident claim that the game would still be fun, addictive, and demonstrate flow state, even after ripping everything out:

No extras or frills. Built within a short period of time.

No music. No sound effects. No animations. No story.

No expensive art. In fact, hardly any at all: I would use ONE SINGLE ART ASSET for the gameplay (plus some lines.)

No feature creep. No sign-in system. No gacha mechanics.

No level design. No achievements. No RPG gamifications.

I could get at least a couple hundred people to play it.

I should have also mentioned that it would be built with ZERO BUDGET and NO MARKETING.

If this sounds like a strange way to make a game, it is. For a typical game developer, this would raise many eyebrows, and they'd consider it highly risky or improbable to achieve any success with both arms figurately tied behind your back while blindfolded.

HOW IT ENDED

While I was preparing to stress test the game online, it was discovered by .ru bots that were scouring the web for new games. Even before the game was ready, they published the game link on several Russian gaming sites.

The game exploded.

It has graphical similarities to Tetris, so it was a nice coincidence that the game essentially launched and did so well in Russia at first. After that, other game sites started discovering the game on their own too, even before I had a chance to submit the game myself. Most importantly, the proof of concept and everything I claimed worked (high ratings and retention). It proved so effective that the game is currently being played by hundreds of thousands of users worldwide. And it's a clear demonstration about the importance of combining psychology and game design.

I suppose you could say that there are many layers of revenge happening here, maybe even karmic justice or backfiring on their part, it's really hard to classify. The best kind of revenge is always massive success, and shoving it in their faces, however. But, on top of that, I also fully kept to my promises while proving these ignorant individuals so wrong they look like fools.

I also added some extra salt to the wound. I figured that success of the game was partly due to Dr. Armchair's ignorance. It was only fair that I included his name within the Game Credits. So, I officially gave this very wonderful human being a very "special thanks" for their support in making this success possible.

(source) story by (/u/postfu)

[raziroo]

Chapter 3 | I Am Not At All Wise

Pairing: There's hints, but none

Genre: Angst?

Warnings: Overly Casual Mentions of Depression and Anxiety, Mentions of Trading of Lives

Word Count: 1,926

Author's Note: This might appear a little rushed, because I got this sudden surge of inspiration and sat down to write this and this isn't even proofread. Sorry, hehe.

‘Guys, what’s wrong with you?! This my father we’re talking about, my father! Why are you so hesitant to trade him for Lotor?’

The tense energy in the room only became even more suffocating when Pidge let that question, among others, loose like cannonballs. I was glad I was sitting even a bit away from the ongoing discussion, because the questions and not up to par answers were succeeding in making me uncomfortable. After all, the topic at hand wasn’t light at all – a topic such as trading of lives is one that questions your morals, your beliefs, literally everything you, as a person, stand for. I stared at Pidge, her absolutely enraged expression making me gulp nervously`. If Pidge didn’t get her father back now, after finding out his destination, then God knows how many shots are going to get fired at whom. And although I’m not saying that Pidge is wrong, she isn’t even right.

That’s confusing.

What I meant to say was, that although Pidge’s actions and fury and incredulousness were fully justified, it didn’t mean that we could all just nod heads in tandem and send Lotor off as some sort of pig for slaughter in exchange of Pidge’s dad. It wasn’t fair.

As my eyes lost focus, I recalled Captain America’s words – we don’t trade lives.

I snapped out of my thoughts. I couldn’t say anything. I didn’t want to. I wouldn’t, ultimately. Heading to my room now instead of just sitting there and making myself look like an unopinionated fool wasn’t helping me anyways, and neither was Lotor’s presence a couple feet beside me.

I decided to head to my room.

After all, that was what I was best at, wasn’t it? After finally accepting that I was a time traveler and couldn’t ever see my friends or family ever again and that aliens did actually exist, and not just on Mars (wait, did aliens exist on Mars? I never asked that), all I did for a good sum of time was hide in my room. Activities except hiding in my room included roaming through the castle and running to my room as soon as I deducted any trace of intelligent life near me, being strangely intimate with the white lion – intimacy including venting about how I was probably depressed, possibly had anxiety, caressing the lioness because she’s beautiful, and nestling in her cockpit because she felt like home – and running to my room when Shiro questioned me about my connection with White.

A bit after, when I felt more reassured and had begun craving human communication, I finally emerged from my cave, only to find that some of the Paladins didn’t seem too happy with my presence. Time went on, spirits fell, only to rise once again in blazing hopes of dethroning Zarkon, and my naturally social abilities helped me blend in with the Paladins soon. A lot of the comfort I felt among the Paladins, I owed to Shiro and Hunk. Those two were literally angels, especially to me. I couldn���t count on all the fingers of the Paladins and Allura combined how may times those two, and occasionally Lance, came to offer me a hug or talk to me when I looked glum. Even Allura and Pidge talked to meif they were free. The only person I had problems interacting with was Keith. But we’d nod to each other, say our greetings, and I accepted that. I couldn’t be besties with everyone. However, mine and Keith’s communication skills only worsened and problems only increased once Shiro disappeared. Keith straight up would refuse to pilot the Black Lion, and even when he finally agreed, he was so unorganized and his decisions so rash it was costing the coalition. When Lions started becoming unstable to fight after longer, tougher battles, White was expected to fill in. After all, it was the White Lion’s purpose – to be the mind of Voltron when the Paladins couldn’t, to keep the soul, fire, water, air and flora elements in check, Allura had once said to me. Only, White needed a pilot, a Paladin. And all expectations of being White’s pilot were pinned on me, naturally, because I was the one who seemingly materialized in her cockpit out of nowhere.

I, obviously, failed to do that. Because apparently (and quite obviously, if I do say so myself) even though White warmed up the cockpit for me when I slept there and seemed to purr when I caressed her face, I wasn’t worthy enough, in her gaze, to be a Paladin. And I truly had no qualms about that. The only issue was that Keith wasn’t satisfied with that. Pidge and Lance tried to hide it, but they too, felt that I should try harder. Hunk comforted me when I accidentally let the hurt I was feeling shine through. Allura tried to convince everyone that it wasn’t my fault at all, that the Lions only accepted whom they deemed fit to Pilot them, and the reason the White Lion even was the ��extra” Lion in the first place was that it was hardest than any of the other Lions to convince to be Pilot of. It was simply too calculating and cynical and choosy – and I agreed with White wholly, because stepping in as the voice of reason, as the mind of Voltron when all these worthy, noble, brave people who were specifically selected to be the defender and judge of the universe when no one else could failed to do their jobs, then you needed to be one hell of a person to be honoured with the name “White Paladin of Voltron”.

