#mental health will always ruin and dictate my life and there's nothing i can do about it lol !

[asavapatr]

🤥

[withereddd-rxsie]

My Surrenderman headcanons

This is my first post ever. I would just like to share some of the headcanons I have about my favourite, sadly underrated character:) I hope I reach some more Surrender fans hiding in the shadows patiently waiting for content.

RELATIONSHIPS WITH HIS BROTHERS

SLENDERMAN:

I like to think of Slenderman as a dictator, who controls through fear and holds everyone affiliated with him to a high standard. He expects perfection from everyone, especially his brothers.

Surrenderman, as the youngest, wants to live up to that impossible standard expected from him. He wants to prove himself as a worthy addition to Slenderman, even if it means risking his mental health. Surrender has always been a people-pleaser, but it gets way out of hand when it comes to Slender. Everything Surrender does is to impress his older brother. He studies and trains hard to improve his abilities and techniques, hoping one day Slender will appreciate his efforts, but he always gets brushed off. Slender in no way coddles his brothers and refuses to give Surrender the validation he so desperately seeks. Surrender works so hard all for nothing, building up a serious tension between the two brothers.

TRENDERMAN:

Trenderman manages to live up to Slenderman's unhealthy expectations. Trender is a huge perfectionist and expects no less from himself and the people around him. He sometimes struggles to find out whether he's doing it for himself or if he's just like Surrenderman, desperately seeking Slender's approval.

Surrenderman finds it hard to talk to Trender, as they barely find any common ground. Surrender feels pressured in the presence of what has basically become Slender 2.0. Whenever he's around either of them, there's this huge mountain of expectation dwelling on his shoulders. He feels overlooked and underestimated by them, that they don't even see him as an equal being because he isn't perfect.

OFFENDERMAN:

Offenderman has always been the black sheep of the family. He doesn't find any common ground with any of his brothers. His entire life he's been expected to be something he's not, Slenderman had always tried to "fix" him, to put him in this box that he traps everyone else in. The box he's trapped Trender and now Surrender. He hates to see his youngest brother ruin himself over something impossible. However, there's nothing he can really do. Surrender is extremely goal-oriented and ambitious, he wouldn't listen to anybody.

Offender's interactions with Surrender are short and uncommon, but when they do occur he tries to be very chill and lighthearted with his brother, knowing he can use some of that in his life.

SPLENDORMAN:

Splendorman, while not as much of an outsider as Offenderman, is also disapproved of by Slender. Similarly to Surrender, he also feels the burden of expectation put on him, but he doesn't actively try to prove himself.

Splendor has always just wanted the 5 of them to get along, but seeing how Slender's one-track mind has torn the family apart, he's lost hope.

He hates seeing Surrender suffer the way Trender used to suffer on his journey to "Perfection". He wishes for Surrender to snap out of it, but all he can do is offer him all the support he can.

General headcanons

-Surrenderman is the youngest

-He hasn't fully grasped the concept of his abilities, often struggling to use them at all

-His potential abilities would most likely be teleportation, telepathy and using his tentacles offensively

-He is also the shortest, standing at 3,60M/11'9. While Splendorman is the tallest at 5,80M/19'.

-His favourite color is baby blue

-He definitely listens to Lana or Melanie

-He indulges in writing in his free time. He was given the suggestion to write down his feelings by Splendor, ultimately discovering a new hobby and talent he never even suspected. He writes little poems and songs

-Slenderbeings don't need to eat and he doesn't even like eating, but he enjoys cooking meals

-He is very overprotective of the things he cares about and wants to speak his truth, but is too afraid of Slenderman like everyone else is

-He not only loves writing, but he also loves reading. He really likes Greek mythology and can ramble about it for days if you let him

-I mean it, he can talk non-stop if you give him the opportunity to and if he feels safe enough

-He has a little stutter and has a hard time controlling it when he's nervous

-And he's nervous 90% of the time

-That guy cannot handle crowds and strangers

-His stutter becomes less frequent if he's with someone who makes him feel comfortable

-I have a feeling he'd smell like forest fruits

-He has deeply rooted generational trauma passed onto him and the rest of his brothers by Slenderman, he experiences it the hardest by far

-He's very emotional, struggling to understand his own emotions and writing helps him manage them slightly better

-He often feels neglected and useless, believing that he's of no use to anybody, since he isn't even half as strong as his brothers

-His ideas and beliefs get overlooked, building a sense of unimportance in himself and leading him to believe the things he has to say are nothing more than a disturbance

-I think he'd also struggle with his self-image, often having a hard time accepting who he is

-IDENTITY CRISIS CHECK

These are all of the headcanons I have at the top of my head. Let me know if you'd like to know anything else about Surrender or his brothers in my AU and I'd be more than happy to respond! I can also write you a story with these characters!

[svcredveins]

Here’s what will get us to win: never giving up.

That’s another issue with this community is that we are allowing those who are sexualizing women by just leaving and not doing any such action against it to end it. To end it entirely would be near impossible as that’s because it’s just how the world is unfortunately, but to at least rise above? Yes. That is possible. And what do they all want? A reaction. That’s literally the main reason. A reaction and to pleasure their own ego.

But to a point for your mental health, it is completely understandable by leaving or taking a break; I totally get that and I certainly don’t blame anyone for leaving at all because it is genuinely disgusting what they’re doing. They have every right to leave, but look at it this way:

We have a passion for the human heart and how it functions. That’s why this community exists right? If you are so passionate and don’t want to leave, then why leave? Love is always stronger than hate. Do what makes you happy! Everyone has a choice, but remember why you started.

We have met many amazing and kind people on here who do good too. Not everyone is a bad seed, so always remember about the good people you’ve met along the way. Talk to them more often if you are able to do so. They matter more!

Previously stated, there are good people here; we as humans always default to the negatives and think that they are everywhere on this app. Sure it may look like that, but what about the good people we’ve met along the way? The memories?

Bad things don’t last forever; remember that. There is a season for storms, there is a season for sunshine. Not everything is going to be okay, and that’s okay. It may be hard, but that is life and without tough circumstances, how can we grow as a human being?

I have met quite the bit of amazing people on here who are supportive and are kind. I’ve come across a couple of weirdos here and there but what do I do? I just ignore them; I don’t shift my focus entirely on them and just carry on with what I love doing. Sure I’ve answered twice to two weirdos, but my reaction is bold and to the point. If I need to say something, I will say it, and because I never mentioned my boundaries (I have subtly with what I am passionate about, but not literally speaking about it). I know it was just a couple, I know in comparison others have gotten so much sickening comments from thirsty men who want nothing but sex and see women only as a sex object and nothing else more, but the fact of the matter is, if you really want to stay, then stay. You do not have to because your mental health matters, but in order to rise above the haters, you must take action against these men who think nothing but only themselves and their dicks. Tumblr shouldn’t allow them to harass any women on this app.

We are strong women. We don’t owe men shit at all, and if they wanna be inappropriate, then let them watch porn if they want, but do not allow them to dictate your mind; block them. Do not show them anything. It’s their loss they have that low mindset; they will struggle in life because of their poor choices and very poor behaviour towards women. They will get their karma.

Even the new people who have joined, we gotta be there for them as well, we gotta be there for each other even more; that’s how deeper relationships grow. We just cannot allow the creeps to dictate how we feel about cardiophelia, or how we look, because again, they are driven by sexual pleasure, not by common sense and respect, and that’s entirely on them.

So ladies, we’ve got this. My DMs are open if anyone would like to vent about this, because I am entirely willing to help out and listen. We cannot let this community fall apart, because who else can we talk to about cardiophilia? Nobody else in person because they would think we’re creepy. But ultimately, it’s amazing how a community can build great relationships by just a simple app. Don’t let the buggers ruin it for us. They’re insecure and have huge egos.

That’s my piece of the cake. Thought I’d really vent about it as well. We gotta stand up everyone! That’s how this community won’t be dry like a desert. We gotta hype the new comers up and rise above the creeps. We’ve all got this! Nobody is ever alone. 🫀🙂

No More! It's Time to Rally!

I'm officially calling it, to all of the cardiophile community here on Tumblr! I say no more! For too long, female users especially have been pushed around and harassed to an illegal amount, pushing and breaking our limits. This recent string of harassment has exploited the vulnerable and left them scared to an illegal degree. Some have been dehumanized to their heart and sex, others have been doxxed and give their exact location. When users aren't seemingly-purposefully insensitive about being unable to understand how posting again can be so hard, they're threatened and/or insulted. This isn't the full case, but it gives an idea on what has become of our community by one or a handful of people who often exploit the anon system because they know they will get an answer and attention when they don't flood DMs. For as long as I had been on here, this community breathed some beautiful new life into my own and I had met many wonderful people in every way imaginable. I have, too, seen the occasional fool, but I have never seen things like this nor have I seen it so bad. Even non-cardiophiles who look into heartbeats are being dragged into our situation and put in the crossfire. I say no more! No more! No more! No more! No more! This is my righteous anger, and I ask- No, I'm genuinely beyond asking. This is too important. So I demand it! It's time we raise the banner and wave it high! This is our community! Let's take it back!! I call to EVERYBODY in Tumblr's cardiophile community! It's time! We will rally and unite, and defend our family, our home, and protect our lives from these harassers, if it's not one person! We will not let them tear us down or turn against each other and we will not compromise! But we can only truly do this if we do it together!

I'm calling for every member on here who is still here! If you're sick of this, voice yourself in defiance. This is what we'll do for now until these harassers are banned and peace is returned:

- No answering toxic anons - Block harassing DMs and report the sender. - Pool together every last bit of information, no matter how irrelevant it may seem, we have collectively until we can pinpoint who this person or these people are and where they're coming from, so we can ban them and make this community safer. - Never act unless with absolute certainty so we don't turn on each other and accidentally ban an innocent user. - Never harass or insult a suspect or anybody who might be guilty, it will only breed more harm and toxicity and give these harassers what they want. - Never ever let them push us around or make us feel afraid, angry or insecure again. Ever. These harassers feed on this and the attention like vampires. The time is now, people! Stand together or be afraid. We won't know if something, anything, will work unless we try and never give up. Which would you rather do? Because we are not powerless and I won't let anybody feel that way, much less be made to feel that way.

I stand

[apollo-writes-random-shit]

omg!! please please please do gasoline with race!!

Ahhhhhh! Sorry, this took so long! I wrote this like three or four times and I’m still not 100% happy with it lol. I did some research and it turns out the song is actually about Halsey’s struggles with mental health while being in the spotlight so I used that but don’t worry! This has a happy ending!

Song requests

AO3 copy

Are you insane like me?

He was pretty sure every kid at some point had wanted to be famous and here he was. Gone from causal dancing to acting and singing, all thanks to a small show that had been secretly visited by a talent scout. Multiple doors had opened for the young teen but with the fame came extreme expectations and with those expectations came extreme stress. 

Everything seemed to be dictated by his manager, one William Snyder. As grateful as he was for the jobs Snyder had landed him, he was driving Race insane. Every single little thing was scrutinised, from the things he ate and drank, to even his hairstyle when he went out. His smile had to be perfect every time to 'keep up his image' but it got tired having to look perfect all the time. 

Don't get him wrong, he adored his fans but at the same time, he wished he could go out without being stopped every five minutes for photos and videos, being made to repeat lines constantly. 

Been in pain like me?

Every day left him exhausted, even if he had only been shopping. Everything had to be perfect to make sure he avoided any bad publicity. He was still young so why ruin his career so early? 

Sighing, Race stared at his schedule. Countless practises for both dances and an upcoming audition filled every day, leaving him with almost no time for himself. He had only a few hours after evening practice and he knew he'd spend most of that sleeping. 

He could already feel the pain that would come with everything. Today's practise had already wiped him out, body flowing with pain. After being scouted, Race had discovered muscles he didn't know existed thanks to the pain that came with the job. 

However, he could deal with the physical pain but the mental pain? Not so much. He knew the others were getting worried about him but it didn't stop him from following all of Snyder's strict rules...Even if it caused him to throw up some mornings and night before practice. 

Bought a hundred dollar bottle of champagne like me? Just to pour that motherfucker down the drain like me?

Well, he followed most of the rules but Race liked to have fun, even if that meant drinking some nights, whether it be cheap beer or expensive champagne, he'd take it, only to pour whatever remained down the drain the next morning in shame before scrubbing his teeth to get rid of any hint of the alcohol that was forbidden.

That's what he was currently doing, letting the taste of his toothpaste take over the taste of morning breath and expensive champagne. Rising the toothbrush, he chuckled softly as he licked his lips, savouring the artifical taste of bubblegum. Despite the event happening over a week ago, Race could still see Jack's face when he walked out of the bathroom carrying it. He knew he wasn't a kid but that wouldn't stop him from buying the 'kiddie' toothpaste, no matter how 'disappointed' it made his older brother. 

Would you use your water bill to dry the stain like me?

Walking out to the kitchen, he noticed the damp paper resting on the table, causing him to shake his head. He had spilt a little of his drink on the table and mopped it up with the closest thing which appeared to be the bill he opened last night. 

Not that it mattered, he could still read it which meant he'd be able to know who to pay. That and he had read it last night and despite getting drunk, his sharp mind still remembered every word. 

He would concern himself with that later, instead focusing on making his breakfast smoothie before rushing out that door, hoodie pulled over his head to hide his face in the short run down his driveway. Sure, no one was around but that didn't mean he wasn't paranoid about being spotted. He already had to deal with stalkers and so far, none of them had found his house and he'd like to keep it that way thank you very much. 

Softly singing along to the radio, he grinned to himself as set off, heading towards the dance studio. Sure, Snyder was going to be there to see his progress which meant he'd have to work harder. At least Romeo and Tommy always gave him good criticism instead of berating him when they taught him a new move. Even in Tommy Boy would jokingly kick his feet into the right position while telling him to keep up. Out of everyone he had been taught by, the two were his favourite. Tommy would teach him the dances while Romeo took care of the acting and like almost everyone, they thought Race should get rid of the man. 

Are you high enough without the Mary Jane like me?

Shaking the thought out of his head, he pulled into the car park, flipping his hood back up before speedwalking inside. 

It was only when he got inside the studio that he relaxed, something that always happened. Sure, most of the time sometimes he'd walk out and there would be a small crowd outside the building which he found awkward considering he was still all sweaty and smelly. There was only so much a towel and deodorant could do until he had access to a shower. Sure, the dance studio had showers but honestly, Race didn't like them. He also felt awkward showering in a building where his fans might find a way to sneak in. He might love his body but he didn't feel like having nudes of him spread across the internet where anyone could access it.

"Damn, look who finally showed up."

"I'm late by one minute Tommy Boy. Traffic was horrible." 

"Whatever, warm-up you dork." The Australian chuckled, scrolling through the playlist, trying to decide which routine to have his friend start with. Subtly, he clenched his jaw as another presence filled the room. He really didn't like when Snyder was in the studio but unfortunately, he had no say. He knew the man liked to see that his client was actually making progress. Sure, some of his dancers would have their manager show up occasionally but Snyder came twice a month to take notes on Race before taking the teen to the side to lecture him, almost like he was trying to undermine everything he had been taught. He really hated him in all honestly but hey. He couldn't fire him, only Race could and considering the number of gigs Snyder had landed him, he doubted he'd be let go anytime soon. 

Race shook out his limbs after stretching, pretending that he didn't sense the tension between his manager and instructor. If he ignored them, he could actually focus properly. He had learnt during the first few sessions that Snyder had sat in, that if he let the tension distract him, he'd slip up and get a long lecture about how he had to 'focus more if he wanted to nail a role'. So, he just pretended to be alone, letting the music flow through him. As cheesy as it sounded, Race liked to pretend that he was one with the sound. The noise was his dance partner, the leader of the pair. He followed its gentle coaxing willingly, allowing it to control every step.

It gave him a high that nothing could replicate, no matter how hard he had tried in the past. Dancing gave him something that he couldn't explain. Something that couldn't be described. He was addicted to it.

He allowed himself to come to a stop, his partner leaving him with a gentle caress and smile. Race grinned at himself in the mirror, slowly coming down from his high, allowing himself to relax, calmly walking over to his duffle bag, yanking his towel out before wiping his face off. As much as he loved dancing, he didn't like the sweat that came with it. 

Do you tear yourself apart to entertain like me?

Tommy's compliments were cut off by the clearing of someone's throat and the two turned to look at Snyder who was lounging in a chair in the corner. "Your turns were sloppy Higgins. You fell out of a few turns, your feet weren't pointed during one of your jumps and your arms looked strange. You need to work on those."

"With all due respect sir, I believe he did quite well."

"Clearly you weren't paying close enough attention to your student Manchester. We all know he can do better. If he nails this video, even more doors will open for him and surely you want that for him."

"I do but."

"Then you'll allow me to critique my client. I want what's best for him after all." 

Race sighed. "I'll work harder. It's okay." Sure, he knew he was overworked as it was, but he could always try harder. There was always room for improvement after all.

Tommy just shook his head, knowing what Snyder wanted was a fat paycheck. Race wanted to please everyone and that included Snyder, even if the man pushed him past the point of breaking. Once discovering that Race had an empty basement, Snyder had pushed him into turning it into a mini studio for extra practice and would often visit to watch and offer more 'corrections' when really, he spent most of the time on his phone, only sparing glances up at the mirrors, pushing the teen to almost the point of collapse before lecturing him at the way he had become so wobbly. He didn't care that the boy was tearing himself apart in hopes of earning the praise he had been craving all his life. Race lived to entertain people and so far, he had failed to fully impress Snyder. 

Do the people whisper 'bout you on the train like me?