When Shiro had come back, or as he said, when Keith brought him back, the Castle seemed to light up more. I understood why he was chosen to be the soul to combine the other elements and form Voltron. I was ecstatic, perhaps happier than some of the Paladins even, but that didn’t mean I didn’t notice – or rather, didn’t choose to shrug off - his strange and simply out of character behaviour at times. I wasn’t the only one that did. It was when I voiced to White about my concerns, and she glowed – literally glowed as if in agreement did I know that shit was serious. White, as weirdly impossible as it sounds, also noticed. She knew, too, that something wasn’t right with Shiro. It was beyond me how she did, but I didn’t get to ponder on that for too long.

Why?

Because Lotor happened. He arrived as our saviour at the most unexpected moment and in the most unexpected way, and then became unpredictability, unanswered questions, and uncertainty personified for us. How many rifts and arguments he alone had caused between the Paladins was the slightest bit alarming, but justified, in my opinion. Lotor had succeeded in messing up our functioning. It didn’t matter if it was only a tad – he was the anthropomorphic form of all the flaws and hesitancies and wrongs and uncertainties in the coalition that we’d turned a blind eye to.

And now Zarkon had offered us Pidge’s dad’s freedom in exchange of Lotor, but I would be lying if I said if I wasn’t the tiniest bit worried as to just what Zarkon would do to Lotor. I know, I know, I really was no one to be straining my brain for that, since Lotor was an alien Prince who had equal chances of being good and evil, was capable of killing us all if he wished to, and had probably endured worse than his father’s wrath. But that wasn’t even the biggest issue we had. Pidge getting fired up was reasonable enough, I was aware of how emotionally driven she could become at times despite being a genius. And her brain refusing to work when her family came into play was the reason I was bothered most – even if she convinced the other Paladins to go through with the exchange, there was absolutely no surety that Zarkon would keep his part of the deal. It was legit the dumbest, most irrational thing the protagonist could do. If that happened, we’d lose both Pidge’s father, and an extremely valuable asset to the coalition.

I didn’t really realize that during my very acceptable train of self-depreciating thoughts I’d changed my route and had instinctively begun for White. I guess it was only right, as I felt more at ease there than anywhere. It was only when I reached her and stroked her, she seemed to… close in on her herself. I furrowed my brow, a small frown on my lips.

I sighed. It was probably nothing.

Relaxing my facial muscles, I closed my eyes, leaned forward, and nudged White’s snout. I jumped back with a start when instead of the usual purr or whimper, she growled at me. The crease between my brows returned with a higher intensity.

‘What is it, girl? Hmm?’ I cooed at her, not risking touching her. ‘Is something wrong? Do you not want to talk? Should I go?’

Silence was what I received in exchange.

‘My love,’ yes I called White “my love”, “girl”, have and will continue to call her “babe”, and no you cannot do jack about it. ‘You need to tell me, please,’ I continued, my voice gentle as ever, ‘how am I supposed to know what you want to say? You’ve never growled at me before. I don’t know how to interpret that gesture. Do I take it as you being upset? Angry? Sad?’ She still didn’t answer. All the life seemed to leave her.

I tilted my head. My sigh bounced off the walls.

‘The White Lion is said to be the mind of Voltron,’ a naturally assertive, deep, thunder-like voice called. I was sure I jumped at least a foot before whipping my head to where the voice resonated from. Lotor. What -?

‘Forgive me if I scared you. I thought it wise to offer some assistance; you seemed to be in need of help.’

I didn’t answer. He took it as a “yes, I need your help”. ‘The most probable reason it is not responding to your calls, is because you are contradicting what the White Lion stands for, you aren’t being wise. That is, assuming the Lion does answer you typically.’

I turned back to White, my jaw setting. My lingering suspicion turned into certainty at Lotor’s remarks.

Well. As much as I cherished my relations with White, I wasn’t going to voice my thoughts and concerns regarding the life trade. I wasn’t particularly keen on getting involved. I wasn’t the White Paladin. I wasn’t the voice of reason. I couldn’t be. This was the exact reason as to why I couldn’t be the White Paladin. I had many a thought, but didn’t always think it wise to share them with others.

Especially not when “others” included a leader that was not being himself, a princess who wanted to get rid of the Galra empire and Zarkon as soon as possible no matter the cost, and a Paladin who was going feral and becoming blind by rage at the thought of not getting her father back when she was so close.

Yes. Now definitely not.

Without sparing Lotor or White another glance, I headed to my room, for real this time. I didn’t notice both of their piercing gazes aimed at my retreating figure.

[spencers-renaissance]

turns out that I need you now (much more than you need me)

Summary: Spencer is suffering in silence and it's only made worse when the team messes up and makes him feel even more hurt and insecure. When Hotch goes to check on him, though, things start to look up.

Tags: hurt/comfort, hurt!spencer, getting together, depression, anxiety, happy ending

Pairings: Hotch x Reid

Word Count: 3.5k

Read on AO3

The crushing pit of loneliness deep inside Spencer’s tummy never really seems to leave, the kind that makes his breath snag and his heart rate speed up just a little. He’s surrounded by people who love him, he knows that, but it doesn’t stop the heartache from consuming him; sometimes it only exacerbates it. When he sees JJ and Emily share a private joke at the coffee machine or Derek and Hotch clap each other on the back with familiar smiles on their faces, it reminds him just how removed he is. The BAU would die for him, he knows that. He’s just not sure they’d live for him.

Sometimes he thinks they notice. When Rossi shoots him a concerned look when he’s a little too quiet on the jet or Alex sits with him for just a bit too long after a case, he thinks you’re so close. You’re nearly there. But then Rossi turns to look out the window and Alex is needed somewhere else, and he’s on the sidelines again.

It’s not like it’s new, either. He’s always been a messy melting pot of insecurities and deep feelings of sadness that never fully go away, but he can’t lie to himself. Ever since the meeting last Tuesday in the briefing room, it’s been all-consuming.

He knows they hadn’t meant to, and they’d probably be horrified if they knew how much it had affected him, but the entire interaction had felt like a knife slicing cold and slow under his skin. The case had intrigued him more than others had done recently and it had been a nice feeling, being excited about the work again, so he’d told them about a study one of his colleagues had conducted during his second Ph.D. and how he’d assisted, and Derek rolled his eyes. JJ and Emily stifled a mocking smile. Rossi had tried not to laugh at the girls while Penelope had looked mildly annoyed he’d derailed her briefing. Alex, to her credit, had looked much more pissed off at their reactions than his tangent, but it was Hotch who was the nail in the coffin.

“Reid, please,” he’d frowned disapprovingly, tone harsh as his words slammed into him. “You need to be quiet. Derailing these briefings with stupid and unhelpful tangents is unprofessional and they need to stop. Garcia.” He indicated for her to continue and she’d looked at him gratefully as they all turned their attention back to the screen.