Buttons sighed as he listened to the faint sound of music, vibrating through the wooden floor. He was there to do final adjustments to Race's costume for the video tomorrow and wasn't surprised that he'd be found in the makeshift studio. Whispers floated around not only Race's friends but some of Buttons' friends in the clothing industry. Race seemed ready to fall apart and it was a waste of talent. He was being pushed too far and from Buttons had learnt, had recently been pushed into modelling as well, taking up even more of his time, leaving him more exhausted than normal. 

Saying that you shouldn't waste your pretty face like me? And all the people say...

Shaking his head, Buttons headed down steps, rapping on the door to inform the other of his presence, watching as he stumbled slightly. Race had been sucked into the whirlwind of fame, dragged into an uncaring industry, one deadset on farming out copies and copies, ones that would give them the cash they craved. 

It destroyed every member they took in, ruining their minds and bodies until they were dumped, left to eventually fade away, replaced with a newer shiny version. As famous as someone was, it was surprisingly hard to be remembered. Making something that everyone remembered for years to come might be somewhat easy, but having your name in everyone's mind for years? That was much harder. 

Fame was a dream for a lot of people but that dream would turn into a nightmare quickly. 

You can't wake up, this is not a dream, you're part of a machine, you are not a human being.

Buttons loved seeing his work in videos but looking at the way his crafts looked on Race's skinny shaking body made him feel sick.

"Really. You need to take better care of yourself."

"Gotta look my best Buttons." Race just grinned, brushing off the concerns like normal.

"Tony seriously. Everyone's telling you the same thing. You need to eat more." The tailor shook his head, scanning the other's body to spot anything off with it. "You always look ready to collapse and you're shaking!"

"Buttons...I'm just following what's set out for me."

"Don't you think it's going a bit far?"

"Nah. It's fine. After all, it could be worse." Race just shrugged, holding his arms up when prompted. 

With your face all made up, living on a screen.

While talking to Buttons was always fun, Race was relieved to see him leave. Whenever he spoke to someone alone, they always told him to drop his manager. That he looked like he was five seconds away from being rushed to the nearest hospital. 

It didn't help that Snyder had become stricter later, criticizing his body and form more than normal, not caring that he was breaking his spirit. He was one of many, easily replaceable in the mind of the industry, something that Snyder liked to remind his client of constantly, claiming that it was 'in his best interest that he followed everything to the letter', forcing him to practise harder whenever he strayed from the harsh guidelines he set out.

Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.

Requesting time off just brought another lecture. Hell, Race had to beg and fight to be allowed to take his birthday off and out of everything the man had done, that's what pissed Race's friends and family off the most. Jack had been close to demanding the man's address or phone number, only for Davey to stop him. It was no secret that Jack and Snyder had bad blood, disagreeing over what was best for the dancer/actor. Jack had known him all of his life while Snyder had only known him for roughly two years. 

Race hated the relationship between his manager and older brother but did his best to never let it trouble him. He desired to be on his A-game at all times after all and any form of tension would throw him off, only causing him to work harder than any other day. Snyder constantly likened him to every other young celebrity out there, reminding him all the time that he was replaceable, that he had to work harder if he wanted to keep up with the industry. That he was...Already stumbling behind. 

I think there's a flaw in my code.

The man acted like Race wasn't trying at all...That all the hours he put in meant nothing. That Race was acting like he 'didn't care about his job'. Like he was...Broken in some way and that strict behaviour just increased when he had handed him a slip of paper given to him by a professional. A diagnosis for depression, anxiety and bipolar disorder. He hadn't been super happy to find out that his client was mentally ill and that the paperwork even pointed out that he was overworked and just pushed him harder. 

Voices pushed at him from both sides. Drop him some said. He's working you too hard others chimed in. You need to work harder if you want to succeed in the industry kid one kept saying and for some reason, he kept listening to the single voice, despite the fact he knew he wasn't meant to. He needed to drop him and he would, after this music video and movie audition though.

Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.

Race sighed, shaking his head. Focus Higgins. In a month, you can find someone new. Darcy, Bill and Kath can find you a new one. He stretched, smiling at himself in a mirror. He'd be okay, he could last a month. 

He pretended Snyder's not so subtle jabs at his diagnosis. The man hadn't been pleased when he found out about Race's ADHD, clearly 'trying' to hide the way he felt about the whole thing. That he didn't think Race was 'unstable'. That he was 'broken'.

Are you deranged like me? Are you strange like me? Lighting matches just to swallow up the flame like me?

He growled in annoyance when he fell out of a turn again, glad he was alone. It wasn't his fault he was so stressed! He was being pulled at every end, each person claiming they just wanted the both for him. With his mental health 'issues' dumped on top of that, Race wanted to scream and tear his hair out. He hated this. Hated the worried looks from his friends and family. Hated the harsh tone from Snyder used when he was giving him 'constructive' criticism. 

He wasn't at fault here! He was just trying hard so why did it seem like everyone was trying to pull him to their side? Sure, what he was doing wasn't the healthiest but he had to work hard to keep up with the fast pace workforce. Sure, he could stand to gain a few pounds but he could always do that later. 

Do you call yourself a fucking hurricane like me? Pointing fingers 'cause you'll never take the blame like me?

"I'm just worried Race..."

"I know Jack. I know you hate Snyder, that he's an asshole, that you think he's ruining my life. But, without him, I wouldn't have gotten so many gigs."

"Tony, please. You need to drop him. You don't look healthy, you're never able to go out anymore, you're being worked to the bone." Jack frowned as he looked at his brother. "I get that you love your job but you need to take time for yourself as well."

"Look. I'm already planning to drop him after this audition...It's just a month Jack. Please. Give me that and I'll drop him."

"Promise? I'm sick of his bullshit Tony..."

"I promise."

And all the people say, you can't wake up, this is not a dream.

"Again." 

Race nodded, restarting the music before throwing himself into the dance again.

"You're distracted, Higgins."

"Sorry, sir. Just got a lot on my mind lately..." 

"You need to focus. If you don't you'll fall behind and fail. Restart."

You're part of a machine, you are not a human being. With your face all made up, living on a screen.

Race honestly wasn't sure if Snyder even knew what he was talking about when it came to his dancing but still, he took his words to heart, letting them crash through his weak walls again as he started the dance yet again, letting the music wrap itself around him, allowing it to bring him both a familiar rush and familiar comfort. 

The comfort that came with the music was his favourite kind of comfort. He never had to seak it out. Never had to send a text or make a call. All he had to do was press a button and it was there, ready to hug him and bring him a calm distraction from whatever was bothering him, sometimes wiping away any tears that would run down his cheeks, drawing a watery smile from him.

Low on self-esteem, so you run on gasoline.

"What the fuck do you mean you're firing me? I'm the one who got you this damn role! You would be a nobody without me Higgins and you know that!" 

Race looked at the man's angry face. "Leave my house, Snyder. We're done here. While I am thankful for the work you have done, I need to focus on what I feel is right for me and I believe what is right is us parting ways."

"You're making a big mistake Higgins. I can ruin your damn life! I got you that role and I can fucking take it away from you! You'll regret this! I'll fucking leak your damn address!" 

I think there's a flaw in my code.

"You can not ruin my life, Snyder. You even try and I'll make sure everyone knows what you've been doing. I'll let everyone know how hard you've pushed me. How you've forced me to dance right after throwing up. Believe me, Snyder. I can and will let them know. I've dealt with this for too long."

These voices won't leave me alone.

"You've let those people poison you! They know nothing!"

"Romeo and Tommy have been working in this industry for years. Longer than you have and I trust their judgement."

"I'll get their places shut down!"

"Keep talking Snyder...You're just digging yourself a bigger hole."

"The fuck are you talking about?"

Race smirked, holding up his phone. "I've looked up the laws. We have a one-party consent law here meaning I can record this conversation without your permission and that's what I have done. I recommend you leave now."

Snyder scoffed, storming out. "You'll regret this!"

"And you'll regret being so strict! Goodbye William~" 

Well, my heart is gold and my hands are cold.

[eboysheartthrob]

The Reason — A Bucky Barnes Romance.

Summary: there's none, actually, I'm terrible at this so I'll just resume for you. Bucky turns up to be face-to-face with his past. Now he must deal with his feelings.

Warnings: teeth rotting fluff, smokin' hot smut, heart stabbing angst. It takes place between Civil War and Infinity war but Bucky is not a popsicle in the end. Mentions of abuse, torture and rape, so be careful and keep your mental health.

Word count: 1300+.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OC and big brother! Steve Rogers/ OC.

A/N: thank you for the love guys! Today was my first day at college so I got really hyped and here's another one. Love and feedback are always welcomed! ❤️❄️

Chapter Two.

Steve once heard Wanda quote one of her favorite authors over her feelings towards Vision. "There seemed to be something tragic in a friendship so coloured by romance", she read out loud for him. And that would also resume what he felt while watching Bucky with his old roommate. Only three days went by, but he loved to have her sleeping over with them. Wanda helped her shop for normal clothes the very next day, but she kept her Hydra uniform just in case of something bad happened. Bucky had been telling her everything about the 21th century since she grew up blinded to anything besides Hydra's tyranny. Nora loved everything new, she would always observe her surroundings with a curious glimmer in her eyes that made her look like a child seeing the world for the first time. And she actually was, indeed. 

Steve liked the way that after every dinner, she would play some good old songs back from the 40's because she knew that would ease Bucky in a more peaceful night of rest. By matters, it eased him too. She would push them both into the small living room to dance, one at a time,  until they were almost breathless; the slow one's was her favorites. He didn't mind waking up to her figure half-sleep-half-awake in their couch, it was funny how her hair was all up and she couldn't barely answer a simple question. She was not a morning person.

By the morning of the fourth day, he woke up a little bit later than usual and headed to the kitchen after a cold shower that helped him get more alert only to find Bucky and Nora giggling in the kitchen. She wore soft pink pajama pants and one of his big henley's because that way she could pretend she was back in the 50's, staying late in his room. Classical piano music was playing softly in his phone, a steady and intense melody as he showed her how to properly flip a pancake on the pan.

"That's it, you got the way now", he said. "Good morning, punk".

"Good morning, Cap", she mimicked, looking over her shoulder and smiling over him.

"Morning".

The day passed slowly and calm. Bucky didn't do the usual Steve's routine, so he would only stay at home, reading, cooking, trying to learn more thing about this century. Now, with his little friend back, he was even more content on just spending time with her. Back in the damned days, there was times he wouldn't speak, mostly after receiving the shock treatment, but sometimes he just didn't have energy for it. Now, when they weren't chatting about nothing and everything, he enjoyed the confortable silent that rulled between them once in a while,

Normally, he felt thankful for everyone around him, but there was spare seconds that more dark thoughts filled his mind, making him feel like he didn't deserve any of this, the place, the friends, his new life. But when Nora would smile at him, he could see that little girl again. Bright eyes and all grins for him, happy to have someone that didn't treat her only like an experiment. Nora has been trough so much, he knows it, she told him everything in the first night when both couldn't sleep and she thought Hydra was coming back for their pet. She was scared they might found him too and she didn't want to ruin his life as it was now. She was afraid of hurting him. Little did she know he was better than ever.

The golden light of the sun setting framed her body, she was curled up by the window sill, lost in her book. Every second, different feelings washed over her features whenever she finished a line. Bucky caught himself way to deep in his observation. Feeling his heart hammer against his chest, he suddenly forgot he had to breath and cleared his throat, turning back to his own book.

In nights that both of them couldn't sleep, they would curl up in the couch together, dim light of a lonely lamp casting shadows around them. He liked to lay his head in her lap to listen to her soft and melodic voice as she chanted the words like a storyteller from the fairytales. She always lingered at him when it was his time to do the reading, cuddled into his side with the weight of his prosthetic arm around her shoulders, she felt safe. She didn't dare to fall asleep when it was his turn to read her bedtime stories, even though her eyelids couldn't take no more. Other nights, when they didn't feel like books, she would open the window for the cold air to sneak in trough the curtains, knowing he liked the fresh breeze. And she sang. Lovely slow songs from the old times and the new ones she had learned days ago, brushing her fingers trough his hair until he fall asleep on top of her. Bucky Barnes was just a big baby, and she loved that on him. How he would aloud only her to have this intimacy when no other could do more then hug him for a split second. She liked taking care of him. She always did.

When Steve got home from his routine, he needed a moment to absorb the scene in front of him. He lingered at the door frame, silently, as he watched Bucky swirl Nora around only to pull her close again. She still didn't get used to dancing, it wasn't something she was good at really, but he made sure to make her as confortable as possible. Taking her feet above his and leading the steps. Their giggles filled the air and the low lights worked their magic, their eyes locked onto each other without missing a blink. Steve didn't want to interrupt them with the subject he have to bring up to his best friend, so he silently made his way to his room and tried to sleep.

The other day, Bucky told him Nora was at the store next to the building, doing daily groceries because she needed to get out alone once in a while to take in everything around her. She was raised amongst technology, but the only information she had was the one Hydra permited. Both the boys were by the window, watching the rush of the city while sipping coffee casually.

"You have feels for her", Steve contested, not daring to eye his friend's reaction. It wasn't a question, and Bucky noticed it.

"Is not like that, punk..."

"Is totally like that, Bucky", he turned. "The way you look at her is the same way I looked at Peggy". There was a hint of melancholy in his voice that made Bucky cringe and squeeze his mug tightly, he knew how Steve missed his girl. Both of them watched as Nora hopped her way back home with two huge bags, one in each arm. Bucky was a fairly reasonable man. Fairly. He tried keep his emotions at bay and often completely ignored them. But when it came to Nora... Well, he just couldn't. She had a big part in his life, still as a mere child, she was there for him at his worst. She had seen his worst only, and yet was good enough to like him innocently. He couldn't help the  feeling of being at home around her.

"I've talked to T'challa recently", Steve admitted.

"The cat guy?"

"The cat guy", the blonde mimicked. "He was talking about how his younger sister would love to work on you. He said she can help taking Hydra from your head. Definitely."

"At what cost?" Bucky questioned, sudden darkness falling to the brightness in his irises.

"You must stay in Wakanda for some time, for the treament. Like... therapy."

He felt the urge to accept the offer without even thinking about it. Something inside his mind screaming he would be a lot safer around Steve, Nora and others if he went to Wakanda. He wanted to accept it, but first, he needed to talk to his best girl, ask how she felt about it.

Nodding, he gave a hopeful look at his friend and turned when the door swung open. The small girl hidding behind the brown bags of groceries, almost tripping on her way to the kitchen. Bucky imediately rushed to her side to offer help and she greets him with the sweetest smile. The smiling fade away when she noticed his serious gaze downing at her. She knew him well enough to bring that together. 

"Something happened?" She asks. Bucky nods and let a long sigh, a faint smile appears to ease her nerves. She felt her heart stop for a moment when he took her hands in his and started playing with her knuckles. Fingers slowly caressing her soft skin. She wanted to know what was that strange sensation in her tummy, like something was causing a havoc in her insides.

"There may be a way of getting rid of Hydra, take them out of my head", her face lit in hope and happines at his statement, but it soon washed over as he restarted to speak. "I gotta be far away for this, for a long time, maybe."

"Where?"

"Wakanda".

She nodded and stepped back, turning from him and tugging her own skirt between nervous fingers. She took a deep breath one, two, three times, and put a huge smile on her face as she turned back. 

"Anything for you to be happy", she dictated.

He was happy, yet afraid lingered there, lurking in his chest. He attatched at her words for a moment. She didn't used any word in the meanings of healing. She didn't even think he was broken at the first place. That thought made his chest heavy again, his heart started to pound intensily. How loving could she be?

Bucky catch the glimpse of what must have been a tear straming down her cheek before she whiped with the back of her hand, he instantly pushed her against him, embracing her until he could felt the sobbing and her shoulders bucking up against his arms. He tried to soothe her crying caressing long stripes across her back with his flesh hand.

"Yankee?", the mention at his old nickname made him chuckle. She didn't said his name or called him by his nickname since she came home with them.

"Yes, ledyanaya printsessa?"

"I'll miss you. Please come back this time". She said, rising her face just for him to take a glimpse at her teary eyes. With his index finger, he swiped them away and smiled fondly, pressing his chin against the top of her head.

"You won't get rid of me easily, printsessa."

[plague-doctor-jules]

“No peace in death” - Count Lucio’s musings over Julian’s dead body

Fandom: The Arcana Pairings: Lucio x Julian, Julian x Asra P.O.V: Lucio Warnings: heavy angst, mentions of self harming behavior and mental health issues, sexual themes, major character death Description: This fanfic was written after a prompt by @vesuviass about Julian not coming back to life after his execution... and a grief-striken, newly resurrected Lucio grieving over his dead body. Written in Lucio’s POV

Call me evil if you want. I will accept the characterization. Is evil something I am, or something I do, I wonder. For all I know, I am a mere human; and humans err. I have taken many bad decisions along the years, and hurt many people, there is no point in denying it to myself anymore. But I swear, I never wanted to hurt him the way I did. Yet... I don’t think I’ve hurt a man more than him.

And now... now he’s gone.

“You are an idiot, Jules. An utter, complete idiot. Not that I was not aware of that. But dying for a crime you did not commit? That is the summit of how far idiocy goes.” I whisper, holding the urge to slap him just in time. There’s no use. Not anymore. My words and my strikes can hurt him no more... no more than they already have and no more than he has himself.

If he could hear me, he’d probably let out one of his signature chuckles, before he agreed with me. Oh, of all people, he wouldn’t pass an opportunity to diminish and insult himself, as if he was getting off on it. I honestly didn’t know one’s self hatred could run so deep that it could become a personality trait before I met this man... and still, I had underestimated him. We all had. 

As he lays in his coffin, I cannot help but observe how beautiful he is, even in death. How beautiful he always was. Porcelain white skin, soft and supple to the touch... Eyes of the purest silver... Magma colored curls cascading down, framing his ascetic face, the sharp jawline and high cheekbones. Sumptuous inviting lips, whose curves could rewrite history. So close, and yet, so out of reach. Frozen into time... forever more. 