Spencer’s life, really, was a lucky dip of humiliating moments that chipped away at his confidence and sense of self-worth, but this one felt like it took the cake. The feelings that had plagued him for almost a decade throughout his career alongside these people finally felt validated, and it wasn’t even as earth-shattering as he’d expected. There was no drama, no theatrics. Everyone simply turned away while the bottom of his stomach collapsed and his breathing snagged. Even Hotch, the man he’d loved since he joined the BAU, the man who had always been protective of him, looking out for his feelings, his well-being, everything. Even Hotch couldn’t stand him anymore.

He’d worked the case fine, of course. Despite what Hotch had told him, he knew he could be professional when it was needed and he wasn’t about to compromise that. So he offered his expertise when required and kept his tangents in check, making sure to never relax in case the real Spencer spilled out and he started rambling again. It had taken a long time for him to be comfortable enough to let that side of him reveal itself to the team, and it was excruciatingly painful to pack it back away, lock it up, and pretend to be the person he’d tried to be for the majority of his life.

The unsub was apprehended, which gave him a small jump of excitement and satisfaction for a moment before the reality of the situation set back in and he was brought back down to earth. Alex sat next to him on the jet, placing a reassuring hand on his forearm for a second before offering a smile and turning to her crossword. His arm burned with the need to throw himself at her for a much-needed hug, touch-starvation settling deeply into his bones. Restraint felt painful.

The case is over now, though. There’s no adrenaline rush to keep him going, no puzzle motivating him anymore. He’s trapped at his desk, sat next to Derek and Emily’s banter and it feels like highschool again, making himself as small as possible while he prayed for no one to notice him, listening to everyone having a good time. The paperwork occupies him for a little while, but it isn’t long before he’s pulling out files to consult remotely on cases and begging Hotch for a little extra to do.

If he keeps his brain busy, his broken heart won’t weigh him down so much, he rationalises, but even the trip to the coffee machine feels like dragging himself up a mountain. He feels completely oblivious to his surroundings; like he’s stuck in a sea of molasses and everyone around him is speaking in slow-motion, blurring in comparison to the weight of everything he’s feeling.

It only becomes a problem the Wednesday after the meeting, when he finds that he just cannot get out of bed. He’s been on autopilot for at least a week, probably a lot longer than that if he’s honest with himself, and it’s like that function’s just… stopped working. He can’t get up and grab a banana before jumping in the shower and shaving, shrugging on his suit and drinking his first coffee of the day, he can’t even find the willpower to roll over in bed.

Eventually, his alarm turns itself off and he closes his eyes and goes back to sleep.

★

“Reid? Reid, can you hear me?”

The world gently comes back into focus as he concentrates on the voice coming from behind him, and the first thing he notices is it’s dark outside; somehow the entire day managed to pass him by without him realising. The second thing he notices is how absolutely ravenous he is. Stirring slowly, he eventually rolls over, only to see Hotch crouching by his bed, still in his slightly rumpled suit, though he’s not wearing a tie.

“Hotch?” he questions, sounding as baffled as he feels. Seriously, what happened to make him sleep the day away only to wake up to his boss calling his name? He feels like he should sit up and make himself presentable, but he simply doesn’t have the energy and his bed is far too warm for him to have any desire to unfurl himself from the covers.

“How are you feeling, Spencer?” Hotch replies, voice soft and careful, and that gets his attention. Hotch rarely calls him Spencer and he’s using the voice he talks to Jack or frightened victims with, not him, never him. He meets Hotch’s eyes for the first time, and they’re filled with an emotion he hasn’t seen before, one Hotch has clearly been withholding from him, but all he wants to do is melt into it, sink into the warmth and gentleness he knows will welcome him.

Still, he can’t find the motivation to question anything that’s happening, instead burying deeper down under his duvet and sighing softly. “Tired,” he mumbles eventually, but he realises something else, too, and decides to admit it. What’s the worst that could happen at this point? “Sad.”

Hotch is quiet for a short moment before he replies. “Have you eaten anything today?”

“Don’t think so,” Spencer murmurs, letting his eyes droop closed again.

“I came because I was worried about you,” Hotch says soothingly, answering the question Spencer’s been too tired to ask. “You didn’t show up for work today but we were flat out with a local case all day so I couldn’t come and check on you until now. What’s going on, Spencer? Why didn’t you come in today, or at least call me?”

He has to wait a moment to muster the energy, but eventually, Spencer sits up slightly, leaning against the pillow and the headboard, and meets Hotch’s eyes again. Thinking about what he’s about to say -- what he’s about to admit to somebody else for the first time -- makes him tear up a little, the reminder of the pain he’s been in for years aching deep and raw. “The simple answer is I’m exhausted, Hotch,” he replies, voice thick and eyes droopy. “I’m mentally and physically exhausted and I’m sad, and lonely, and afraid and I feel like I’ll never be happy, I feel like an outsider, the odd one out, and I’m done, I just cannot keep going like this, it’s impossible. And this morning I woke up and I just couldn’t will my body to get out of bed. Not caring about the consequences, I turned my alarm off and fell back to sleep.”

He’d looked away during his confession, but when he looks back at Hotch, he sees that his own eyes aren’t the only ones watering. “Spencer,” he starts, but his voice catches and he has to take a moment to compose himself. “Why didn’t you say something? You could have told me, I-- I would have helped you.” Spencer’s seriously taken aback by the scene in front of him: Hotch is crouched on his bedroom floor, looking genuinely destroyed because of some stupid emotions he’s been feeling?

“No, no. This is my own battle, I don’t deserve your help,” Spencer refutes, defeated. He sinks lower into the comfort of his mattress. “You don’t really want to help me anyway, I’m just a member of the team and you know you can’t have me lacking. I’m an obligation.” He spits the last word out as he closes his eyes against the emotional pain twisting harshly in his stomach.

“Spencer, that’s not how it is at all,” Hotch replies gently. “First and foremost, you’re my friend, and I’d do anything for you, especially anything to help and protect you. That’s how the entire team sees you--”

“You don’t have to lie,” Spencer cuts him off. “I know I’m irritating and the only reason I haven’t been booted off yet is my ability to read quickly and remember important facts. Except that’s the reason you guys resent me: I’m annoying, I go off on tangents, and I’m too clever for my own good. Too socially awkward to fit in, I know it.”

“Spence, is this about what happened last week?” Hotch ventures carefully, and Spencer flinches. “I’ve been meaning to apologise for that all week but there was no good moment, and truthfully I was ashamed. It was an inexcusable way to treat you and handle the situation, I’m so very sorry. I know that it probably made you feel small and scolded, like an outcast, exacerbating those feelings, but that wasn’t my intention, you have to realise that. I was tired, I’d been up all night with Jack who had the stomach flu, and with how time-sensitive the case was combined with the pressure coming from above, I was stressed and on edge. It wasn’t your fault, I’m the one in the wrong here.”

That makes him look up, searching Hotch’s face for signs of insincerity. “You were right though,” he denies, but his voice is weaker, wavering. “Besides, it wasn’t just you, it was everybody.”

“I’m sure that they’d feel awful if they knew how they made you feel, but nobody on this team would ever want to make you sad or feel left out, and they certainly wouldn’t want you to feel ashamed of who you are, or your incredible talents,” Hotch responds, firm and insistent. He reaches out to take Spencer’s hand. “You are so deeply loved by all of us, Spence, I wish you’d believe that.”

He looks away at that, fiddling with the fabric of the duvet cover. “Really?” he asks, hopefully. He finds it hard to believe, but Hotch looks so sincere and his voice sounds truthful. Plus, Hotch doesn’t make a habit out of lying.

“Really,” he confirms, with that small, fond smile that only graces his face on rare occasions and makes Spencer’s insides fuzzy. “Now, here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to fetch us some dinner and we’ll eat it together on the couch, and then tomorrow I’m going to make a doctors’ appointment for you, okay? I know that that incident last week might have triggered this, but clearly, there are some serious underlying concerns if it was able to impact you so severely and it would make me feel better to know that you’d seen a medical professional, alright?”

“Okay,” Spencer nods, smiling back at the warmth in Hotch’s eyes.

★

Hotch dashes out to pick up a sharing platter with an excessive amount of sides from a Lebanese restaurant Spencer had mentioned he loved ages ago and helps him out to the sofa in his cosy apartment when he gets back. He wraps him up in the fluffy blanket he keeps on the arm of the sofa and hands him a plate filled with delicious food. His actions are almost loving, Spencer thinks as Hotch flicks the TV on to the history channel, knowing that it’s the only thing he’ll really watch, but he quickly quells those thoughts. Hoping is pointless.

“Is that alright, Spencer?” he asks softly, as he sits on the opposite end of the sofa and begins to tuck into his similarly loaded plate of food.

“Perfect,” Spencer smiles, feeling safe and content for the first time in weeks. Having Hotch so close to him feels like a tether to the rest of the world, a grounding force stopping him from floating away.

“Good.”

They watch the TV quietly, appreciating each others’ presence in a soft, familiar kind of way. It’s halfway through the program they’re watching about industrialisation when their plates are empty and resting on the coffee table that Spencer speaks up. “Did you know that the progression of technology really isn’t as linear as we might expect? Ancient civilisations simply invented the technology they needed; they weren’t necessarily primitive just because they didn’t have something that we now deem as essential. The Inca, for example, did have wheels, but they used them for short distances, not for long-distance transportation because of their mountainous terrain. Instead, they had complex road systems that they navigated with pack animals and they built suspension bridges long before Europeans because it was the technology they required. Egyptians never even bothered with the wheel, because their terrain was full of sand; instead, they were excellent at building boats. Technology is invented, lost, invented again all over the world.”

He blushes a little when he finishes his explanation, and looks over at Hotch properly, surprised at the expression on his face. “You’re brilliant, you know that Spencer?” he says fondly, looking genuinely in awe of the man in front of him.

“No,” Spencer tries to dismiss him, “I’m really not, it’s just what I was bor--”

He’s abruptly cut off when Hotch surges forward, crossing the small amount of distance between them on the sofa quickly, capturing his surprised, parted lips with his own. Hotch brings his hand up to rest firmly on Spencer’s jaw, caressing his thumb gently across his cheekbone as he kisses Spencer with a fervent passion he’s never experienced anyone feel for him before.

Spencer’s wide eyes meet Hotch’s melting ones as they pull gently away. “I mean it,” Hotch says softly, running his thumb over Spencer’s bottom lip. “You’re incredible, and I can’t get enough of you.” He presses another chaste kiss to his lips as if to prove he means what he says.

“I’ve been waiting for this for a long time, Hotch, you have no idea,” Spencer says breathily, staring up at him in awe as he tries to appear more put together than his mushy insides will allow.

“Me too,” he laughs softly, warming Spencer’s heart even more. “But if this is going to work, you’re going to have to stop calling me Hotch.”

“Deal,” Spencer giggles, pushing away his blanket in favour of straddling his legs and pressing another loving kiss to his lips. “Aaron.”

“God, I love the way my name sounds dripping from those lips,” he groans, gripping his waist gently, rubbing his thumbs over his stomach as he leans up to kiss Spencer again.

They kiss quietly on the sofa with the history channel playing in the background for a while, losing track of time as they melt into one another. Eventually, though, Spencer gets tired, shifting off Aaron’s lap to sit next to him, resting his head on his chest. Aaron gets the hint and wraps a protective arm around his waist, pulling him as close as possible. “I’m sorry you’ve had such a rough time, Spencer,” he whispers into his hair. “As long as you want me here, though, I promise I’ll do everything I can to prevent you from feeling like that again.”

“I know,” Spencer whispers back, drawing comfort from the musk of Aaron’s cologne and the subtle scent of sweat lingering behind it. “Just being like this makes me feel safe, though. Less alone.”

“I’m glad, sweetheart.”

Spencer nearly squeaks at that, face flushing dark red. “Sweetheart?” he asks, embarrassed.

“Do you not like it? I’m sorry Spencer, I don’t have to call you anything other than your name.”

“No, no,” he rushes to clarify. “I like it, I really do, you just surprised me, is all.”

“Good,” Aaron says, and Spencer can hear the fond smile in his voice.

“Will you,” Spencer starts shyly, before clearing his throat. “Will you stay tonight? I don’t want you to go, I want the company.”

“Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you need,” he says comfortingly, rubbing his hand gently across the span of his tummy.

It’s the best Spencer’s slept in months probably, wrapped up safely in Aaron’s arms. The bed is warm and toasty and he feels genuinely Not Alone, like he has someone in his corner. A night of comfortable and unbroken sleep is exactly what he needs and it’s what Aaron’s comforting presence and protective embrace gives him.

★

Luckily the FBI’s health insurance gets him the therapy he needs and some anti-anxiety medication which together slowly starts to improve his self-esteem and perception of those around him. Aaron’s steady support doesn’t hurt either, always there to give him a cuddle and remind him of all the good in him and others, how loved he is and how he’ll never have to be alone again, not if he doesn’t want to be.

Gradually, Spencer realises that the looks JJ and Emily shoot one another are fond; they both love his little tangents and are fondly amused by them. Spencer had never noticed the smile on his face when Derek rolls his eyes, simply teasing him in the same way he does when he ruffles his hair and calls him ‘pretty boy’ on the way to the kitchen. His entire perception of how others saw him had been completely skewed by his mind, and he was slowly unlearning those immediate assumptions.

And if it ever did go too far, he had Aaron to glare at the offending party, and squeeze his hand comfortingly under the table, giving him a cuddle and holding him protectively as soon as they were in private.

Coincidentally, it’s exactly that ritual that gets them figured out a few months later. A local police officer had been pretty awful to him when Spencer was simply trying to explain how they’d come to a certain conclusion about an aspect of an unsub’s profile. Aaron takes Spencer with him to grab some lunch for the team and as soon as they get out of the SUV and step into the parking lot of the local sandwich shop, he pulls him close and tells him how much he loves him.