It was that beauty that drew me to him initially, before I even known his name... but his strange kindness was what enslaved me to him, in a way that most perceived as...scary. That, and his exquisite addiction to his own suffering. All the people I’ve known despised me -perhaps for a good reason. But not him. He never left my side, not even when I had given him plenty of reasons to. 

Why was he doing this? Was it just a part of his good nature, to always see the good in others that kept him around? His moral compass that dictated that he should never abandon a comrade and a patient of his, even when said comrade made his life a living hell? Or was it that he craved the way I treated him; in anger and lust alike, as a distraction from the hell that resided into his heart -or, better said, the need to be treated as the worthless scum he saw himself. Too bad... because regardless of my actions, I knew that he was the opposite.

“Use me...” he used to implore me. “Take me... hurt me...”But I could hear only one thing. Break me. So I did; again and again; and each time I did the deeper the sadness hidden in his stormy eyes each time he returned to me for more. Why did he return..? What drew him back to me, what fascinated him so about my ways of showing him pain and disgrace..? And what made me break him more and more before putting him back together, only to break him again and again when I wanted more than anything to hold him tight against me, caress his hair and tell him how much he meant to me? Was it selfishness? Arrogance? Jealousy? Yes, that was it. I was jealous. 

No, not jealous of him; his self-sacrificing ways were never something I desired for myself. ‘Twas that magician I was jealous of. That magician who never loved anyone except himself; and he certainly did not love him.  He did not deserve his pain, his affection, his love; when it should be mine and mine alone. So I carved my name onto his delicate freckled skin and heart, and he carved his name too; just to get even... just to show me that I was not worthy to have such a rare being as him for myself. Just to deny me his love. 

It was a game played between us, and the poor doctor was caught in between: the only pawn; used by both sides and wounded by both sides, as he was pushed back and forth in our attempt to hurt each other by hurting him. 

We had not calculated how much pain he could take before he broke. We were too oblivious to that, as we were too deeply emerged into our own competition over him. Too oblivious, until it was too late. 

I died. I came back.

He died. Permantly.

He died for my wrongdoings, mine and Asra’s. Though the executioner was the one who pulled the lever, we were the culprits for his death, I see that now. Asra for using his feelings towards him for his own gain. Me, for my erroneous dealings with supernatural entities, a plague that was sourced in me, my stubborness, possessiveness and delight in subduing and humiliating others before me. I loved him; and killed him, because I couldn’t show him how much I loved him otherwise.

The white lillies that surround his body do not suit him. They did not suit him in life, and they do not suit him now. Nor does the emptiness into his eyes, as he gazes into nothing -he was found too late, and they had already dried out; the mortician could not close them... So they remain open; like broken windows to a soul long gone... If it weren’t for them or the vibrant rope burn around his neck, one would perhaps think the doctor’s asleep; there’s a strange calmness settled onto his features; the likes of which I had never seen when he was alive. Though the melancholy on his features is even more prominent than it used to be; and for once, he cannot mask it with his wits or humor. Even in death, the doctor has not found the peace he was so desperately seeking.

“You idiot...” I whisper again, fingers tracing the beloved features of his face; his cheekbones, his jawline, as if trying to memorize them. “How dare you leave me, how dare you die without my permission...” I glance around to make sure nobody’s watching and I lean down to crash my lips onto his, that stil smell of coffee. They’re lifeless, bruised and cold, so cold and so unlike the way they used to be,punctuating the wrongness of this; the unfairness of his death. I kiss him again and again, furiously; as if he’s going to return to life this way. I was fully aware of the hot tears that were running down his cheeks and ruining my makeup, but I could not care less at the moment. “I’m sorry... I am so sorry...”

[claydoeee]

Damaged.

Sitting on my flight with a brutal black eye and some hours to spare on New Years Eve, the bittersweet feeling of another year passing sits with me and I couldn’t be more thankful. 2019 was arguably the worst year of my life and I failed myself in more than one way. People always asked me why’d I stay after the first time? Why did I let someone hurt me countless times and continue to do so? I don’t have an answer, I loved this man with my entire heart and I prayed on my knees every night that he loved me enough to change, but he never did. As far as 2019 went, I had many accomplishments this year but nothing can compare to the heartache I caused myself and the relationships I lost because I chose someone who never chose me.

Here’s to you,

I never been in love before until I met you. I was so in love with you, I could never deny that. I felt a way I never felt before in my life with you and nobody could have told me otherwise. You were my other half, the large piece of my heart, my person. You swore you were in love with me but had a really funny way of showing it. Do you remember that? The night I met you and we were inseparable ever since? All the laughs, the memories, and the platonic relationship we created, that I wish we didn’t. It feels like a lifetime ago that I was so blinded by all your “I love yous.” Or maybe just the idea of you. Or just the idea of love. I honestly don’t know anymore. I had a void in my heart that you filled for a long time...until you didn’t. My mind is so cloudy when I look back on that strenuous period of you in my life. Turning a blind eye to all the red flags and believing every lie you filled my head with was the foundation we were built on. Everything was great and I truly believed I met my match made in heaven (or hell I should really say). It wasn’t until I was living a day-to-day nightmare in fear, sadness, and feeling absolutely worthless. You filled my head with negative thoughts that I actually began to believe and hate myself. The happy go-lucky girl you first met was gone. My happiness, my dignity, my self esteem, and my mental health, all gone. I won’t blame you for that, I had a choice. I had a choice to leave and so did you, but we never did.

I seem insane, don’t I? That’s what you told me and everyone, anyway. For the longest time, you would call me insane, a cunt, unstable, and your favorite, “psycho.” I began to think you forgot my actual name. But I was only these names when I wasn’t beneficial to you at the moment or you ���snapped.” Of course you always came back with your meaningless apologies and empty promises, until it happened again.

All of those terrifying nights when your alcohol consumption got in the way of your logic and judgement, and somehow, I ALWAYS deserved it. (Same man who made fun of me being raped after I shared that with him in 100% confidence) to give you a better perspective. In your demonic eyes, you truly believed that I deserved every hit, every punch, and every bruise you left on my body. The body I shared my insecurities with you about, the body you kissed up and down every day and night, and the same body that begged you to stop mutilating it. After the fact, it was always “you made me this way, you made me hurt you.” The night before thanksgiving, you gave me a contusion on my head from repeatedly hitting me over and over and over again. I went to the doctor to get my head checked out instead of redneck breakfast and you said I’m “dramatic.” I didn’t enjoy my thanksgiving because I was in so much pain and had a migraine but you carried on with yours.

You called me crazy to the girls you betrayed me with. The ones you reached out to when you missed my warm body beside yours. The ones when your nights were filled with loneliness instead of my laughter, and when your texts to me went unanswered. Staying at random places with girls who could never compare to me, just to tell me about it days or months later to hurt me. It was easier that way, wasn’t it? To call me insane or mentally unstable as justification for everything you chose to do. I get it though, It’s easier to place the blame on someone else than take personality responsibility which you specialize in.

So before I finally say all of the things I’ve wanted to say to you and to everyone you lied on my name to, I need to admit: I wasn’t perfect either. I’m not perfect and I never will be. I lied and hid certain things (that you ended up “exposing” on social media) and I paid for my mistakes. I told you want you wanted to hear instead of what I truly felt to avoid arguments or fear you would harm me again. I didn’t trust you like you didn’t trust me, and from the start I knew that it wouldn’t work for obvious reasons. But I still loved the idea of it. I loved the idea of you. Or the idea of everything you could potentially be to me.

So I ignored the panic in my heart, I ignored the bruises you left on my body, I ignored the way my friends’ voices filled with hatred whenever they’d say your name, and I ignored the pit in my stomach and all the anxiety attacks I suffered as a result of your abuse. I ignored every red flag you waved infront of me and gave you the power to control my emotions and dictate so much in my life.

The way you got jealous, the way you kept so much a secret, the way you always did things out of spite, and the way your eyes would glaze over when you drank too much. The way you would look at me, through me, when the drinking took control. Or how about the way you would embarrass me in public with your animalistic behavior? How you never claimed me? Or how I would be scared to come home with you and what you did to me behind closed doors. A ticking time bomb is what you were. You were angry that everyone found out you were beating me and felt embarrassed instead of feeling remorseful for beating a woman.

You brought up my past on a daily basis and you would say unimaginably horrible things to me, and mock me as I cried infront of you repeating “you don’t like that do you.” And then the way you would half ass apologize hours later just so you could start the cycle over. The way you promised and swore on your children that you would change and would NEVER physically hurt me again (which you did, 5 times after that “promise” was made). I met your kids the day we all went to lunch together, and I remember smiling and holding your 5 month old thinking how could you physically abuse me when you have two daughters? You wouldn’t want that to happen to them. So why was it always so easy for you to do to me? It’s mind boggling. But, I forgave you. Every. Single. Time.

However, I stopped forgiving. I stopped giving in. You almost had to blind me to make me finally leave. Pathetic right? I should’ve left after the first time you physically harmed me in April. But that didn’t stop you. Did it? You still tried to contact me to the point of using several different false phone numbers, social media, and emails. When you were alone you’d text me saying you missed me, you still loved me, and you wanted me back and anything else along those lines. And at night when you’re out at the bar with your so-called “friends”? The other TRUE side of you came out saying hurtful and cruel words filled with anger from all the alcohol and steroids in your system. Not to mention you’d end up going home with someone, lying to me about it, and then kissing my ass begging for my forgiveness. It’s sickening.

From the bottom of my heart, I hope you find someone who makes you happy because I am happy now. Happy that you left me alone, and happy that maybe, you would stop hurting other people, including yourself. But unfortunately, we’re all replaceable to you. The girl before me, the one after, and the one after that. We’re all the same to you. Insane and cunts when you’re drunk at night, and “amazing women who were the best I ever had” in the sober reality of the following morning. But the thing is, you didn’t hate any of us. How could you? The hell you made us live, the deceit, the lies, and the scars you created. You hated yourself, that was the problem all along and I only wish I would have realized that sooner.

I hate looking back on the time we spent together. Trust me, I don’t do it often anymore. But when I do, it’s almost like it happened to someone else. How could I have been so weak? So easily manipulated by you? How dare someone say the things you said to me or be told to go slit my wrists and do everyone a favor and kill myself? I let those demeaning phrases take hold of me. I let them convince me that I was everything you told me I was. But you still reminded me how much you loved me.

Getting away from you was the best thing that ever happened to me. I finally needed to say it all. To say everything you did to me. Everything you changed in me. Everything you made me realize. Thanks to you, I learned what a true man is and it’s everything you’re NOT. A true man would never call me names, he would never make me feel bad about my past, And he would never hurt me, when his job is to protect me. I hope you get the help you need. Because no matter how very much I despise you, no one deserves to feel that much pain and anger inside of them. No one should be miserable enough that their goal in a partnership is making the other person feel bad about themselves. But that was what you wanted, wasn’t it? That was your goal. Thank you for making me a stronger person. For making me realize what should be valued in a life and a relationship. As you lose relationship after relationship, I hope you decide to change. I always stood in your corner and was your biggest fan in every situation, even when you were wrong, I still stood behind you. You were my best friend. But I stopped letting you run and ruin my life. Of all the things I’ve done in my time on Earth, that’s one that I’m most proud of. That I got out. That I got away, and that you’ll never have the chance to hurt me again.

[goffilolo]

Revival of Midoriya Izuku Part 1

Alright you fuckin gremlins yall have been waiting months for this and so was I, so without further ado, heres new isntallment of demise!au fic

NOTE: THIS FIC TAKES PLACE ABOUT 9 MONTHS AFTER THE EVENTS OF ORIGINAL DEMISE FIC

you can also find it on ao3 under the same title

The interrogation room at Musutafu’s police station has long become a familiar sight for Izuku. Whether or not it was a good thing was a completely different issue. Let’s just say that the past 9 months of Izuku’s hospital free life were just an extended shitshow of t-posing at the legal system.

And in the middle of it all sat the boy himself, handcuffed to the table for probably a 100th time (‘kinky’ he said to the officer who cuffed him, and the man fled the room looking more uncomfortable than Kacchan during the ‘Bakugou shitshow’). With his mom sitting on a chair next to him, looking far too bored for a woman whose son gets arrested on a weekly basis and Trash Bandit occupying the rest of the table Izuku looks to his left, eyes meeting his own reflection in the two way mirror.

He might be handcuffed, but that’s not going to stop him from flipping off whichever officer was currently standing behind that mirror. And if he happened to be checking himself out while at it then, well it’s not really anybody’s business. Izuku’s green hair has grown out quite a lot over the past months, now reaching his shoulders and being even more unkept than usual. The brown coat from the hospital’s lost-and-found box became his second skin, and definitely needed a wash. All in all the boy would describe his look as ‘straight-outta-trash’, which also happens to be the only type of straight he is.

Izuku’s musings got interrupted as the door to the interrogation room slammed open, the sound being followed by what can only be described as a middle aged sigh of resignation and disappointment.

“Well fuck me if it isn’t my favourite detective! What’s up Tsukauchi, did you miss me?” asked Izuku with a shit eating grin.

“Didn’t have the time to, since I literally saw you yesterday. Would it kill you to stay at home and not get yourself in trouble?” asked the detective in the same exasperated tone Izuku often hears Shin use on him. Huh, they would get along.

“Honestly detective, you and your unrealistic expectations. No wonder you’re still single” replied Izuku in only a half-joking manner.

Tsukauchi opened his mouth as if to retaliate, then looked down at the sheep standing on the table and back at Izuku. He closed his mouth promptly, his face morphing into a very accurate expression of ‘I don’t get paid enough for this’.

‘They would really get along’ thought Izuku.

The detective sat down on the chair on the opposite side of the table. He took out the evidence file and laid it down on the table, which wasn’t his smartest move given the sheep that occupied most of the surface. Izuku scoffed at the offending file. Upon noticing his owner’s reaction, Trash Bandit started to chew on the papers while looking Tsukauchi dead in the eye as the man tried to pry the evidence from the sheep’s mouth.

“Do we really have to go through this every single time?” asked Izuku, motioning to his handcuffs to make a point “It’s always the same old drill, I go and do my shit, you guys arrest me, the law doesn’t account for me being quirkless, you let me go. Honestly why do you even bother at this point?”

“Because-” stated Tsukauchi as he waved around a half eaten photograph from the evidence folder “-you really outdone yourself this time!”

“I did the right thing and YOU KNOW IT!” shouted Izuku as he stood up from his seat, the handcuffs being the only thing holding him back.

“Izuku that’s not up to you to decide-”

“Don’t! I get that you work in law enforcement, but if your sense of right and wrong is dictated by the legal system then you have a moral spine of a chocolate eclair!”

“Says the troublemaker who plays a hero-wannabe in his spare time” replied Tsukauchi.

Izuku scoffed at the man and sat down once again. He turned towards his mother who rather predictably had a worried look on her face at the mention of ‘heroes’. It was still a bit of a sore topic for Izuku, even after all these months and she knew it better than anyone else. The fact that it was Tsukauchi who rubbed at the wound only made it worse.

“A hero?! If you were any good of a detective you’d know that this statement couldn’t be further from the truth” sneered Izuku.

“Then HELP me get the truth. All I know is what they showed in the news and we both know that it’s not worth much, so why don’t you tell me what actually happened?”

Well, Izuku doesn’t really have much of a choice in that matter since this IS an interrogation and all of you noisy fuckers reading this are probably wondering how he got here in the first place.

The day started out rather peacefully. Now that Izuku was homeschooled he had a lot of free time, which was definitely not a good thing and led to a boredom driven shenanigans, but more on that later. Now all the teenager wanted was to get something to eat. Preferably at a place that won’t kick him out for going in with a sheep, but well, you can’t have everything.

Izuku was currently walking through the town centre with Shin, the doctor moving almost like a zombie after his night shift at the hospital. They agreed to meet up in the morning and have a breakfast together before the morning rush began. The two were heading to a cat cafe ‘ Nyanny ’, one of the very few establishments in the city that he’s yet to be kicked out of, mainly because the cats there got really attached to Trash Bandit. Afterwards Izuku plans on hanging around UA since a friend of his will be taking the entrance exam and Izuku, being a semi-decent friend that he was, wanted to be there for emotional support.

“Can you not?” asked Shin as he pulled a cigarette out of Izuku’s mouth, who in turn looked over dramatically “Don’t look at me like this! As your doctor I can’t let you ruin your health like this in my presence!”

“You’re my psychiatrist, you’re supposed to be fixing my mental problems, leave my physical problems out of this.”

“A single cigarette can take away a day off your life, is this what you want?”

The teenager looks at the doctor with a face expression that can only be described as ‘fuck yeah’ as he opens up his backpack, retreats a pack of cigarettes, takes all of them out of the box, puts them in his mouth and lights all of them while looking Shin dead in the eye to establish dominance.

The doctor sighed in resignation “I expected nothing and was still let down” he said.

“To be fair letting people down is like my main skill” is what Izuku would’ve said if it wasn’t for the 20 cigarettes in his mouth, but that didn’t stop him from trying.

The doctor eventually gave up on lecturing the teen and the two continued their walk. As they neared the intersection leading up to the train station the streets got much more crowded, although that is to be expected. What was unexpected however was the commotion that seemed to be taking place there. With the amount of people gathered at the street you’d think Beyonce is in town and she challenged All Might to a rap battle, and Izuku would pay good money to see that shit.

Unfortunately there was no Beyonce in sight, only a fuck ton of people blocking Izuku’s way and half a dozen of police cars.

“Hey Shin, wanna check it out?”

“I’m literally on a brink of exhaustion, but sure, why not”

As the two - or three if you count Trash Bandit - made their way through the crowd, Izuku realized that whatever was happening was far more serious than he originally thought. Heroes and police alike were scattered across the whole area, civilians were screaming and something was definitely on fire. He also noticed a camera crew trying to get good scope of the whole action. All in all it was Izuku’s dreams come true.