They do not see Derek and Emily coming out of the shop with bags of food in their hands having had the same idea as them, mouths open until they pull away and it is much too late. Their sworn secrecy does not last long, not that they’d really expected it to, and soon the entire team is in a perpetual state of teasing. Spencer sort of loves it, though, and Aaron will put up with the type of intrusion into his private life that he usually resents if it makes Spencer smile as wide as it does when Derek or JJ make an off-handed comment about how gone for him Aaron is.

Slowly, Spencer feels that empty pit of loneliness fill back up, the aching sadness eases when he has so many hands willing to help him carry the burden. The happy ending he’d been craving for so long, the ending he’d written off as unattainable and stupid to wish for, he finally had in his hands, and he wasn’t about to let it go anytime soon.

Yes, Emily and Alex were never officially in a season together but shhh I’m writing I can do what I want.

[lamortexiii]

Cryptic Mystic: In the End

To bounce off of the previous blog posting, I thought it would be fun to just hop right on into the topic of what happens after we die. After all, we just finished talking about souls and a bit of astral projection last time. From transcending to another place/dimension to reincarnation, there truly is a lot to cover when you start diving into the many beliefs and ideas that surround death and mortality/immortality. But what differentiates the scientific facts from myths and stories of olden days? For those who believe in one defined means to an end for us all, how do you know for a fact that what you believe is true? Have you ever questioned what is life after death? Hell, is there a life after death? Or maybe… it’s something else… something so obscure that our tiny human brains are nowhere near possessing the capabilities to understand it. In the end, readers can decide for themselves what is more likely to be true, or maybe… the answer to this cryptic question has been right in front of us all along? Maybe it is a combination of what we know but do not yet understand. Let’s talk shop, shall we?

Death. Happy for some, a time of joy and celebration for others, but likely a time of sadness and grief for most. Some welcome death with open arms, while yet others fear their mortality. The numerous speculations on what happens after we die is overwhelming. There are far too many ideas and beliefs that people hold in this regard. I’ll briefly cover a few of the more popular beliefs as to not make this blog super lengthy - because, ya know, your attention span and whatnot. 

Scientifically, there are two types of death: clinical death and brain death. Clinical death is characterized by major organ failure (e.g. heart, liver, kidneys, etc.) until the body is completely rendered of functioning and the individual is officially pronounced dead. In brain death, solely the brain stops functioning, but the other organs within the body continue to work within their normal capacities. Creepy fun fact for you: the heart can beat for up to 30 minutes on its own after all brain cells have died. Once the heart stops it’s adios amigo. The remaining major organs that were barely hanging on have now lost blood flow, and life has ended. More creepy death fun facts: the gastrointestinal tract can live on its own for up to 3 days, and the complete decomposition of a body takes roughly 30 years! Crazy science stuff. 

Now let’s take a look at some common beliefs and speculations of what happens when/after we die. Again, I want to remind you, readers, that in my eyes there is no right or wrong answer here. I am a firm believer in everyone having their own beliefs and respect all of them regardless of how obscure some naysayers may think that they are. I enjoy hearing stories from followers that help to further broaden my thought processes. If you ever have an interesting story or want to chime in with your thoughts please feel free to leave a comment here or shoot on over to Instagram and we can rap about it. 

The belief that we transcend to another realm/dimension has been around for thousands of years and has been studied for decades. There is a lot to uncover here between recent scientific discoveries and human belief. Many people believe that many other dimensions exist, however, scientific exploration hasn’t fully found the golden answer to if and what these other dimensions may contain if they do indeed exist. We know that Earth has at least three dimensions: space—length, width, and depth—and one dimension of time. Modern physics posits that there is at least a fourth dimension of space, but that we can’t experience it. Maybe we can? Maybe we do but just haven’t put a label on it? Maybe the odd phenomena that happen across the world that people describe as being ghosts, aliens, and other paranormal activities are actually from the next dimension or another. There has been speculation that extraterrestrials come from another dimension through a portal that is already here on Earth rather than from the sky (outer space). 

Give me an R! Give me an E! Hell, this word is too long and I’m not going to put you through reading a silly cheer for 5 minutes. Reincarnation - yet another commonly held belief of what happens when we die. For those of you who may have never heard of reincarnation, here is the quick and dirty version of the definition. Reincarnation posits that when we die our spirit/soul/whatever you want to call it, moves on to a new host. This host could be a human baby that is born the very second that you die OR you could possibly find yourself reincarnated as an animal, tree, flower, or any other living thing that you can find on Earth. Interesting concept indeed.

My favorite belief, that we go to Heaven or somewhere similar, is one that is believed by millions of people across the world. Wouldn’t it be nice to die and go to another world/place where nothing can do you harm, and just live out the rest of your existence in peace? Well, if you can believe it then it may just happen that way - or maybe not. I am fairly certain I have mentioned this in previous blogs, but religion can be thought of as a coping mechanism for that which we do not know or understand; the human way of putting a label on something to make ourselves feel better or like we are a part of something divine and much greater than us. Which, in all actuality, we very well may be a part of something divine and much greater than us, however, it is my personal opinion that we honestly have no fucking clue about the extent to which that is. 

Now, this next one I threw in here because I personally found it to be interesting. In 2017 I was having a conversation with a friend about mystical things such as portals, extraterrestrials, etc. My friend informed me of a research video on YouTube about a company called CERN. He described this Swiss company as having built a circular-shaped machine that when you throw something into its core it disappears. However, other items have come through this machine and into the room from… wherever the other side is? Basically, these people have created a portal and no one knows about it. You’re welcome for the information. Within this research video, the guy who was describing all of this stuff went on to talk about how China had gifted the statue that sits in front of the CERN building. This particular statue is reported to represent the end of time and hell on Earth. There is a whole mythical background story about this statue - you need to check it out. The irony between the statue and this machine they made is uncanny. It made my jaw drop. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I haven’t been able to find the YouTube video again, so I am not sure if it got taken down because the guy exposed something that was supposed to be secret, or maybe I just suck at YouTube searches. Either way, I encourage you to do some digging on this one, because this type of information could potentially support the whole soul/spirit transcending into another realm/dimension belief. I am not a physicist, so I could be explaining this all wrong. You’ll just have to check out their website for yourself and see what it’s all about. → home.cern

There is also the belief that when we die nothing happens. We are dead and it is the end of who we once were. This belief is often held by Atheists and some Satanists if we’re using labels. However, many people believe this who aren’t subscribed to a religion or don’t want to necessarily put a label on who they are/what they believe. This is the grim reality of our existence. Maybe it all means��� nothing… Now isn’t that depressing. 