“I’m betting you all my money that it’s another villain attack”

“First of all, you have no money. Second of all, please don’t do anything rash” begs Shin.

“I would never” says Izuku as he pulls out an axe out of his backpack.

Events like these aren’t uncommon, Izuku has seen plenty of public hero displays as they detained villains on the streets and obnoxiously gained the favour of the public eye. He’d know, he used to be one of the morons staring at them in amazement. What was unusual however was that none of the heroes were closing in on the source of this whole chaos. From where he was standing the boy couldn’t even see the villain in question, but just form people’s reactions he could tell the damage was bad. The fire prevented most of them from getting close and Death Arms was trying to keep civilians away from the area. Mt. Lady couldn’t enter the area and she got stuck the narrow road due to her size and the rest of the heroes didn’t even attempt to get closer. Cowards, was what they were, running around like a bunch of mindless lemmings.

As Izuku pushed past the crowd, dragging his doctor along he finally saw what, or rather who was causing all the havoc.

It was a person captured by what Izuku thinks is a sludge villain. Boy does that give him some late night ideas-

“Get your mind out of the gutter, you weirdo!” exclaimed Shin.

- oh, he said it out loud, haven’t he?

“Kinda hard to do when this thing looks like it crawled straight out of the gutter itself” retorted Izuku.

He then separated from Shin to try and find a police officer and get a better idea of the whole situation. Although his relationship with the cops wa far from great, they were far too busy trying to contain the situation to argue with Izuku and so he managed to find out that the villain was originally captured by All Might last year and he escaped from jail seeking chaos and revenge. The entire situation was just as cliché as it sounded.

He went back to find Shin who was currently sheep sitting for him in this entire madness and using his height to get a better look than him “I know I haven’t been up to date with all the hero stuff, but I think even I would’ve heard of this sludge” he said to the doctor.

“I remember when they were reporting it on the news” he replied “It was the day you were admitted to the ward.”

“Oh”

“Izuku”

“What?”

“I think the sludge has Bakugou”

“WHAT?”

The bespectacled man pointed towards the sludge and as Izuku looked closer, sure enough, it was definitely Bakugou thrashing around and using his quirk to try and blow himself away from the villain with little success so far.

“Huh, so that’s where all the fire came from” mused Shin.

Izuku looked down at his axe and back up at Bakugou, whose eyes were screaming for help. He had a choice to make.

“Well this has just gotten personal” states Izuku.

As he moved forward through the remainder of the crowd, he realised once again that the choice has made itself without his brain’s input, but what else is new. His mind was blank as he ran past the police tape, evaded Death Arms and went straight into the fire.

He realised how ridiculous the situation was. Here he was; a quirkless loser running head first towards the danger with nothing but an axe like an IDIOT, because a bunch of pro heroes won’t do their fuckin job. This is absurd!

Keep running!

There’s so many people around who are much more qualified to save Bakugou-

Keep running!

And they’re doing NOTHING!-

KEEP RUNNING!

“KACCHAN!”

“DEKU, what the fuck are you doing? GET AWAY!”

“FUCK THAT!” screamed Izuku as he threw his backpack at the sludge, temporarily distracting the villain “Today’s the entrance exam! I’m getting your ass out of this, whether you like it or not!”

Bakugou fought against the sludge trying to suffocate him as he took shallow breaths in between his pleas for Izuku to get away. Izuku tried clawing at the sludge without much success and the villain laughed at his incompetence.

“Silly boy~ Your efforts are useless, you might as well say goodbye to your friend now!” sneered the sludge “Look around you, all these heroes at the scene and none of them willing to get close enough to save you. Face it boy-”

Oh, shut the fuck up!

“-you’re going to die soon”

Suddenly, Izuku stopped fighting altogether. The screams of the crowd, the fire, the heroes and the cops surrounding him; they became nothing but a background noise. He stood eerily still and for a second, both the villain and Bakugou thought that he sobered up and decided that the fight wasn’t worth it, until they saw his hand; the one holding the axe shaking uncontrollably.

“You think you’re the one who gets to kill me?” asked Izuku, in a strangely calm voice laced with a drop of sarcasm.

Without any warning the boy held his axe high in the air, ready to strike. Although he looked like an embodiment of madness, his mind couldn’t have been clearer. He knew that he couldn’t inflict any damage to the sludge itself, but everyone had a weakness and Izuku was staring it right in the eye.

“You think YOU are strong enough to kill ME? Don’t kid yourself you slimefucker!!!” screamed Izuku as he swung his axe down right into the villain’s eye. The villain let out an ear-splitting screech and completely let go of Bakugou, who fell to the ground like a ragdoll trying to catch his breath. The heroes were speechless and the police was already calling for an ambulance, while the civilians screamed in surprise. Amongst the crowd stood a tall figure, who has seen more than enough and decided to step in.

As Izuku pulled his weapon out, his movements were followed by a sickening sound of wet flesh, blending in with the noises made by the movement of the sludge. He took another swing at the villain.

“Listen up you you gooey pile of shit!-”

STAB

“-If a fall from a four story building couldn’t kill me-”

STAB

“-NOTHING WILL!”

Before Izuku could take another swing he was stopped by a gust of wind so strong that the villain went flying into the sky. Izuku lost his balance and promptly fell on his ass next to Bakugou. The attack was so powerful that the sludge started to fall down like rain, putting out any remaining fire in the area. It seemed like the whole atmosphere cooled down in an instant. Both teenagers were shocked beyond belief to say the least as they looked up to see the source of the powerful blast.

Lo and fuckin behold, it was All Might himself and the whole crowd clapped. Izuku was brought out of his shocked state as the Number 1 Hero leaned down and picked the boys up as if they weighted no more than a couple of grapes.

“My boy, what you did was certainly brave, but ought to be more careful in the-”

“Zip it He Man, I don’t have time for lectures” spat Izuku, with far more venom than he anticipated. Meeting a man who used to be his idol and a symbol of his long dead dreams was not as easy as Izuku would’ve thought. It’s been months since the hospital days, but it looks like time does not heal all the wounds, at least not the emotional ones.

As Izuku became fully aware of his surroundings he realised that how much of an uproar his arrival at the scene has caused. While most of the civilians were too busy admiring All Might, the police looked like they wanted nothing more than arrest him at the spot like usual. Bakugou was strangely quiet, though Izuku brushed it off as still being in the “I almost died” shock. Izuku knew something about that.

Since the fire was put out people could move more freely and soon enough Izuku was cornered by a reporter and her camera crew. As much as he hated being put on the spot like this and he was a bit short on time, Izuku couldn't help but think bitterly about how this whole situation wasn’t HIS fault at all. He wouldn’t have to intervene if these so called pros actually did their jobs. The fact that he couldn’t see Shin anywhere in the crowd only added to his irritation. In the corner of his eye he could see the police approaching, he needed to move fast. Although looking at the reporter, Izuku thinks he might have a little fun before their race to the UA began.

He grabbed the reporter’s microphone and faced the cameras, putting on his best shit eating grin.

“You people want some news? Well here it is! You see these fuckers over there?” he asks while waving his axe in the direction of the pro heroes “They’re full of shit. They call themselves heroes, yet they stood and did nothing when my friend needed to be saved. Is this what it means to be a hero? To stand around fighting small fries, but the moment something serious happens, unwilling to step in and help those who need it? Wake up people, because this is what your tax money pays for!”

Te reporter tried to pry the microphone from Izuku’s hands and the police was coming closer, he had to hurry it up.

“I’m Midoriya Izuku, a quirkless nobody and you are watching the NHK News!” he finished off before handing the microphone back to the distressed reporter.

He grabbed Bakugou’s hand, looking around in panic for any way to leave the area quickly enough. The villain attack was close to the train station, so he wouldn’t be surprised if the trains were temporarily down. There were people everywhere and the police officers looked like they were itching to arrest him. They were running out of time, he had to get Bakugou to the exam on time. Think, a way out. Quick, no time. No path, no way-

Suddenly, the crowd parted like the red fuckin sea itself, except instead of Moses a car drove through like it was speeding to get to the mall on a Black Friday. It made a sudden turn and stopped with a loud screech right in front of Izuku and Bakugou. Izuku should probably be surprised at this point, he really should, but life was already so goddamn weird, it might as well happen. The car’s windows rolled down and Bandit’s head poked out of the vehicle.

“Baaaa”

“Holy shit, Bandit did you steal a car?”

“Don’t be ridiculous” shouted Shin, who as Izuku just noticed sat in the driver’s seat “Hurry up and get in, you two caused quite a scene!”

Izuku and Bakugou looked at each other, then back at the car. Well, they literally had nothing to lose…

“Except our dignity” said Bakugou, because Izuku still hasn’t managed to get his shit together and fix his muttering problem.

“Bold of you to assume I have dignity” he answered instead.

The two teenagers entered the back of the car as quickly as possible, with Shin flooring the gas pedal before they even managed to get the door closed.

The car made a sharp turn as they drove away from the scene like a bunch of criminals on the run.

“I’m gonna be honest with you boys, I‘m not quite sure what just happened” exclaimed Shin as he drove past a red light like it was his second nature, although it was more likely due to his sleep deprivation.

“We’re in deep shit, that’s what happened” said Bakugou.

“What else is new?” said Izuku, before turning back to Shin “Anyway, less thinking, more driving, we have to be at UA in like 10 minutes if we want Kacchan to still have a chance at the entrance exam!”

“Deku are you crazy?!” shouted Bakugou “There’s no way we can get to UA on time! We barely escaped a villain attack just now, which by the way you should’ve stayed out of-”

“IF I STAYED OUT OF THIS YOU WOULD BE DEAD!” screamed Izuku.

“WHY DO YOU EVEN CARE?!”

“BECAUSE YOU MADE A FUCKIN PROMISE!!!”

The car fell silent as Shin tried to focus on not falling asleep behind the wheel, completely blocking out the teenage drama in the backseat. Bandit was having a time of their life sticking the head out of through the window, feeling the wind in the wool, completely oblivious to the tension. The two teenagers meanwhile were busy having a stare down.

“For fucks sake Deku, is this what it’s all about? Some fuckin promise I had my arm twisted into making because you dragged my ass in front of my parents?”

“The Kacchan I know is a rude, overambitious, self-centered bastard-”

“Are you looking for a fight!-”

“-a bastard that never breaks a promise!” exclaimed Izuku “That day at the hospital...you said you would get into UA and become ‘Number 1 Hero’ regardless of what I said.”

“And you said that I’m not a hero material...” pointed Bakugou “...but those heroes at the scene were pretty useless…”

“They sure were” mumbled Izuku.

“Maybe you were right” sneers Bakugou, humourlessly “maybe being hero isn’t worth shit if a quirkless ass like you can do a better job than them!”

“That’s like the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me, Thanks Kacchan!” relied Izuku in the most sarcastic tone he could utter.

Their little ‘moment’ was however quickly interrupted by the sudden turn that had them flying across their seats, which could’ve been avoided if they wore seatbelts has it not been for Izuku’s life philosophy of ‘No safety measures, we die like men’. The teenagers turned around to see what caused the sudden turn and noticed that they’re currently being chased by two police cars. And it’s not even noon yet! That’s a new accomplishment for Izuku.

At that point Shin just rolled down the window and started to flip off the police “I’M NOT GOING BACK TO JAIL!” he shouted while speeding past other cars on the road. There was something almost poetic about seeing your psychiatrist - the person whose job is to make you into a sane and functional human being- screaming at cops and accidentally admitting that he was in jail at some point in his life. The doctor then turns around and says “Don’t worry, I haven’t killed anyone” as if it was supposed to be reassuring to his patients in the middle of a police chase.

“Huh, at this point we might actually make it to UA on time” said Izuku in a rather nonchalant fashion, leaving Bakugou scandalised to say the least.

“THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE WORRIED ABOUT?! WE’RE BEING CHASED BY THE FUCKIN POLICE!”

“Well how’s that any different than my usual day?”

“HOW WOULD I KNOW? I HAVEN’T SEEN YOU IN MONTHS!”

“Can you two shut up? I’m trying to drive here!”

And with that, the car was overtaken by silence, the only thing interrupting it being the police sirens heard from the behind. For a situation as bizarre as this, Izuku felt strangely calm about the whole thing. It was almost nostalgic, getting to spend time with Kacchan in a civil manner, or as civil as they could get considering the circumstances and having Shin’s support in the strangest way possible. ‘I wouldn’t mind it if all my days were like this’ he thought while reluctantly putting on his seatbelt.

Soon enough they reached the gates of UA just as they were about to be closed. In a moment of panic, Izuku reached into the pocket of his jumper and pulled out a flask, unscrewing the cap and quickly handing it to Bakugou.

“Look we’re a bit short on time, so drink this and go kick some asses, you can process your near death experience trauma after the exam is over.”

“What is this?” asked Bakugou, rightfully suspicious of the mysterious flask that Izuku seems to casually carry around.

“The quil”

“What qui-” unfortunately Bakugou didn’t get to finish the sentence as Izuku forced the flask into his mouth and tilted his head back, making Bakugou drink all of the liquid.

“Ok, so this shit will make you see through time, but that’s normal, you can do it!” shouted Izuku as he clapped the blond on the back and pushed him out of the car.

Both Izuku and Shin watched him run up to the gate right before it closed and they simultaneously sighed in relief.

“You did the right thing” commented the doctor “Your method was questionable at best, but you did the right thing in the end. Not many people would have the strength to help someone like Bakugou.”

“I know”

“What you did was very heroic”

“Oh, fuck off!”

“...so after we parked the police cars caught up with us and they arrested us. Well, me for whatever the fuck that was and Shin for breaking some traffic laws” said Izuku as he recalled the events of this chaotic morning.

“What’s going to happen to him now detective?” asked Inko, because although she might not look like it, she was very much worried about her son, despite knowing that he wasn’t in the wrong for doing what he did.

The atmosphere in the interrogation room became tense as the Midoriyas stared at detective Tsukauchi expectedly. The man looked down at his notes, the evidence folder and sighed in defeat. They’ve been here for hours and it became clear that even the detective didn’t want to be a part of this.

“You’re a lucky kid Izuku” exclaimed Tsukauchi “The only thing we could technically charge you with would be a possession of a fixed blade longer than three inches, but even then it was used in defence of a civilian, and you better thank God that no one has bothered to fix the legal loopholes for the quirkless under the Citizen’s arrest law.”

“Does that mean I can just go?”

“Fortunately yes”

“Nice~” said Izuku “Alright then kinky bastards, uncuff me!”

Right after he said that the door to the interrogation room opened, followed by the entrance of Ignenium himself. Although the appearance of the hero was unexpected, it was definitely appreciated. You see, while Izuku does have a problem with heroes in general, Ignenium, both as a hero and the man behind the mask was one of the most kind and righteous people the boy has ever met and could never bring himself to dislike. And sure the way they met wasn’t the most favourable one, but that’s a story for another time.

“Tensei! What are you doing here?” asked Izuku excitedly.

“I came in here a while ago after making an arrest and an officer told me you got caught doing something stupid again. I couldn’t help my curiosity so I sat and listened to your story” explained the man as he pointed to the one-way mirror. He then closed in on the table and unlocked Izuku’s handcuffs from the surface “Alright let’s get you out of here.”

As Tensei took still handcuffed Izuku out of the room, Inko stayed behind to sign some paperwork that Tsukauchi tried and failed to stop the sheep from chewing on.

The hero and the teenager made their way into the main lobby where they had to wait for the keys to the handcuffs. As they stood around, Izuku with his hands behind his back they were approached by another teenager who looked vaguely familiar and very attractive, as in hot, beefy nerd with dark hair and square glasses that would help you with homework and carry you on his shoulders type of attractive. He stood tall with posture and confidence that the old Izuku could never dream of having, and one that the current Izuku had wet dreams about.

“Nii-san! Mother has informed me that you were at the station, so I came here to tell you about the entrance exam!” exclaimed the boy in the sheer volume of a person with ‘no inside voice’ while moving his hands in an almost robotic way.

“You sure look excited! Alright Tenya, tell me everything!” said Tensei and that’s when it dawned on Izuku…

“TENSEI WHAT THE HELL! Why didn’t you tell me you had a hot brother?!” he whined before quickly turning back to clearly confused Tenya.

“What’s up stud? You dropped something~” said Izuku in a clearly flirty tone as he checked the other one out.

Nevertheless Tenya still looked down in confusion at Izuku’s words, choosing to ignore the way he said it.

“What did I drop?” he asked.

“Your standards. Hi, I’m Izuku~” exclaimed the freckled boy with a shit eating grin as he brought his right hand forward that still had a pair of handcuffs hanging from it, awaiting a handshake.

The other was flustered beyond belief, while Tensei just groaned out in second hand embarrassment from watching awkward teenage flirting with his younger brother on the receiving side.

Wait a minute…

“HOW DID YOU GET OUT OF THE HANDCUFFS?”

[becoming-bianca-blog]

i’m trying my best and that is enough

You probably don’t know me that well but I’m Bianca and I sit in the second row, 4th seat from the left. I often struggle talking about myself but I want and need to give this a shot, it’s honestly like this subject was a reaffirmation of words spoken to me in this tough time and yet, I still fail to hear and struggle to put these into action. I apologize, I’m stubborn like that. 