Then there are near-death experiences, which brings a whole different perspective into the mix. People all over the world have encountered near-death experiences. Many report shockingly similar experiences and stories. Some say they see a white light and follow it to a place of peace. I have heard people say that while they were legally deceased they found themself in a field of flowers or floating within the cosmos. A common theme found within these individuals is that once they have had their near-death experience, they aren’t afraid of death anymore - they welcome it with open arms. One woman on a documentary that I watched even went as far as to say that she didn’t want to come back from where she was and was disappointed when she was revived. These experiences could possibly support the theory of transcending to other dimensions or that there is a “heaven.” I can’t explain it, but I still find the information interesting to ponder upon. 

Our mortality is evident, but what really happens when we die? These are just a short collection of ideas and beliefs that have been around for ages, however, there are many more to consider I’m sure. What do you think? Or should I say: what do you want to believe? Ultimately it’s your choice. Whatever brings you peace, serves you well, and is the right answer for you is what I advise you to turn to. This flesh and blood will decay for each of us one day - it’s inevitable. It is for this very reason why I say live life to the fullest. Regret nothing. Do what best serves you. Do what makes you happy. Take chances. Above all else - be the best version of yourself that makes you happy.

Cryptic Mystic Blog by PsychVVitch

www.LaMorteXiii.com

[velkynkarma]

So I’m suuuper late to the party, but I finally, finally finished Rhythm of War. 

I am delighted by it. Thoughts and reactions under the cut, just in case for spoilers.

OKAY SO I had a lot of feelings about this book, and I wanted to be able to sit down and read the book properly and devote time to it, instead of sneaking paragraphs here or there during work breaks. So that’s why it took me so long to read it. In a way I feel like a terrible fan for taking so long when I was so excited about reading it for over a year, but in another way I am satisfied that I did it justice.

General thoughts/reactions:

I am legitimately impressed with how well Sanderson handled Shallan’s Dissociative Identity Disorder. DID is one of those mental illnesses that gets butchered so hard in media, and carries such a stigma of being “evil” or “creepy.” But Shallan’s representation seems much more factual in terms of how we know DID works today, including but not limited to:

Created from a severe trauma at a very young age, in which the brain starts splitting itself in order to protect against traumas and form survival mechanisms

Alters exist to protect the system and handle tasks for the host that the host cannot handle. Both Veil and Radiant handle tasks/functions that Shallan can’t

Also establishing that different alters can have different skills (such as Shallan being good at drawing and Lightweaving while Veil is bad at it, or Radiant handling espionage poorly)

Establishing that actual DID treatments do include encouraging alters to learn to work together and establish communication lines between each other. I like that the three create a pact to work together and rules to stand by and enforce them on each other to the best of their ability. They mess up sometimes (Radiant killing Ialai, Veil forcibly taking over sometimes). But they try. 

But also establishing that prior to Shallan’s realization of what was happening at the end of Oathbringer, each of these alters had their own memories and ways of handling things and did not necessarily communicate with each other

Establishing that multiple times in prior books when Shallan thought she was ‘acting’ she was actually Blending with another identity, either Veil or Radiant. This becomes more apparent when Veil or Radiant actively discuss being the ones to do things that were previously from “Shallan’s” perspective (such as Veil learning slight of hand/etc at the beginning of Words of Radiance). This stuck out to me as especially interesting since accounts of people with DID often mention not knowing they have it or are switching for years, but being semi-aware of doing things differently than normal. 

Veil being a protector-type alter and a trauma holder is extraordinarily common in DID cases and made an absolute ton of sense. It also suggests that she’s been around for YEARS longer than before Shallan ‘created’ her which, again, is not uncommon with DID cases

Veil, at least, also acts like she’s much older than Shallan, even calling her things like ‘kid.’ While Veil is, of course, no older than Shallan, this is completely accurate that alters can have different ages and even different genders to the host body in terms of how they perceive themselves

Establishing that fusions/integrations are possible, with Veil being ‘absorbed’ by Shallan at the end. This is a part of DID treatment and I like that it was handled in a way where both alters consented and the trauma was released, but it was handled. Even if Veil developed additional skills over time, it’s clear her first and foremost job was as a trauma holder alter, and once the trauma was no longer being hidden, her ‘purpose’ was done. And now Veil is a part of Shallan, and the expectation is that somewhere down the line, Radiant will join too.

Very very VERY VERY importantly, establishing Shallan’s interaction with other characters as a system with DID in a way that did not make her look like she was ‘crazy.’ DID is super serious and systems are often stigmatized. But I adored that Adolin is supportive and treats each alter on their own playing field (and even seems to be able to recognize them without Shallan changing hair color). I love that other characters like Kaladin admit they don’t exactly get it, but do their best to be respectful of it anyway. I love that nobody treats Shallan like a freak and sticks her in a padded room, and that people DO respect her wishes and treat Veil and Radiant as equally viable people. I love that it’s treated so healthily. 

Honestly my only real ‘hmm, not exactly like that’ moments were thinking back on how Shallan ‘created’ personalities. Veil being a trauma holder for Shallan’s old memories implies she’s been around for a long time, so she wasn’t really “created” in that sense, just given more of a face/name. But Radiant appears to have been created spur of the moment when Adolin was all ‘hey, let me teach you to swordfight!!!’ To the best of my knowledge people with DID don’t really have control over when they split, nor do they really get to actively ‘design’ their alters. It’s more like alters form as needed to handle something. But considering how accurate everything else is, and that possibly this is just Shallan’s way of handling her splitting in a way that makes sense to her, I’m willing to give this a cautious pass.

Also maybe lost memory moments. People with DID generally can lose time. Shallan doesn’t seem to, but then towards the end we also see she’s not a reliable narrator in her own right, since somehow Radiant managed to kill Ialai when we’re reading that passage. So it’s possible we the readers are missing things because Shallan is, too.

That said, the way DID works, it will never really go away even if Shallan does fully integrate. I’m curious if more alters could form down the line. I thought this had been happening with ‘Formless,’ but Formless didn’t turn out to be another alter so much. Oh well.

I had wondered about Shallan and Pattern’s bond for a while, and I’d been wondering if maybe she had a different spren ever since Pattern mentioned he could go away or she might kill him too back in...Oathbringer, I think it was? It seemed strange to me that Shallan wouldn’t have seen him around for a long time in his pattern form, or that she’d get chased by so many cryptics in book 1, if she’d been bonded to him this whole time. Or that she had a shardblade she could summon in book 1, but Pattern hadn’t been established as a character yet. And then when Adolin met a deadeye Cryptic in Shadesmar, I was like, ‘damn, that’s Shallan’s first spren isn’t it.’ And I was vindicated. I feel stupidly proud of myself for catching even one of Sanderson’s twists.