This is my context: I somehow ended up here in Ateneo, just a few months after my boyfriend’s suicide. Everyday, it feels as if I am a spectator in my own body, struggling to connect with people and feeling displaced wanting nothing more to wear my experiences like a badge for everyone to see but I cannot do that because everyone is struggling as well. Our SocSci class began with Amos Tversky and Daniel Kahneman’s study on Patterns of Thinking which was not unfamiliar to me as I came from an International Baccalaureate School and we discussed this during our Psychology class.  The very memory of learning this back in high school before my life was honestly destroyed hurt me. But again, like a silent reminder to keep going, which are what have been the impetus of my life so far, I understood myself and my negative thinking patterns in terms of The Thinking Self and The Feeling Self. Whenever I looked back at my relationship, I could only see it in terms of the end, the cathartic episode when I came to school the next day to discover that he would be gone forever. Every reminder as I moved forward taking it one day at a time, would make me hate my relationship. I’d say “I wish I never transferred schools” and “he ruined my life.” Little did I know I was thinking in terms of my Remembering Self, shamelessly exemplifying the peak-end rule when I was only judging the experience based on the tragic end as this is the self that keeps track and makes decisions. The introduction of the Thinking Self that begs us to answer “does it hurt now?” To answer this, of course it does but I remembered the advice of my therapist that I have to remember the blessings  and graces our relationship brought to my life and how I have to trust in this experience teaching me the lesson that is not usually taught to people my age: sometimes, we are powerless and cannot control the choices of others thus, we must be humble enough to accept this. Moreover, I should be grateful that I can give him the highest form of love, the kind where he doesn’t need to be physically present just like how I love God. From my experience of thinking with the Remembering Self, it was evident that I was living life especially in Ateneo with the anchoring and adjustment. I used my bad experiences in high school as a starting point, thus compromising the way I could form relationships and function as a student here in college. I told myself that I have been going through the worst experience of my life so how could college be any different. Learning about this bias, I told myself that I should not judge an experience based on the past and that I should not compromise what is new for the old. Thus, every time it became too difficult to breathe I reminded myself that to stop, take it easy, and remember the facts. Reciting it as a mantra in my head I said, “My responsibility in this world is to take care of myself first, he chose to do it, and I am here and I am in touch with my authentic self.”

The next modules namely The Feeling Self and Emotional Regulation and Self-Care were of even more importance to me. I remember in the day of class where we discussed the study of depression, I had just come from therapy discussing the possibility of taking a gap year, something that I am still so scared to do because of my pride and how it might seem like I am letting this destroy my life even more. In class and in the reading it was stressed that we cannot problem solve our negative emotions as the doing mode is not applicable for external problems and we should instead adapt the being mode which acknowledges our emotions. I could not help but remember what was stressed to me which was that I have spent my whole life alone psychologically, looking at negative emotions as something that I should not even feel because I am so blessed. Continuing on she said that it’s time to let your body take control and that I have to make my soul catch up to my body. From this, I looked at my context in terms of the ABC model of basic emotions. Using the lens of sadness, the usual antecedent could simply scoring low in a quiz making me believe I was worthless and thus numb behaviourally and tense physiologically, I always describe this as feeling like someone is choking me. Knowing this then has made me realize that even in my daily life I let my negative emotions dictate all my experiences and thus, I can do something to actively reduce the effects of this. In terms of emotional regulation, then, I always am guilty of situational selection. I have missed General Assemblies, course gimmicks, and block hangouts as I am afraid that such may trigger my anxiety and compromise my mental health. Of course, this is positive on the surface but it has limited my experiences as a freshman that others usually enjoy and find helpful. Lastly, in terms of self-care mindfulness has been introduced to me in therapy. Here, we do meditation and breathing exercises as well taking daily walks as trauma is often stored in the body. I look forward to continuing to live though the grief and trauma are present. Again, I am trying my best and know that there is so much worth in remaining true to my authentic self. 

One day at a time, I will continue living intentionally :’) 

[enigmaphenomenon]

Something’s up with Jack (Another Jack analysis)

I believe Handsome Jack has Borderline Personality Disorder. 

Let’s first go through the symptoms of BPD. In order to be diagnosed with BPD one needs to have repeated patterns of 5 out of 9 symptoms of BPD. I’ll go through the symptoms Jack displays. 

Google gives a very brief list of symptoms. I’ll highlight the ones Jack is shown having. 

Behavioral: antisocial behavior, compulsive behavior, hostility, impulsivity, irritability, risk taking behaviors, self-destructive behavior, self-harm, social isolation, or lack of restraint

Mood: anger, anxiety, general discontent, guilt, loneliness, mood swings, or sadness

Psychological: depression, distorted self-image, grandiosity, or narcissism

So let’s just dive right into his symptoms. I don’t...really need to provide examples of Jack’s narcissism, do I? Because that one is obvious as all hell. 

1)  An intense fear of abandonment, even going to extreme measures to avoid real or imagined separation or rejection. 

Oh yeah. And Jack reacts quite violently to what he perceives as betrayals and/or abandonment. If you trust Jack instead of Fiona at the end of Episode 2, and refuse to trust him in Episode 3 when he asks you too...uh...

“Oh. Oh, that’s a... shame. Because I thought--- I thought we were becoming pals. Saved your life back there and you...still don’t trust me? You know I’m uh...I’ve had to deal with this my whole damn life you know? You try to do the right thing and people just... crap all over you for it. Well, congrats kiddo. You’re the latest in a long line of Jack-shitters. Super psyched about it.” 

This isn’t the first time Jack mentions that he should have seen this all coming, he mentions it again at the end of Episode 5. 

“I should have seen this coming--ever since I came to this nacho-flavored shithole of a planet. I’ve been betrayed by everybody I gave rat’s ass about. My boss. My girlfriend. Hell...my goddamn daughter.” 

Then, of course, Jack telling Rhys...

And....

Jack has extreme violent reactions to people he views as being against him, even when they aren’t. Adding to this is Jack’s hatred of all vault-hunters due to Lilith and Roland’s betrayal and also his fear of being shot in the back if he lets his enemies live. Remember he was willing to forgive the Meriff and let him live until the Meriff tries to shoot Jack as he’s walking away. This then leads to Jack airlocking scientists just for the mere possibility one of them might be working for Zarpedon. Also, when Athena or whoever else you play suggest just rushing to the vault and not fighting Jack insists they all must die, stating that if you let your enemies live, they’ll shoot you in the back. 

2)  A pattern of unstable intense relationships, such as idealizing someone one moment and then suddenly believing the person doesn't care enough or is cruel. (People with BPD tend to have relationships that are intense and short-lived. You may fall in love quickly, believing each new person is the one who will make you feel whole, only to be quickly disappointed. Your relationships either seem perfect or horrible, with nothing in between. Your lovers, friends, or family members may feel like they have emotional whiplash from your rapid swings between idealization and devaluation, anger, and hate.)

Moxxi, Rhys, Angel, and his second wife. 

Moxxi says he was clingy and that’s why she dumped Jack, Jack blew up her slaughter dome thing due to this, but this doesn’t stop him from asking her for help to fight against Zarpedon. 

Rhys? Aw man just take a look at this switch. 

“Oh, wow. I wish I could hug you right now. I’m gonna make a robot that just hugs you when I tell it to. I’m so proud. I’m so proud of my special boy! This is a perfect partnership, Rhys. You trusted me. I trusted you, and now we’re here! Man--never really had a partner I could count on before. Feels kinda dope”

No Jack, Rhys doesn’t want a giant Endoskeleton to crawl inside his body. 

“This was YOUR chance to make history, you moron! To be part of a legacy! To matter for once in your useless little life!”

Angel doesn’t need to be explained right? In the ECHO logs in Borderlands 2 Jack cycles between being amiable towards her and then lashing out at her. 

His relationship with his second wife was ruined over him refusing to shut down the control core, and in an ECHO log it’s stated she disappeared shortly after telling Jack to shut down the control core. 

3) Identity disturbance, such as a significant and persistent unstable self-image or sense of self

Jack is a meglomaniac who sees himself as the hero and as a god, but, in BL2 he brings this up: 

"I know you think I'm a monster. You think I enslaved Angel. But you didn't see what she did to her mother. I had to restrain Angel's power. You get that? I had to."

He brings this up to the vault hunter. Why? What does he care what the vault hunter thinks of him? Jack sure as hell hasn’t cared at all about “bandits” opinions of him. And he really isn’t shy about blaming other people for something, come on, this is the same man who says he shot a baby because THE BABY was being a dick. 

Jack doesn’t blame Angel for betraying him. As he said in TFTBL, she had no choice. He also doesn’t say that vault hunters killed her. He says that she killed herself.

This is Jack being hit with the realization that his daughter is dead, and that he drove her to it. He’s the monster who enslaved Angel, but he says he had to do it (I’ll go deeper into this in a different essay). He had to to restrain her power, he had to, as if he didn’t have a choice. There is guilt behind these words. 

To compare, in Tomb Raider 2013 there was extra dialogue (that for some reason was not in the final version of the game) after Lara has her first kill, she tells herself “I had to do it. I had to do it.” That’s how Lara rationalizes taking a life. If she had not killed that man, he would have killed her, so she “had to.”

I believe its the same with Jack. There is guilt there. Why would he feel the need to defend his actions to the vault hunters? To the “bandits?” He saw Angel ask the vault hunters to end her life, he saw her call them friend, her last dying breath was needing to tell her father that he’s an asshole. Jack knows. He knows what he’s done. But he’s too mentally ill to accept it, or change it. If anything, that just drove him further into insanity. 

In TFTBL Jack also mentions that he knows where Rhys is coming from and imposter syndrome is normal, and to just strangle that voice in his head that says he’s not good enough. 

4) Impulsive and risky behavior, such as gambling, reckless driving, unsafe sex, spending sprees, binge eating or drug abuse, or sabotaging success by suddenly quitting a good job or ending a positive relationship

Hahahaha ooooooh yeaaaaah. 

Spending sprees: Butt Stallion

“My day? It's been pretty good. I just bought a pony made of diamonds, because I’m rich. So, you know. That’s cool.“

Unsafe sex: 

“If I’da just thrown stock options at the Vault Hunters instead of bullets, I’d be on a beach right now doing disturbingly graphic things with the local ladies.”

Drug abuse: 

He mashed up a mushroom and snorted it...a lot...

Primo hit of electri-drugs.

His chair also has contact activated Dopamine injectors. 

Jack drinks, a lot apparently, since he thought either sex or drinking would kill him. 

It really wouldn’t surprise me if Jack participated in orgies which he probably totally did.

5)  Extreme emotional swings. Unstable emotions and moods are common with BPD. One moment, you may feel happy, and the next, despondent. Little things that other people brush off can send you into an emotional tailspin. These mood swings are intense, but they tend to pass fairly quickly (unlike the emotional swings of depression or bipolar disorder), usually lasting just a few minutes or hours.

Jack is...really unstable and I don’t think anyone will disagree.  

ECHO logs in BL2 depict Jack going from manic to a fit of rage both with Angel and Mr. Tassiter. As well as Mr. Moorin who he strangles for mentioning his wife. 

Or when he gets really excited...

6) Chronic feelings of emptiness. People with BPD often talk about feeling empty, as if there’s a hole or a void inside them. At the extreme, you may feel as if you’re “nothing” or “nobody.” This feeling is uncomfortable, so you may try to fill the hole with things like drugs, food, or sex. But nothing feels truly satisfying.

After becoming CEO he became dictator of Pandora, then decided...hey why not conquer more planets? Why not basically become a god? That toppled on top of Jack’s drug use and sex life. He bought a diamond horse and named it Butt-stallion...

He also says that when he takes Rhys’ body he’s still gonna use it to eat food and bang a bunch of people. 

(A side note, Dameon Clarke while answering questions as Handsome Jack said that there’s a lot of smiling going on but he’s actually dead inside. I just wanted to add it here as a point of interest.)

Jack also tolerated Mr. Tassiter’s insults until Tassiter told Jack that he’s a pathetic nobody under his mask. This leads to Jack strangling him and keeping his goatee as a reminder of what happens to people when they’re a dick to Jack. 

7)Explosive anger. If you have BPD, you may struggle with intense anger and a short temper. You may also have trouble controlling yourself once the fuse is lit—yelling, throwing things, or becoming completely consumed by rage. It’s important to note that this anger isn’t always directed outwards. You may spend a lot of time being angry at yourself.

I don’t feel I need to provide examples for this one. We’ve all seen Jack’s rage. He uh....really goes off and it is not easy to stop him. 

Now that we got Jack’s symptoms out of the way let’s move on to causes. 

Most mental health professionals believe that borderline personality disorder (BPD) is caused by a combination of inherited or internal biological factors and external environmental factors, such as traumatic experiences in childhood.

...

Hereditary predisposition. You may be at a higher risk if a close relative — your mother, father, brother or sister — has the same or a similar disorder.

Stressful childhood. Many people with the disorder report being sexually or physically abused or neglected during childhood. Some people have lost or were separated from a parent or close caregiver when they were young or had parents or caregivers with substance misuse or other mental health issues. Others have been exposed to hostile conflict and unstable family relationships.

Let’s start with Jack’s genetics. If you saw my last post about Jack, it was wondering if Jack’s grandmother was a bandit and/or psycho due to her buzz axe. It is very possible that Jack’s grandmother and mother also suffer with some mental illness. 

Onto the stressful childhood. Grandma’s buzz axe which was a disciplinary weapon she used on Jack, and in The Pre-Sequel, Jack is asked to describe his childhood which he says his mother abandoned him on his abusive grandmother who would smack him around. He also had a pet cat that his grandma drowned because he didn’t make his bed. He cites this as “the usual stuff” 

Jack has both genetics and environmental factors that can lead to someone having mental disorders. 

Jack’s drug use and drinking would aid in making his BPD symptoms much worse as well.

So...yeah, there’s my Jack analysis.

[nebula-starlight]

Virus (Part 6 - Heartache)

She tossed in her restless sleep, twitching every so often as the glitch fought for control. Nothing else mattered besides making sure that parasite was unable to pilot her body for its twisted desires. Forget all the pain she’d endured in the past. Ignore the unwanted offspring growing inside her even. She would fight with everything she had to survive and keep her mind solely her own.

Growing up on the streets hadn’t been easy for her as an offspring of an absent father and lustful mother who cared little if she lived or died. So she took it upon herself to survive, steeling herself against the cruelty of dragons and nature alike. Over time, however, she found herself fighting more of an internal fight than a physical one. Society’s rules dictated a lowerborn such as her would only be useful in the most seedy professions and unable to become great. Her goal had always been to help heal the injured, particularly younglings due to her own rocky start in life. So with nothing to lose she threw herself into studying whenever she could, only to eventually meet the one drake who cost her nearly everything.

He’d been pleasant enough at first, a true gentledrake really, but she was too eager to learn all she could. Beautiful red scales and piercing dark eyes with an impressive physique - there was honestly nothing she could find wrong with Magnus. When he offered her private lessons, she was quick to accept, unaware then of his other intentions. The first few months worth of meetings in his lavishly styled apartment went well and he seemed impressed by her knowledge already. She remembered he had opened the door for her to leave after they finished up early one evening before gently catching her paw on the way out. Confused, she had glanced up and asked what was wrong in fear she’d said or done something wrong. He smiled politely and remarked that she would make a great healer in a few years before touching the tip of his snout against her own.

Narssia should have smacked him then but was caught up in the moment, knowing she’d seen other couples out on the streets doing the same thing. To think a drake thought that she was lovely made her feel so light, so giddy even. She barely remembered going back to her little back alley hiding spot that night, certainly overwhelmed with feelings of acceptance and mutual respect. Oh how naive she’d once been.

Several weeks later she noticed he was in a terrible mood, lashing out at her when she got something wrong or didn’t answer quick enough. Hours stretched on with no change until the last of the sunlight faded away. With a huff, he stood, glaring at her in disapproval as she struggled to memorize a list of common medicine. After several attempts, it was obvious his patience was all but gone as he grabbed her from behind. Using one of his forepaws to keep her jaw shut, he growled low in her ear that it was best she keep quiet or else he’d ruin far more than just her dignity.

It was the only warning she got before he violated her, hurting her in ways she never knew before. Every moment of the torture made her want to scream but all she had to do was feel his claws squishing her nostrils down and she kept silent, only allowing tears to roll down her cheeks. It was only right that she receive just punishment for trying to better herself...

With each bone-jarring thrust she felt warmth radiate from her lower region but never put two and two together. It was all too much too fast, shock nullifying the fact that she had often witnessed drakes doing this after getting plastered from overindulging on mead late most evenings. Most of the time the females they selected seemed to be just as into it, moaning in pleasure as they moved along with the almost rhythmic motions. She however was not, nor was her body used to such harsh treatment. By the time she could get away she could barely stand, pain coursing through her whole body as she was roughly shoved towards the door and told to leave. The cold night air had dried her tears as she limped back to her isolated alcove in silence.

‘Too late for self-pity,’ the glitch snickered softly, its sudden appearance startling Narssia in her otherwise blank mindscape. ‘You knew the risks he presented but kept coming back after that dreadful evening. Was it the stubborn pursuit of knowledge or were you just that gullible? No creature had ever loved you after all.’

She turned with a sigh, seeing the familiar mist lurking just at the corner of her vision. ‘Go away, parasite. I don’t need you to make things worse!’

‘Oh come now. I just want to help you accept the truth. Is that so hard to ask for a little cooperation?’

She snorted, stomping the floor as her wings flared out defensively beside her. ‘I said I don’t want you here. This is my mind and it will stay solely mine until I say otherwise.’

‘You poor child. So lost and rejected by the world...’

The mist started to swirl, flickers of green sparkling like stars as it expanded all around Narssia. Afraid of what was to come she shrunk back, crouching slightly as her wings rose up behind her body in preparation for a quick takeoff if needed. What horror would await her now? What else could that monster corrupt from her already twisted past?

‘I think you’ll enjoy this, my puppet.’

Darkness enfolded her, bright green tendrils of magic wrapping around her legs and lifting her up into the air. Her captor chuckled, the noise of its static filling the now silent space as Narssia’s head hung lifelessly with closed eyes. Much fun would be had now that she was no longer able to resist. A certain soul was at last on the way after all and it wouldn’t do to be ill-prepared for his arrival.