I think this is the first book in the series where Kaladin’s arc didn’t really grab me as much as the others to start. Not that it was bad, I still really enjoyed it, especially towards the end. But I was surprised to find when I got to Part Three and Kaladin’s name was listed but Adolin’s wasn’t that I went, ‘awww, damn,’ and used that as my break point for the night. 

I think part of this is that so much of Kaladin’s story that I love and adore is about not just Kaladin, but Kaladin’s friends and found family arcs with Bridge Four, and so much of that was taken away from him in the early part of the story. Like Kaladin, I guess I was just sad about everyone moving on and him being along. Sigzil going off to be the new Windrunner leader, Rock leaving, Rlain leaving (for a while at least), Adolin and Shallan leaving...it was hard. I felt his depression. Unfortunately, it made it a bit difficult to read, I guess.

On the flip side though, Kaladin’s ending arc in the story was A+ and I loved it. I love that his Fourth Ideal is specifically accepting that he cannot save everyone, which is something he’s struggled with from his very first appearance in the very first book. I love how this sheds so much light on that moment in Oathbringer where Syl is calling for him to speak the words and he just can’t, because at the time, he wasn’t ready to accept that he couldn’t save everyone. I love that he admits to Dalinar that he really did need help and a chance to recover, and that his setup for the next book doesn’t seem to be as Stormblessed, the soldier, but as a healer. And I love that he made up with his dad in the end, and did manage to at least save him.

ROCK. NOOOO.

TEFT. NOOOOOO! 

And yet as always, Sanderson books are the only books where I really feel...ok with character death. It’s sad, for sure, but also deaths have purpose in his stories. Nobody is killed meaninglessly. 

I think my favorite arc was Adolin’s, throughout the whole course of the book? I can’t help it. I love my enthusiastic, optimistic himbo who is just doing his best. Every time he was like ‘well I’m useless since I’m not a Radiant, but I’ll do the best I can’ I was like NO, HONEY NO, YOU’RE SO IMPORTANT, DO YOU UNDERSTAND HOW IMPORTANT YOU ARE REALLY? Look at all the people you help!!! Just look at them all!!! 

As stated earlier, I love that he’s just so damned supportive of Shallan’s condition. Even if they don’t have words for ‘DID’ in Roshar or even understand it in their own terms, he’s just so damn supportive. She tells him she’s got multiple alters and he’s just like ‘cool, how can I help.’ He loves his wife. He’s friendly with Radiant. He’ll share jabs with Veil. He just wants to help, always. 

I love that he’s so supportive of Kaladin too. I adored towards the beginning, where Kaladin’s going into a depressive spiral, and Syl gets Adolin because Adolin is one of the few people he can’t intimidate. And I adore that Adolin is supportive, but in a way that shows he gets it. He knows it’s not safe to leave Kaladin alone with himself and refuses to let that happen. But he also doesn’t force him to participate and acknowledges that yeah, you can feel like shit, and that’s ok, but you’re gonna feel like shit around other people, because it’ll help you. And it does. And I love that a thousand pages later Kaladin starts going into another depressive spiral and happens to mention, ‘fuck, Adolin’s not here to pull me out this time,’ recognizing what Adolin can do. I just love how much their friendship has progressed.

I love that he’s still so supportive of his brother, even if Renarin was barely in this book. I love that he even briefly defends Renarin against Shallan, even when he recognizes she doesn’t really mean any harm. 

I adore his continued arc with Maya. I love that he was so excited to go to Shadesmar so he could see her again. I love how he’s clearly had offers from spren or other Radiants to talk to spren about bonding to him, and he’s like, ‘nah,’ cause he’s loyal to her. I love how everyone keeps insisting ‘deadeyes can’t speak, deadeyes can’t feel’ and he’s just like, yes?? Yes they can??? Have you ever fucking tried??? I love that it’s his genuine connection to Maya that helps her recover enough to actually talk on her own with more clarity, and how she’s clearly coming back to herself. And what a revelation, that Maya and the others deliberately sacrificed themselves. And I love that ultimately it’s his bond with Maya that gives him success with the honorspren. He did this his own way, with his own skills, in a unique way that nobody else has ever done before, because maybe he’s not a Radiant in the shiny new sense of the word, but he’s the only person out there willing to treat his sword like a partner and show kindness to spren and that shows. 

I also really do hope he works stuff out with his dad because he’s got every right to be angry but also, I want him to be happy :( 

Ultimately I adore Adolin’s whole polarity, that he’s a masterful duelist and combatant, and has probably killed hundreds, and yet his best quality is his sheer kindness. He has really grown on me as a character since book one, honestly. I remember not liking him in book one. I still don’t, when I reread it! But in the rest, he’s probably second only to Kaladin as my favorite.

Venli. I remember not really liking Venli in earlier books. I thought Eshonai was cool, but Venli I remember just not really vibing with. Seeing her story really made her a lot more interesting to me though, especially since I love her whole gradual growth as a character. Openly admitting to herself that she’s a coward and just wanted to get attention against her sister...and then doing something about it to better herself. Doubting her abilities to do so and being uneasy about it the whole time, but ultimately doing it anyway. She’s a flawed character, but she’s a good character, and I grew to like her so much more after seeing her story. 

Also, I loved Eshonai’s mercy at the end there. Fuckin yes. Bittersweet smiles all around.

Szeth-son-son-Vallano wore white on the day he was to kill a king, because apparently white is the listener battle color, it makes SENSE now

I am also veeery curious what is going on with Szeth, who wasn’t really in this book all that much. And I’m curious if ‘Sixteen’ in Lasting Integrity is actually his dad, because they sure drew attention to a hiding Shin man and then immediately never mentioned him again. 

Raboniel. MAN. What a fucking character. I was fascinated with her from the beginning. I never knew exactly what to think of her, because we see her from so many perspectives. Leshwi, who has been established as possibly the ‘goodest’ and most sane of the Fused, openly tells us not to trust her. We learn she’s done terrible things in her lifetime, like trying to create a plague to destroy all of humanity, and one of her titles is just straight-up scary af. She learns how to really, truly, actually kill spren, which is terrifying. She tried to kill the Sibling, which is obviously Super Bad. And yet, she’s such a compelling character. She’s polite and reasonable, to a degree. Clever and enormously genre-savvy, but also blunt and to the point, knowing full well Venli is being used to spy on her and Navani is working against her and blatantly stating so. She’s so intelligent, and is willing to both respect Navani and work with her to create things together, and recognize her worth. I never fully trusted her at any point, because we know she’s done so much to be scared of, but man, I enjoyed reading her segments so freaking much. I was sad when she died, and her weird frenemy relationship with Navani was really intriguing. 

I really enjoyed Dabbid’s little segments. I’m so happy he’s comfortable talking around the others. I’m also happy to see Sanderson delving into including more autistic characters in different points on the spectrum, while also showing other people treating them well.

Taravangian. I still don’t know where to stand on this guy and I’m very nervous now that he’s basically a god and apparently smart enough to outwit everyone else again. I was excited when he actually managed to kill Rayse but fuck, we might have been better off with Rayse.

SOMEBODY ACTUALLY MANAGAGED TO OUTWIT HOID AND I’M SCARED AF AT WHAT THAT MEANS

Moash. I just. Fuck. I don’t even know. I’m not even sure if this counts as him killing under his own power or not. He doesn’t really want to take responsibility for his actions, and as long as Odium takes his pain and feelings, he doesn’t have to. But that moment when he wasn’t protected, he seemed upset with what he had done. So I really have no damned clue where his story is gonna go. But fuck, it’s scary how easily he almost undid Kaladin completely. He knew exactly what buttons to press. We’re lucky the Pursuer ignored him and attacked anyway, or he really would’ve won.

I’ll admit, my Cosmere knowledge is less than stellar, so I’m still not entirely sure I understand the stuff with the Heralds and Mraize. But I am definitely curious to see where it’s going on a surface level, at least. 

LIFT USES LIFELIGHT that explains a lot. I wish she’d been in this story more because I adore her lol. 

I know Sanderson announced Ace Jasnah a while back, but I love that it’s been so firmly established in the book itself. No beating around the bush or leaving people to wonder. She just straight-up says she’s got no real interest in sexual stuff and never really got how it drove others. I love it. I love seeing that so honestly and bluntly stated. 

Anyway I’m sure there’s a lot more to be said but overall, A++++ as always, super adored, next one when???? 

[mental-mona]

On Chronic Illness Part 1

You ask me how I'm doing. I plaster a smile on my face, say "Ok, how are you?" and we make small talk. But what I really want to say is, "I feel like crap. My head is killing me and I'm coming off a bipolar episode. Every day is pain. It's making me irritable, and what I really want to do right now is go home and collapse. Now, unless you want to help me in some way, would you please leave me alone so I can do that?" Except that you would be completely taken aback by that and not know how to respond. Unexpectedly telling someone that life isn't so great is not a socially acceptable thing to do; unless the person is a really close friend I'm supposed to just pretend everything's fine as we exchange the usual pleasantries. Besides, opening up and admitting that I'm having issues leaves me far too vulnerable, and who wants to be vulnerable?

If you are more than a nodding acquaintance, at this point you probably stop me and say, "But I do care! I do really want to hear about what's happening with you!" To which my response is, no, you probably don't. If I were to complain to you about how much pain I'm in as often as I want to, i.e. as much as it hurts, you would soon think that I'm horribly whiny and try to distance yourself. If I were to complain about how much this is killing my life and my ability to do anything, you would think that I'm being lazy and self-centered. Maybe I am being a bit self-centered, but let's see how well you function in this position and then we'll talk.

Let me try to help you understand. Have you ever read about spoon theory? If not, read it here. I'll wait. Do you have a little more perspective now? Good. Would you believe that Christine left out a crucial aspect of how spoons work? She touched on it, but didn't go into it. See, I can start off the day with 20 spoons, and then in the middle of the day when I've already used 8 spoons get a wave of pain or a massive mood swing that knocks off 10. Basically what happens then is that either I "borrow against tomorrow's spoons," as she put it, and guarantee that I'll be nonfunctional the next day, or more likely I ask my husband to help me out because there is no way I'm up to making dinner. Also, in addition to every little item on the day's agenda being broken down into multiple spoon-stealing pieces, some tasks may cost more than one spoon. For example, driving to class or work might be one spoon, but spending a day actually in class or at work is more like 5 spoons.

Christine talks about starting off with 12 spoons and making them last through the day, using a somewhat simplified explanation of how every tiny aspect of every task costs a spoon. Personally, due to the need to break everything down and the reasons I described above, I'd be happy if I could manage self-care on a day when I woke up with just 12 spoons, never mind do anything that you'd consider an accomplishment or even just a routine part of normal life. Imagine a day like that, where you wake up with so few spoons that the most you can expect of yourself is to put food in your stomach a few times and maybe change PJs, and that's assuming that the pain doesn't knock you out even worse than it already has. Now imagine an even worse day, one where you're so depressed that all you can do is curl up in bed and cry, or you're paralyzed by anxiety, or you're in such physical agony that you can barely move. What would you do on a day like that? Ask a loved one to come take care of you? Suffer through it with nothing but a water bottle and the tortilla chips you found in that brief moment when you managed to pull it together enough to go foraging? Now imagine having days like that on a regular basis for weeks, months, or even years. Getting the picture?

It's not just the pain itself; it's the emotions that accompany it. If you're male, you've probably been socialized to be a provider for your family and to be stoic about your physical and emotional pain, correct? If you're female, you've probably been socialized that you're supposed to take care of everyone around you, and though you're allowed to be emotional, you're also supposed to be able to move on after a good cry, right? Well, now you can't fulfill either of those gender roles. You're knocked flat, and until your doctors figure out how to cure you or at least get your symptoms under control, you will continue to be out of commission for the foreseeable future. Good luck being stoic about your pain or quickly moving on from it. If you weren't already depressed, you probably will become so now. Think about it: unrelenting pain and debilitation, inability to function as a normal member of society, needing someone or a rotating group of someones to take care of you...for your average fiercely independent adult, this is an incredibly painful prospect in and of itself.

You'll notice that in addition to pointing out how pain can depress you on its own, I've been treating physical and emotional pain as equal in terms of the definition of chronic pain. That's because to the sufferer, they are equally debilitating and feel equally horrible, even if they affect functioning in different ways. If I'm in constant physical pain then my body's run off with my mind, and no matter what my brain wants to take on, if my body isn't up for it then it's not going to happen. If my mood's gone haywire then my mind has basically run off with my body, and I won't have either the energy or the emotional wherewithal to face my life. Please don't brush off my depression or whatever debilitating thing is going on with my mind as me just being melodramatic and/or lazy. The thought of trying to face life is genuinely exhausting and overwhelming; I just can't do it. The thoughts in my head and my screwed up mental biochemistry won't let me.

Similarly, don't write off my complaints of constant physical pain as malingering or melodramatic. It really does hurt too much for me to function, and it really is a constant thing. If I say I can't do something one day, I mean it. I may have a migraine so bad that my head is throbbing in time with my heartbeat and I can't see straight, or abdominal pain so bad that all I can do is double over with a hot pack and wait for it to disappear, or all-over muscle pain so bad that I can't find any comfortable position whatsoever, or all-over joint pain that makes something protest every time I move...the list goes on. Depending on my condition, I may also be completely exhausted and fog-brained.

Remember, these are things that I feel to some extent even on good days when I can more or less function. On bad days I'm completely incapacitated. I've tried to help you understand what I'm going through, but if you've never been mentally ill or in chronic physical pain, you will never quite be able to fully get where I'm coming from. So, now do you see why you really don't want to listen to me complain about the pain as much as it actually hurts?