An alarm blared to life, breaking the silence as several dragons rushed toward the source of the noise. They all knew who occupied the room’s bed was once a colleague of theirs before her own mental health broke under the strain. That was the story going around at least...

Entering the small space, three drakes stopped at the foot of her bed as the dragoness chained to it moaned and started to thrash around. They barely caught a low whimper from her before she seemed to wake, eyes opening wide in terror as a shrill shriek tore from her maw. Her wings, once pressed tight against her back, now unfurled and hung limply as she held herself up by the chains restricting each of her taloned limbs before exhaustion came crashing back down and she crumpled, her scales slick with a sheen of moisture.

One of the medical students leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of him as his gaze traveled first over her half-lidded eyes before going down further towards her visibly swollen abdomen. This wasn’t anything like they’d ever seen before. She wasn’t on any active medication so why had she...?

‘Oh I wouldn’t worry about her,’ a darker voice hissed as the sudden crackle of static pounded through their heads, the light above flickering wildly. ‘After all, you fools may prove to be rather useful... Months to a flame so to speak. Try to appease my curiosity here, won’t you? Because, trust me, you don’t want to be here when my intended target arrives.’

High pitched laughter echoed throughout the room as the trio of drakes dropped to the floor, going unnoticed by the now visible glitchy being who stared down her desired host. Her appearance had changed to an almost perfect replica of Naris, except with her identifiable green serpentine-slitted eyes. She would get what she wanted, no matter how much damage she had to cause. For now though, there was one thing she wanted to make sure survived the impending carnage...

Pain coursed through her body, pins stabbing into her skin as she slowly returned to consciousness. Where was she? The dark area around her held no clues...

‘Calm, little one. We will keep you safe. Your mother refuse you but not us, no we want to nurture you as we were unable to do to ours....’

The voice was unfamiliar but inviting, a far cry from the raspy hiss that seemed to crawl along her spine. How long had she been out? She tried to move, only to hiss as the attempted but failed effort sent waves of fresh agony crashing into her. It was a struggle to keep her eyes open, although she wondered if her eyes were even open in the oppressive darkness.

Hold on. She had to hold on but why? Nothing made any sense and her head was starting to pound... Wait, no, that was only the approaching crackle of static. The glitch’s calling card rather.

‘I gave you chance after chance. Wiped your memory more times than I care to admit and still... Even after all of that you still refuse me!’ The enraged shriek was her only warning before she saw the new form her captor had taken as it appeared before her and smacked her hard across the snout.

The chains held fast, swinging slightly as she tried to recover from the blow. Her breaths came uneasy, fear making her even more submissive than she had originally been. Not again. She couldn’t go through the same thing the drake had put her through.

‘Oh I certainly can and I will,’ the glitch hissed as it grabbed her bleeding snout and jerked her forward until she thought both her shoulders would be dislocated. ‘You will be mine whether you like it or not. No amount of tears or pleading will change my decision.’

She was shoved back again roughly, tears springing to her eyes. Why her? What good was she to anyone? All she continued to be was a nuisance...

‘Just... Just take me. I can’t- I don’t deserve to be given second chances. It’s my fault... All my fault!’

The glitch purred, slinking around her back to hiss in her ear with that low, possessive rasp. ‘And why do you say that? Come now, where is that ever annoying spark of determination you carry like a flame? Surely you won’t crumble after I’ve barely begun this time...’ She chuckled, lifting up Narssia’s snout to stare her straight in the eyes. ‘Stop trying to play the hero here and just let me have it. Scream at me all you want. You won’t remember it afterwards anyway.’

She could barely stand to look at the glitch, noticing how the narrowed irises flickered over her snout almost possessively. Jerking her head back, a bitter snarl rumbled from the back of her throat before she could help herself. Who knew how long it truly had been since her uninvited visitor arrived...

‘You want a fight,’ she realized after several moments of tensed silence, jaw tight as she tried to think of something, anything other than rebelling as the glitch expected. ‘Expect one really. I won’t indulge that desire. No, I stand by my-‘

‘I have had enough!’

Moist breath washed over her, saliva flickering across her snout as the glitch grabbed her by the neck and pulled her forward until they were snout-to-snout. Naris could only see the sharp, vivid green irises that burned holes into her very soul as wisps of smoke curled up behind the unstable entity.

‘Just let me in, it’s rather simple my dear. All you need to do is give up. You can’t win and the longer this game of back and forth goes on the shorter my patience becomes. Do what is right... or do I need to pay a visit to Geer? I’m sure I could royalty screw over his mind and likely make it so he never recognizes you ever again. How sad, the only friend you truly had left would be gone forever. Tragic, is it not?’ The glow from her eyes brightened eagerly, a wicked smile curling up the edges of her jaw. ‘So what do you say?’

‘I...’

[heyytalia]

hi Bianca, I read your 'about' page and wanted to reach out to you since it really spoke to me. in 2014 I had a traumatic event and got professionally diagnosed with the same disorders you mentioned, as well as insomnia. I feel like I should be over my trauma by now and I'm just so frustrated at how I feel stuck in place. I always regret not being a stronger person at the time. I think if I'd had a different mindset or a better support system (c.)

Anon, I can relate to you. I can relate so much.

Long letter to you under the “Keep Reading.”

First off, thank you for messaging me about all this. Doing so must have taken so much courage. I know how hard it is talking about these things. It’s scary and sometimes I don’t know how people are going to react when I tell them I have GAD/Depression, even when I’m speaking to another person with a similar diagnosis. Just being able to put words on paper, or in a message, takes every ounce of brainpower we’ve got. I’m going to try to use as much brainpower as I can to convey as best a response I can.

I was also kind of a nervous child as well. Extremely shy, kind of cowardly, helicopter-parented. But never to the extreme, just enough that I can safely say I’m not an extrovert. I wasn’t diagnosed or referred for anything psychological. By all accounts, I was considered “normal” (I hate that word in psychological connotations). But as I got older, I started having a lot of problems with stress. I started having migraines in high school. I started getting severe stomach pains before every exam. The stress got even worse at university when I went from being a straight-A student all my life to an A/B/C one and my self-esteem collapsed. I developed insomnia. I was homesick. I had a roommate dealing with alcoholism my sophomore year, and I was constantly worried for her health. That near-collision I had in 2014 (the one I mentioned in my About Me) was the straw that broke the camel’s back. I was driving back from an internship interview (from which I was rejected anyway) when I took a protected left turn on a yellow arrow, and the light turned green and a car coming from the opposite direction at 50 MPH nearly hit me head on. If I hadn’t pressed the brakes at the right moment, I would have gone straight into the front of his blue Honda. I wasn’t the same after that. I don’t even remember driving home, the next thing I remember is sobbing hysterically as I open my front door. My mom was comforting, my dad thought I would just move on, my sister thought I was exaggerating. I didn’t sleep that night. The next few weeks, I almost felt like a zombie. Like I shouldn’t be alive. Like I should have died on that road. Several nights I woke up sweating, and I had this recurring dream of walking up to that same intersection, the site of a crash site, and staring at my dead body. These feelings were real, but I didn’t know that. I just kept getting worse and worse. I was diagnosed with GAD/Depression in August, after a week of panic attacks, hallucinations, and an ER visit in which I had to be sedated with a high Xanax dose. But I don’t think, until I got those first Lexapro and Clonazepam doses, that it really hit me I had GAD/Depression. And then I really ruminated on that, and the first thing was…

Guilt. I FELT IT, ANON. I felt it bad.

You’re not alone in feeling guilty about your diagnosis, anon. I think it’s almost a given to most of us with depression and anxiety. Our society dictates that people should be able to function a specific way, and when we can’t do it we feel excluded, shunned. Not to mention, a feeling of failure to our own families and friends. I had that and more, I felt I let everyone down. My family who I spent my entire life trying to make proud. My friends, my teachers, professors, everyone who ever believed in me. When I was young I felt like a bird, that I could fly anywhere. As if I was Icarus, ready to fly towards freedom and beyond. But that first bottle of Lexapro in my hands felt like a weight that brought me down to Earth. And I burned. And everything I loved, burned.

My love for all my favorite series literally became NUMB. I kept up with them, but I literally felt nothing for them. My archive for this blog for the Fall months of 2014 shows lots of cute Hetalia fanart, OFF fanart, maybe the occasional cute thing. I was a regular (still occasionally am) GIF editor for the Hetalia fandom, and still churned out the occasional one during this time. But it wasn’t me posting. It was my shell. I was afraid to let my personal struggles bleed into my healthy tumblr blog and ruin it, so I kept posting as if nothing was wrong. But it wasn’t the real me. The real me was waking up shaking, in sweat, on nights that weren’t filled with insomnia. The real me was learning how to eat solid food again (which I didn’t do until October, I believe). The real me was crying every day. If my blog was honest that year, every post would have been replaced with ramblings on fear and sadness. But I couldn’t do it, because I was afraid to scare my tumblr friends, and scared that they’d all shun me and call me crazy. And by perpetuating a lie that all was “fine,” I felt guilty. I always prided myself in being honest, and I felt like I was betraying myself as well as them, and the guilt hurt even more.

And when I was in those moments of guilt, I’d always ask to myself, “What did I do wrong?” “Did I do something to deserve this?” “Was there something I could have done?” I used to think that maybe if I’d been a bit more independent as a kid, I’d have thicker skin, and I wouldn’t be going through this. Or maybe if I’d been a better student, I would have had better grades, and my anxiety concerning my future would be lessened. Or, maybe, if I had been a better driver and avoided that near-collision. Or maybe, I could have made myself prettier, or made more friends, or lost a few pounds, or not accidentally hurt the feelings of that one girl on the playground in 6th grade that one time. None of this would have ever happened, and I’d be okay. And my family would be okay. Everything would be okay.

It’s almost like I was digging into myself, trying to justify in my mind why all this was happening to me. Trying to figure out what I had done wrong. Until one day, I heard some words said to me.

“Bianca, it’s not your fault.”

It was my mom who told me this, the first time. I had been crying and apologizing profusely over and over for what I was going through, a few days after my diagnosis. Telling her that I was sorry that she had to put up with an “insane” daughter like me, and wishing she had been blessed with a better daughter with no ailments, because she deserved better. But, my smart mom, instead of agreeing with what my fractured psyche had come up with, told me those words. And I cried. I didn’t fully believe her at the time, but the sentiment did stick in my brain like a seed, and I felt comfort. Of course, the guilt would come back a few days later, still strong, but I’d hear those words again and that seed would grow a little bit. The next time, a little bit more. More when I would hear those words in her arms. More when I’d hear those words from my dad. More when I’d hear those words from my therapist. More when I’d hear those words from my doctor. Until one day, something interesting happened. I realized the value of those words.

It’s not our fault. It’s not something we did wrong. It’s not something we should feel ashamed of. There’s nothing we did in our past that made us “deserve” depression and anxiety. One of the most important things I learned as a Psychology Major in university was that our brains, just like the rest of our bodies, don’t always work or look the way they’re supposed to. All of our brains are unique, and a combination of our own personal experience along with family genetics and the environment in which we live in make all of us different. It’s now commonly believed that some people are more prone to mental illness than others, just as how some people are more prone to heart conditions or diabetes. Nobody really knows why this is the case. It’s not really a science you can quantify or boil down to an equation. Sometimes, mental illness just…happens. There’s really no concrete explanation. You can dig and dig into your heart and mind and soul forever but you’ll never find one. It took a long time for me to realize this. That I wasn’t at blame for my depression/anxiety. That I didn’t do anything wrong. That just because my brain needed some extra help from medicine and doctors, didn’t mean I couldn’t be strong again.

Anon, sometimes our illness makes us feel like less of a person. But that’s just the depression talking. I always tell people, when you have GAD/Depression, there are two sides of you. One side is the real us, the one who loves and laughs and enjoys life as it is. The other side is the anxiety/depression itself. Sometimes, the second side “covers up” the first side and “pretends” to be us. That doesn’t mean the real side is lost forever, it’s just hiding. We just have to, pardon the language, call that GAD/Depression side out on its bullshit. Because the real us is the best us. The ones who fangirl over our favorite series and ships and stories. The ones who care for all of their friends and loved ones. The ones who aren’t afraid to try something new and be creative. Anon, I believe its still in you. You can still do it. You can still do all the things you love.

Your GAD/Depression may be an element in your life you weren’t expecting, but nobody can really predict such a thing happening anyway. Not even the most brilliant minds in the world can predict the future to a T. It was never your fault, Anon. Never. I want you to trust me on this. And I want you to love everything you love even stronger than you did before. Write those stories you want to write. Watch those series you’ve been meaning to catch up on. Draw to your heart’s content. Read some new books. Start a new craft. That love won’t come overnight, it might take months or even years (even now, I’m still learning to re-love all my favorite things again), but it will start to come. Take every day at a time, and don’t worry about the pace. Recovery varies from person to person. I myself am recovering very slowly, on the exact same dose of Lexapro I was on back in 2014, and I’ll probably be on the same dose for an indefinite amount of time. But the more and more I’ve accepted my diagnosis, the easier it gets.

I’ll leave you with some final tips which have helped me immensely:

1. Eat well! Lots of water, and healthy meals! Especially fruits and vegetables.2. Have certain activities to do during your “down” moods or anxiety attacks. I usually crochet while watching a relaxing tv show or movie.3. Exercise, even if it’s simple walks or stretches.4. Find somebody to talk to when you’re feeling sad, or write your feelings down in a journal. I find that expressing inner feelings can be very relaxing.5. Pet therapy! Go and pet a dog or cat. Some studies have found that spending time with cute animals can increase “happy” hormones in the brain, like dopamine and endorphins.

I hope I answered your message! If you have more questions, always feel free to ask. I wish you all the best, and all my blessings.

[bridgetbites]

Bridget Bites : Metabolism & Muscle

Q:

Hi! I just wanted to say how much of an inspiration you are. You are so real and honest, and it really connects to everyone around you! My first question: I was previously in gymnastics were I accumulated thick/bulky muscle (nothing wrong with being that strong, but I just didn’t like how I felt) I restricted myself to try and loose the muscle and I did, but I began to get sleep deprived, low energy levels, and loss of concentration. I have a history of yo-yo-ing and being restrictive, but now I have learned and am honestly just trying to find a balance. However, I worry that I have ruined my metabolism for good, and that my body won’t be able to have a balance of lean, toned muscle with a healthy diet. I am just looking for some advice and thoughts on this fear of mine. Or some ways to help mend this situation. Second question, my body has a tendency to gain muscle very fast. With that being said, I have stayed away from lifting weights to try not build up too much muscle. I still love to workout and am wondering what excersices are good for trying to create lean, toned muscle?

 A:

Hi! Thank you for your kind words 😀 Definitely a day brightener for me!

First off – well done on deciding to find balance in your diet and life. That is the most important thing, and also the hardest. Through my own experiences in this world I have found that balance doesn’t really exist in the way we expect it to, it’s not a static state, more of a point of reference. We get close and further away from it, but I don’t think we ever really experience it for any extended period of time. Maybe the Buddha. There are plenty of things we can do to get closer (and further) but that is just life. Knowing what those things are is key to maintaining a closer relationship to the experience of balance. And they are usually very personal.

So restricting leads to yo-yoing and takes you way out of balance. Whenever you starve yourself, inevitably you will have some sort of dietary whiplash. It may take a few days or even years, but eventually there will be an after affect in your body. Unfortunately the only way out is through in this circumstance. Denying your body of nutrition means that it isn’t running effectively, and in some cases this can slow your metabolism. But your metabolism isn’t a set rate – it fluctuates depending on body composition, activity level and dietary choices. You once had a metabolism that worked well, and it will happen again. It is time for you to trust your body to tell you what it wants, and to honor those requests. If you are hungry, eat. If you are tired, rest. With time you will find the weight that is right for you, and health will be a simple equation for you.

So I say just be patient. Honor your commitment to balance and eating honestly to your hunger signals. Your body may take a little time to build up its engine again, but it will happen. And when it does it will be based off of your true weight, not a restricted state that is not going to last. I have always found that when I inevitably regain weight after losing a lot, it takes me some time to get back to a good set point. I usually am at a heavier size than normal for at least a couple of months. And this can be tough mentally (especially when trying to model at the same time), but during those times I always worked to commit myself to eating well and getting workouts in. It wasn’t easy, and I still struggle with it. But with consistency comes results. So every day make the choice to eat balanced meals, eat enough, be active, and the rest will follow! Also take up meditation. That helps everything.

Onto muscle. I am a little jealous of your ability to build muscle. Muscle is your best friend in getting the metabolism up and running again – it burns significantly more energy than fat, and life is easier when you are stronger. Strength is sexy, I love seeing so many women these days lifting heavy weights, and becoming so empowered by it. Try to make the decision to love your naturally strong body, and its ease with growing strength. It takes me so long to put on any muscle weight, and unless I work out consistently, it is the first thing to go. There is nothing more humbling than realizing that you don’t have the strength to push yourself up on a surf board because you have been starving yourself.

Anyway – I digress!

I was always under the impression that to gain muscle you have to eat for it. And this usually looks like periods of heavier lifting and higher intake of food and protein. So, by my first year bachelor of nutrition degree (ergo not an expert in this field), I would say avoid this and you will avoid putting on too much muscle. Eat everything, eat healthily, and listen when your body says it is full. Workout wise I would recommend trying a resistance based workout such as pilates, mega reformer or body by simone maybe once or twice a week. I said it before, but the recent upswing of women lifting weights and gaining strength makes me happy. It is extremely empowering to be strong, and none of the friends I know have trouble getting too bulky.. But then again, every single body is unique. Then focus on fun cardio for a few of your other workouts! Try running, boxing, swimming or tennis. Basically anything that gets your heart rate up, and your happiness and a sweat on. And round that out with a bit of yoga here and there (if that’s your thing for stress relief, it isn’t mine…).

If you are living a balanced life, your body will follow. It will take time, especially if you have spent a lot of time putting yourself out of balance. But be patient and easy on yourself, and your health and energy will follow. Don’t deny your body the nutrition it needs to truly thrive, and you will be surprised at where you end up. Also, find exercise that makes you happy and feel good, and you will find it adds to your life in such a nice way.

At the end of the day, your body is your body. I can’t really say what will work for you, simply because I am built differently. It is a journey, and there are no soundbite answers. But once you let go of trying to reduce in size, and start to acknowledge what your body is capable of, your entire view on life shifts. We shouldn’t be at war with our bodies just because society tells us how we should look. Fuck that. We should love and embrace ourselves, and show the world exactly what we are capable of.

 Always remember, I dictate my road.

 I hope this helps!

Love,

Bridget

I love receiving your comments! - and if you have any specific questions don’t forget to ‘Ask Me Anything’ via the link here.

THANKS SO MUCH

Photograph | Simon Upton

[sinrau]

It seems so clear now.

In June 2016—roughly seven weeks before Donald Trump formally received the Republican nomination for president—I wrote an extended essay in the Huffington Post assessing his behaviors. The title was self-explanatory: “ Too Sick to Lead: The Lethal Personality Disorder of Donald Trump.”

By then, Trump had supplied us with overwhelming evidence of an ineradicable pathology which utterly disqualified him for the presidency. But few political observers wanted to touch such a volatile subject.

His party feared him. The media put him in their customary analytical boxes, parsing his every move as if he were something grander, yet more normal, than a mentally disordered demagogue bereft of principles and starved for adulation. And those mental health professionals who dared address the obvious were chided by their peers for psychoanalyzing a man they had never met.

But we had met him—ceaselessly, for decades, and never more than in the year before June 2016, when cable news frequently broadcast his appearances in their entirety. His character disorder was klieg-lit; central to Trump’s pathology was his uncontrollable need to flaunt it.

Most remarkable about his psychological illness is the utter consistency of his behaviors. My descriptions of his pathology, and how it would operate in office, are as applicable today as they were four years ago. Save for factual references specific to 2016, I need not change a word. This owes nothing to my special insight, and everything to Trump’s inability to be anything other than what he was and always will be: a man far too disturbed to occupy the White House.

That he does underscores the core issue in 2020: Will a critical swath of voters, despite all we’ve learned about his unfitness for the presidency, return this man to power?

No longer can we rationalize away his disabling instability—not for tax cuts, or judges, or ideology writ large. By deliberately averting their eyes from the incessant manifestations of his feral inner landscape, the GOP and much of the news media became complicit in his Electoral College victory—and the damage he has inflicted on our democracy and society.

To capture Trump’s singular abnormality, I opened my June 2016 article by describing a telling example from his past: his disturbingly bizarre and infantile practice of pretending to be someone else while calling a reporter to brag about his own romantic life. After describing an audiotape of Trump’s pseudonymous 1991 phone call to People magazine boasting about his supposed romantic involvement with several ultra-famous women—made despite the fact that he was living with his future wife Marla Maples—I pointed out that this behavior was not merely “self-aggrandizing” but also “gratuitously cruel, heedless of all but self, reckless in his lust for attention” and, therefore, that it reflected on Trump’s “psychological fitness to be president.”

With this indubitably aberrant practice as preface, I argued that there is “only one organizing principle” that can make sense of Trump’s “wildly oscillating utterances and behavior—the clinical definition of narcissistic personality disorder.”

The Mayo Clinic describes it as “a mental disorder in which people have an inflated sense of their own importance, a deep need for admiration and a lack of empathy for others.” This is bad enough in selecting a spouse or a friend. But when applied to a prospective president, the symptoms are disqualifying.

With Trump ever in mind, try these. An exaggerated sense of self-importance. An unwarranted belief in your own superiority. A preoccupation with fantasies of your own success, power and brilliance. A craving for constant admiration. A consuming sense of entitlement. An expectation of special favors and unquestioning compliance.

A penchant for exploiting or disparaging others. A total inability to recognize the needs of anyone else. An incapacity to see those you meet as separate human beings. An unreasoning fury at people you perceive as thwarting your wishes or desires. A tendency to act on impulse. A superficial charm deployed to disguise a gift for manipulation.

A need to always be right. A refusal to acknowledge error. An inability to tolerate criticism or critics. A compulsion to conform your ever—shifting sense of “reality” to satisfy your inner requirements. A tendency to lie so frequently and routinely that objective truth loses all meaning.

A belief that you are above the rules. An array of inconsistent statements and behaviors driven by your needs in the moment. An inability to assess the consequences of your actions in new or complex situations. In sum, a total incapacity to separate the world from your own psychodrama.

Recognize anyone? . . .

The annals of business are filled with such people, some of whom wind up in jail, others of whom die rich. But however puissant they become in their chosen realm, their sickness of mind and spirit cannot ruin a country. That power is reserved for presidents.

Indeed, Trump’s rise simply swells his unwarranted belief that he can stride the world like a colossus—naked of judgment, knowledge, temperament or preparation. This reflects a fatal deficit in those who suffer this disorder—they cannot see themselves as they are.

To the contrary, their grandiosity is a defense against feelings of inadequacy too deep and painful to acknowledge. By the consensus of mental health experts, this emotional impairment has a last fatal ingredient—there is no cure. For a man like Donald Trump, life offers no lessons, no path forward save to continue as you have until, like Icarus, you fly too close to the sun.

This disability involves far more than a set of discrete character flaws, however grave, including those which suggest a lack of trustworthiness. We survived the dishonesty and paranoia of Richard Nixon, after all, albeit at considerable cost and only after forcing him from office.

But in many ways Nixon was well-equipped for the presidency, capable of navigating the larger world and understanding complex situations and people—as in China and its leaders. He did not reflexively substitute a grossly inflated sense of self for knowledge, strategy or preparation. His tragedy, and ours, was that his crippling inner wounds outstripped his proven strengths.

Donald Trump is altogether different—and infinitely more dangerous. He is afflicted with a comprehensive and profound character disorder which leaves no corner of his psyche whole. And this dictates—and explains—every aspect of his behavior.

Take his recourse to bullying and slander. “I’m a counterpuncher,” he rationalizes. “[I]’ve been responding to what they did to me.” Now we understand, Donald—your enemies made you do it.

Really? So Heidi Cruz made him ridicule her looks on Twitter? That handicapped reporter made him imitate his disabilities at a rally? . . . And on and on—the list of enemies he must demean is infinite.

A recent example typifies his psychological imbalance. Speaking at a rally in San Diego, he tried to shame an otherwise obscure federal judge in the city, who is presiding over a lawsuit against Trump University. Trump called the Indiana-born judge a “Mexican,” a “hater of Donald Trump” and a “very hostile person” who had “railroaded” him. Heedless of his position or his audience, Trump wallowed in his personal grievances so long that his listeners grew restive. And so, yet again, the campaign for president descended into the poisonous murk of Trump’s inner world.

This astoundingly graceless and unpresidential behavior is far too pointless and indiscriminate to qualify as strategy or tactics. The common thread in all this lashing out—often at those who can’t fight back—is that it has nothing to do with issues, or anything else one would expect from a normal candidate. It is another symptom of Trump’s pathology—the visceral reflex to humiliate and degrade anyone who displeases him, no matter the context or situation.

Take the media. Where, one might ask, would Trump be without its constant and credulous attentions? But, like everyone else, the media can never do enough to feed his needs. He threatens the owners of newspapers with reprisals by the federal government, talks of changing libel laws to facilitate lawsuits for statements which affront him, proposes revoking FCC licenses for media which ruffle him. CNN is “very unprofessional”; like so many others, Fox has treated him “very unfairly.”

He refers to the media which cover him as “scum.” He singles out by name reporters who dare to challenge him. . . . After all, Trump says, he’s “fighting for survival”—ever victimized by hostile forces who fail to recognize his innate superiority.

Opposition of any kind enrages him. He incites reprisals against protesters. He threatened violence in Cleveland as payback for the GOP’s “unfairness.” He fuels anger against Hispanics, Muslims, and other minorities whom he perceives as inimical. And never—not once—does he take any responsibility for stirring these toxic pots. For one of the symptoms of his disability is an absence of conscience or accountability.

So what did women do to him, one wonders? The offense was obviously grave, for his misogyny is endless and, it seems, uncontrollable. One can but identify the same symptoms which drive his comprehensive impulse to demean—the need to dominate, displeasure at feeling thwarted and, of course, a profound lack of empathy for anyone but himself.

But for “Trump,” ever beset, his empathy is boundless. His view of others vacillates wildly based solely on their deference—or lack of it. . . .

Which brings us to a central problem of Trump’s warped psychology—he believes that filling the presidency requires nothing but the wonder of himself. This gives the lie to GOP’s most craven rationalization of its own capitulation: that a suddenly docile Trump will, as president, defer to a cadre of wise and experienced advisers drawn from the party establishment.

This is pernicious nonsense. Consistent with his character disorder, Trump proudly insists that his chief adviser is himself. Even were he so inclined, in order to learn from others he must know enough to discern good advice from bad. But such is his pathology that he feels no need to learn much of anything from anyone. And so, from the beginning, he has plunged us down the bottomless rabbit hole of his intellectual emptiness.

His ignorance and grandiosity form a lethal compound. He disowns NATO, unaware that he is playing into Putin’s hands . . . and imagines negotiating one-on-one with North Korea’s psychotic leader. . . . Oblivious to the appalled reaction around the globe, he promises to compel the respect of world leaders through “the aura of personality.”

His equally spurious domestic “proposals,” such as they may be, reflect nothing but the unreality of his own self-concept. . .

But to talk of Trump in terms of issues is to flatter him. Most of what he says is provisional, ever subject to change, and based on nothing but his needs at the moment. . . .

One can forecast the inevitable day-to-day damage to our country—the lashings out, the abuses of power, the mercurial and confidence-destroying lies and changes of mind, the havoc his distorted lens would wreak upon our institutions and our spirit. But most dangerous of all is the collision between a volatile world, a leader unable to perceive external reality, and the often-unbearable pressures of the presidency. That Trump’s judgment would crack time and again is certain—the only question is how dangerous the moment.

So how have we fallen prey to a man who, by the damning evidence of his own behavior, is psychologically unfit to be president? When did boasting top coherence; mindless posturing become strength; a talent for ridicule supplant experience or judgement; a gift for scapegoating surpass wisdom or generosity? Why must we even contemplate someone with this stunted inner landscape as the world’s most powerful man?

Why, indeed? But that was then—2016. In 2020 America’s electorate has experienced three and a half years of the most aberrant presidency in our history. We have no excuses left.

Our president’s sickness is ever on display. According to the Washington Post, as of May 29 Trump had made more than 19,000 false or misleading claims in a little over 1,200 days in office. During this time, we have witnessed his manipulation of the Justice Department, attacks on the rule of law, refusal to honor congressional subpoenas, fascination with authoritarian leaders, assertions of unlimited power, and attempts to solicit or compel electoral assistance from foreign governments.

Hungry for attention, he subjects us to a constant stream of scurrilous tweets, false accusations, rank divisiveness, unhinged conspiracy theories, blatant racial innuendos, shameless denials of reality, reflexive self-pity, unbounded grandiosity, puerile insults to real or imagined enemies, and claims of superior expertise in a multitude of areas where his abysmal ignorance is manifest. His sole concern is for himself.

This confluence of anti-social behaviors would be shocking in a relative or coworker; in a president, they are frightening and disorienting. Since his inauguration, Trump has debased the coinage of the presidency, eroded the boundaries on presidential misconduct, and poisoned the well of civic decency. His crippling dysfunction is now ours.

These behaviors have caused an increasing number of mental health professional to issue warnings about Trump’s psychological condition. In 2017, forensic psychiatrist Bandy X. Lee edited a book, The Dangerous Case of Donald Trump, that included essays from dozens of psychiatrists, psychologists, and mental health professionals. And last December, two weeks before Trump’s impeachment, Dr. Lee submitted to Congress a petition, with 650 other psychiatrists, psychologists, and mental health professionals as co-signatories, which included this disturbing admonition:

What makes Donald Trump so dangerous is the brittleness of his sense of worth. Any slight or criticism is experienced as a humiliation and degradation. To cope with the resultant hollow and empty feeling, he reacts with what is referred to as narcissistic rage. He is unable to take responsibility for any error, mistake, or failing. His default in that situation is to blame others and to attack the perceived source of his humiliation. These attacks of narcissistic rage can be brutal and destructive.”

Further, Lee explained to the London Independent, Trump was “doubling and . . . tripling down on his delusions”; “ramping up his conspiracy theories”; and “showing a great deal of cruelty and vindictiveness” in his “accelerated, repetitive tweets.”

Recent examples include his vicious allegations that, twenty years ago, Joe Scarborough murdered a woman who worked in his Florida congressional office. In reality, she died of a heart attack when Scarborough was 500 miles away. But Trump’s cruelty caused her anguished widower to implore Twitter to delete his sadistic tweets.

A related sign of emotional instability is Trump’s obsession with projecting dominance and strength—the underside of which is a debilitating admixture of neediness and insecurity.

Recent examples abound. Some would be seriocomic were he not America’s president:

As reported by Ashley Parker and Josh Dawsey in the Washington Post, Trump sidetracked a cabinet meeting with a lengthy re-enactment of his supposedly stellar performance—three years prior—on a cognitive screening test.

After taking refuge in an underground bunker when protesters ringed the White House, he furiously denied it—claiming to have been conducting a snap inspection tour.

When a videotape captured his halting descent down a ramp after speaking at West Point, Trump delivered a rambling fifteen-minute revisionist history at his rally in Tulsa—blaming, among other things, slippery shoes.

Other examples are alarming, indeed ominous. His constant calls to “dominate” the streets during protests following the death of George Floyd. His threats to deploy active duty troops on American soil. His misuse of military personnel to clear peaceful protesters near Lafayette Square—all so that he could hold a borrowed Bible aloft in front of a damaged church, a videotaped piece of authoritarian theater.

The gnawing hunger of Trump’s misshapen psyche dominates Carl Bernstein’s appalling new account for CNN of the president’s conversations with foreign leaders, detailing in the starkest terms the consequences of investing someone of his pathology with the power of the American presidency.

Writes Bernstein:

Trump was so consistently unprepared for discussion of serious issues, so often outplayed in his conversations with powerful leaders like . . . Vladimir Putin and Turkish president Recep Erdoğan, and so abusive to leaders of America’s principal allies, that the calls helped convince some senior U.S. officials—including his former secretaries of state and defense, two national security advisers and his longest-serving chief of staff—that the president himself posed a danger to the national security of the United States . . . [and] to conclude that the president was often “delusional,” as two sources put it, in his dealings with foreign leaders.

Central to these conversations was Trump’s disabling absorption with himself: “Trump incessantly boasted to his fellow heads of state, including . . . North Korean dictator Kim Jong Un, about his own wealth, genius, ‘great’ accomplishments as president, and the ‘idiocy’ of his Oval Office predecessors. . . . In his phone exchanges with Putin . . . the president talked mostly about himself . . . [while] obsequiously courting Putin’s admiration and approval.” Adds Bernstein: “The common, overwhelming dynamic that characterizes Trump’s conversations with both authoritarian dictators and leaders of the world’s greatest democracies is his consistent assertion of himself as the defining subject and subtext of the calls.”

But for allies, Trump’s manner was the opposite of his pandering to the authoritarians: bullying, abusive, and riven with grievances. “Everything was always personalized,” a source told Bernstein, “with everybody doing terrible things to rip us off—which meant ripping ‘me’—Trump—off.” With females, Trump added a withering misogyny. “His most vicious attacks,” Bernstein relates, “were aimed at women heads of state. In conversations with both [Theresa] May and [Angela] Merkel, the president demeaned and denigrated them in diatribes described as ‘near-sadistic.’”

Other consistent features of these phone calls were Trump’s ignorance and dissociation from reality. “Two sources,” Bernstein reports, “compared many of the president’s conversations with foreign leaders to Trump’s recent press ‘briefings’ on the coronavirus pandemic: free form, fact-deficient stream-of-consciousness ramblings, full of fantasy and off-the-wall pronouncements based on his intuitions, guesswork, the opinions of Fox News TV hosts and social media misinformation.”

Bernstein concludes by quoting a senior official who summarizes the grip of Trump’s personality disorder on his conduct of foreign affairs: “There was no sense of ‘Team America’ or of . . . certain democratic principles and leadership of the free world. . . . The opposite. It was like the United States had disappeared. It was always ‘Just me.’”

But, for now, all else is overshadowed by Trump’s catastrophic mishandling of COVID-19—a case study in the literally lethal consequences of his hydra-headed disorder. This is precisely what I meant when, in 2016, I wrote about the dangerous collision between “volatile world, a leader unable to perceive external reality, and the often – unbearable pressures of the presidency.” Trump need not precipitate a nuclear exchange for his warped psychology to cause tens of thousands of needless American deaths.

It has. Last month disease modelers at Columbia estimated that we would have incurred roughly 36,000 fewer fatalities had Trump initiated social distancing one week earlier, and 54,000 deaths had it started two weeks earlier. Instead, fearful that acknowledging the seriousness of the coronavirus would have adverse political consequences, Trump chose misleading the public over protecting lives.

Inexorably, the deadly pandemic overwhelmed Trump’s self-created alternate reality—in which denying its lethality substituted for action. So he substituted yet another fantasy: that his proactive leadership in fighting the virus had saved countless lives and defeated the pandemic.

Even as the death toll mounted, he urged state governments to reopen the economy—dismissing life-saving public health measures recommended by his own government. COVID-19, he told Sean Hannity, is “fading away.” A week later, we suffered the greatest number of new cases since the pandemic began.

Events in the real world provide a roadmap of Trump’s delusions. The coronavirus spiked in the states that were the swiftest to reopen. The European Union has banned Americans as threats to public health. Contradicting Trump, Anthony Fauci warned Congress that “the virus is not going to disappear,” adding that “we are still in the middle of a serious outbreak.”

No matter to Trump. In his imaginary America, the real problem became that we were testing too much, thereby increasing the count of new cases.

By then, as his pathology dictates, Trump had put blame for the pandemic on China, the World Health Organization, the media, Barack Obama, the intelligence community, and the CDC. And he had discovered the real victim of COVID-19: himself. In Vanity Fair, Gabriel Sherman reported Trump telling a confidant: “This is so unfair to me! Everything was going great. We were cruising to reelection!”

Instead, the pandemic has underscored Trump’s complete indifference to other human beings. And not just the vulnerable, the sick, and the dead. He insisted that West Point graduates return to hear his commencement speech in the middle of a pandemic. He scheduled large indoor rallies in Tulsa and Phoenix, surefire super-spreaders, so that he could bask in adoring crowds.

When public health officials in Charlotte inquired about health measures for the GOP convention, Trump moved it to Jacksonville—simply to ensure himself a jam-packed arena filled with unmasked faces, risk be damned. Over a three-week period of public statements amid the pandemic back in April, the Washington Post reported, Trump spoke for some thirteen hours—of which he spent two hours attacking others, forty-five minutes praising himself and his administration, but just four-and-a-half minutes expressing rote sympathy for coronavirus victims and front-line workers.

Further, the Post related in late May, “The coronavirus pandemic has spawned a whole new genre of Trump’s falsehoods. The category in just a few months has reached 800 claims, with his advocacy for hydroxychloroquine as a possible cure, based on minimal and flimsy evidence, already reaching Bottomless Pinocchio status.” As Trump’s confidant told Sherman: “He lives in his own fucking world.”

In that world, Trump is free from the constraints of constitutional democracy.

To stave off defeat, he and his party are striving to prevent the universal voting by mail necessitated by the pandemic, while groundlessly asserting that the mail-in balloting currently available guarantees massive voter fraud by the Democratic Party. Already, Trump is claiming that the 2020 election “will be, in my opinion, the most corrupt election in the history of our country, and we cannot let this happen.”

This is insane. But an increasingly serious body of opinion anticipates that Trump will try to maintain power by denying the legitimacy of the November election. This captures how completely Trump’s sickness has consumed us—expecting our president to subvert American democracy is becoming our new normal.

The problem of Trump transcends party or ideology, and so does our need to be rid of him. For there is no constitutional guarantee against a president too mentally ill to respect its terms—and a party too craven to stop him.

Until further notice, we have both.

How Has Donald Trump’s Mental State Affected His Presidency?

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[mbti-notes]

1. Hi. I've never told anyone any of this before, so it will likely be a little bit all over the place, and for that I apologize. My situation is this: when I was 18, I had to cut ties with my father whose house I used to spend my weekends at. A part of me thinks it's clear he was abusive, but I carry the doubt with me everywhere I go. Cutting him out of my life was the biggest leap of faith in myself that I had taken in years, and in retrospect he probably had a lot to do with that.

I’m putting this post behind a jump in case there is anyone who requires an *abuse trigger warning*.

[con’t: Some of the things he did involved locking me in rooms as punishment or “work.” One example being once when I didn’t want to write a birthday card on his behalf and was locked in my room for 9 hours (I wasn’t given food nor let out to use the bathroom), and if I accepted gifts like clothing or specific food items I would later be informed that I had to pay him and his gf back by cleaning the bathrooms. They locked the doors then too, and no matter how much I cleaned it was never clean enough so I would be cleaning for the rest of the day. He never believed anything I said either, stating that since he would always lie when at my age, he knew I was always lying too. This meant that I was expected to eat food I have allergies to or which would otherwise make me sick, because he didn’t believe me when I told him I couldn’t eat it. I even had several arguments with him from behind bathroom doors about whether or not the food had made me sick and he said I was making the sickness up and was just dragging out time. I started having anxiety attacks around him, but he refused to believe they were real, and when I presented papers from several psychologists (anxiety is an old issue of mine) he said I had manipulated them and that he had friends who had done the same thing. We were on vacation once only a week and a half after a good friend of mine had passed away, and he yelled at me throughout our entire stay because my somber mood was ruining his holiday. On another vacation I was only allowed to eat dinner but not touch any of the other food. I would’ve been fine with this if I had been allowed to go with him or his gf to the store, but I was always left behind to watch my siblings and so because of this I not only lost a lot of weight (we were there for two weeks) but also fainted without it changing anything. I think you’re getting the gist by now, so I’ll end that part here. I broke contact with him one day when he called my mom (they haven’t been together since I was very little), stating he wanted something like a family convention to discuss my bad behavior, which was something that came very out of the blue as I had stopped visiting by then and we only talked on the phone. I actually wanted to come over more often, but he wasn’t interested in having me there. Anyway, I realized he was only trying to turn the part of my family who were on “my side” (his words, during the following argument) against me, and knowing they wouldn’t buy into it anyway I sent him a long text message that essentially was a big and fancy “fuck you.” I had hoped I wouldn’t as much as hear his name again, but my mom received a letter from his lawyer stating he wanted a paternity test a few months after, and not too long after that again I found out from my school that he had repeatedly harassed the school board because he wanted them to hand him personal information about me. Not too long after I started having weekly nightmares about him, but instead of him being scary they were all about us becoming friends again and having a good relationship. They lasted for about a year/a year and a half, and I consider them nightmares because of the feeling I had when I woke up. My grandmother (his mother) and I were in touch for a while, but he moved in with her and she has refused to talk to me since. My issue now is that it’s been nearly four years, and… I miss him. A lot. Every single day, actually. I very irrationally feel like I have a hole in my chest that can only be filled by having him in my life again, even when I recognize that what I long for is the idea of him more than the man himself. Yet I’m still very bothered by thoughts of how he could have changed by now, how he could be a good father and how even when I’m already happy he could somehow make me happier. I’ll see something in a store and think he’d love it and I’ll be gripped with the desire to buy it for him. When I do things now that I know he’d approve of like enjoying a certain type of music I feel proud and wish for him to be proud too. My mental health is far better now and I won’t risk it for maybes, but I guess I needed to get it out in the hopes you could help me make sense of this, because I’m beyond confused. I’m not expecting answers or a snap of your fingers where it all goes away, but I think I, right now, really need an outside perspective. I don’t even know, actually, I guess I’m just reaching out to a stranger because I strugglewith talking to anyone else about this out of shame. No matter what I thank you for your time, and I hope you have a wonderful week.]

If necessary, I can confirm: There is no ambiguity or doubt in your case, your father is abusive, he is a manipulative and controlling person who shows no empathy for you, remorselessly treating you as a piece of property and not as a human being. People like him rarely change, in fact, they often get worse. But I also understand why you carry doubt and shame and don’t feel comfortable opening up about your experience (though it’s good that you finally are). Unfortunately, the way that some people talk about abuse is very insensitive and paternalistic, speaking for/over victims and not fully respecting their perspective, which can sadly lead to feelings of shame because, if everyone else knows in such black-and-white terms that you were abused but you are still not sure and even want to defend your abuser, doesn’t that make you “stupid"? No, not at all. Having very mixed feelings is normal when you’ve experienced chronic abuse. Having mixed feelings is really just being human. Feelings and emotions are not always easy to sort out even when the morality of the situation happens to be clear-cut.

While being abused is never a picnic for anyone, it’s especially horrible for children. Children are built to be very trusting because they need to learn as much about the world as quickly as they can, so they are basically little sponges. Unfortunately, it is all too easy for an adult to manipulate children’s emotions and loyalty, to exploit innocence and naivete for their own selfish ends. Chronic abuse results in your moral senses being twist-turned-upside-down because, on one hand, your natural moral instincts are telling you that everything is WRONG WRONG WRONG but, on the other hand, the person who should know better (and teach you right from wrong) is telling you that there’s something off with your moral judgment, that THEY are right and you are wrong about what you experience, as though you don’t know your own mind. If you hear this enough, you start to believe it and distrust yourself because you have no other knowledge to fall back on, because you’ve never had a chance to build up a strong sense of self, so you possess nothing with which to fight back against their manipulation. In other words, it is NEVER the child’s fault for trusting and loving the parent, rather, it is entirely the parent’s fault for exploiting that trust and love - the parent should know better.

You know that he is abusive, otherwise you would not have cut him off, and you should be proud that you found the inner strength to take such a big step. Perhaps doubt comes because you still have the very normal urge to want a good parent-child relationship, because what child does not want approval and love from their parent? It is absolutely normal, even as an adult, to want a good relationship with your parent. In fact, the more you feel as though you’ve been deprived of it, the more strongly you tend to yearn for it. Unfortunately, this is not always possible, not just for children of abuse, but also for orphans, adopted children, children whose parents died young or were absent for whatever reason, etc. You want something that is perfectly normal for people to want but the situation does not allow you to get what you want, however, there’s nothing wrong with the wanting in itself.

Perhaps shame comes because you know that you should not miss or want a relationship with such a horrible man, therefore, if you do, what kind of person does this make you? Unfortunately, the more ashamed you feel, the deeper your yearning for him gets. The more you try to push away emotions like shame, guilt, or lovesickness, the more power you give them, and the more they consume you. It is similar to how the more you try to forget something, the more you end up thinking about it. Wanting a relationship with your father and missing him are normal feelings to have, however, shame arises when you think these feelings aren’t normal or that you “shouldn’t” feel them. Therefore, the remedy to shame is to acknowledge these feelings and recognize that there is nothing “wrong” about them. Feelings are what they are, however, they need not dictate your behavior or influence your decision making unless you allow them to. When you are willing to fully admit your feelings, to expose them to the light of day, to put them into the right perspective, they lose power over you because you see them for what they really are, in this case, they are the simple longing of your inner child for parental love - nothing more, nothing less, nothing really untoward. However, if you keep trying to suppress these feelings because you are ashamed of them, they swirl around in your unconscious mind, mutating and growing in strength and threatening to grip you. You only become gripped by feelings and emotions if you never answer them properly, if you keep pushing them away.

Therefore, it is necessary for you to confront these feelings, to admit, process, and release them through healthy channels. Perhaps you can get some counseling for the specific purpose of giving yourself a chance to get these thoughts and feelings out of your system. Telling your story the way that you want to tell it can be very healing. My personal philosophy of self-improvement is that you should try to make your mind more transparent to yourself, that you should confront unpleasantness/darkness instead of trying to push it away and, yes, shine a light from the outside when you feel stuck inside your darkness. I hope this is why you felt comfortable enough to write in and I hope that simply speaking out has been helpful regardless of my response. Perhaps you would benefit from the experience of a close friend of mine who suffered very similar abuse as you and also cut her father off when she became an adult (though members of her extended family are still in touch with him). She is closing in on thirty, a bit older than you. We discussed her (not your) experience at length, paraphrased and summed up below:

“I will always long for a relationship with my father. Though we are no longer in contact, as long as he still exists in this world, a part of me will always hope that the two of us might yet one day experience a normal and loving father-daughter relationship, doing all the things normal fathers and daughters do, and it still fills me with sadness to know it won’t happen. I don’t try to deny that this hope exists but I don’t indulge it either. I know it’s a fantasy but it’s not something I waste time fantasizing about. I still have nightmares about the past sometimes, I cry when I need to, I talk out my feelings when I need to. Instead of feeling ashamed, guilty, or angry that he still affects me, I acknowledge that I am human and it is perfectly normal to be easily affected by one’s family. It’s a GOOD thing to be able to love and care even when the person cannot reciprocate, because this means that I did not lose the best part of me, he was not powerful enough to ruin me or my ability to love with an open heart, and I am very proud that he did not successfully twist me into his image. I can love him and feel sorry for him from afar without losing anything. I know that I cannot be healthy if he is in my life, he is not capable of being a good father or friend, this is the reality.

As for how to move on, I treated it as though grieving the death of a loved one. Grieving is mustering the will to move forward even though you still miss what was lost, and perhaps always will. It is sad to think about what could’ve been or what potential was squandered, but life is full of losses and unrealized potential, this is just one of many losses that I must deal with - everyone feels a void about something or other. It’s human to collect scars but scars don’t have to keep hurting unless you keep picking at them. When I allowed myself to grieve the loss of him, to accept the impossibility of a relationship, I was able to move forward - but this did not happen overnight, it took time. People who abuse you want power over you, to bend you to their will. I realized that I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of still having power over me, of defining my existence, of permeating my thoughts and feelings. The best “revenge” I can think of is to live my life to the best of my ability, to live it well for myself because I deserve to be happy. He does not care about my happiness, it is too bad, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t care about my happiness. It’s easy to believe that if even your parent doesn’t care about your happiness, then your happiness isn’t worth caring about, but your life should not be defined by what someone else does because then you can never be true to yourself.

When you venture out alone into the world, you might find yourself longing for the old and familiar even though you know you shouldn’t, especially when you feel down or lonely. Freedom can be scary. It’s ok to long for the past a bit because nostalgia is deceptive and bad memories lose their impact over time, but happiness is found by looking forward, by seeing that something better awaits you when you shed the bad aspects of yourself. You have to fall a few times before you can successfully fly on your own but always remember: Going through the hard work of forging your own life is the right way to build your self-esteem. I try to focus on all the good things I have at present and how good it feels to be free. I know I can never replace the fatherly love I missed out on but it has helped me greatly to surround myself with loving people who fill my days with light and laughter, so find those people whom you can count on and keep them close. I try to attract loving people by being a loving person. I make it a point to reflect and feel gratitude for the positive ways my life has changed over the years, to periodically remind myself how far I’ve come and how I successfully took control of my life by leaving him behind.”

[dieellendie-blog]

คุก

I first saw this photo when I was lay in a beautiful double bed, alone, in a city I had never had any desire to visit. My heart was shattered into a thousand pieces with the pain mainly rooted in innocence and confusion. Here I was, in a hotel I had booked for a birthday, in a city she wanted to visit. Of course we will go, I will book it, use my time, money and dedication to do anything to make you happy. It’s just how it is. That’s how we live. That’s who we are. That is of course, until you decide this isn’t for you anymore and abandon me, with no singular choice but to go anyway, spending a week on a couples trip, in couples accommodation, cancelling meal reservations, birthday cakes and king size beds. It was at that moment, that I decided never, ever will I settle for any less than that photo illustrates. That’s exactly how I love, I give everything, maybe that’s my problem, I’m a fantasist or just somebody who has watched too many pink-spined rom-coms. But, in reality, why should I change? Instead of changing myself, this time I will only settle for somebody who gives the same, with an effortless personality and vision of love that fits perfectly into mine.

You know, you never realise you are being emotionally abused until the aftermath of it. When your brain feelings like it’s bleeding and parts of your personality drift away from you without warning or permission. It’s like being in the middle of a huge storm at sea, destruction is happening all around you, waves are consuming your belongings, but all you do is stay aboard that boat. Making sure the other person is safe. You don’t matter anymore. You have a job to do. You have to care, protect and adapt. Keep your sails afloat, the person under your wing. That’s all that matters now. People notice changes, you are too consumed with what you have done wrong to care. I have always had a strong personality, with confidence that chose its best and worst days. It would never happen to me. It would be impossible infact. I saw how emotional abuse crept from insecure and manipulative people and cradled the most unworthy. Just like when it happened to my brother. My brother, the kindest, coolest, most confident, exciting, beautiful, funny, successful and all round most wonderful soul to ever walk to planet. Nobody has met my brother and disliked him, infact, everybody adores him. Boys want to be him, girls fall in love with him. In a family of 50 cousins, he is the clear favourite. I’d be mad ay my parents if he wasn’t their favourite child. I don’t even feel ashamed to say he is my favourite brother. That’s because he deserves it. He will do anything for anyone, has deep rooted emotions that show a beautiful conscience, a kindness that flows effortlessy and joyfully from him, yet is still the life and soul of the party and the funniest person I know. My younger brother, but my big brother and quite often, my husband and my Father. He enjoyed a wonderful life as the youngest child, with two parents who had learnt from their mistakes. Happy, always smiling and always single. No girl had ever created a will inside for him to settle down and distrupt his lifestyle. That is until he met her. The usual. Nice, pretty, funny, tried to impress his sister…controlling, jealous and manipulative. Casual psychopath. Just your average girl at best.

In 2018 they went on a break as she was damaging to his mental health. He doesn’t deal with stress well and she brought out the worst and created a prson none of us knew. Stressed. Sad. A hermit. Yet again, his good heart would always take pity on her and her constant guilt trips. He always felt to blame. One night, they got talking, told her she could stay over, at his beautiful home, he worked hard to buy. A cottage, in a adorable market town, surrounded by hills and cobbled streets. An elevated decked terrace, he built, that overlooks the greenest hills and views of a little life he worked hard to create. They get to her house to get some of her things. She goes to her room to pack a bag. James goes to the toilet. He opens the door and from the shower rail hangs her mother. Blue. Her neck pertruding from a make shift instrument she has used to escape a reality she has locked my brother in forever.

If he couldn’t leave then, how could he leave now? And then it began. You can’t leave my mum killed herself. If you leave, I will kill myself. Prison.

He cut her down, took care of everything, she didn’t have to see anything. He made sure of it. He moved her in. Every night, he was haunted by nightmares, voices, visions. I’d wake with missed calls at 4am and voicenotes begging for reassurance I was alive and he hadn’t lost his mind. Plagued by a nightly nightmare that she was locked in a room, with me, my mum and my nana. The room was filling with water and there was nothing he could do. He couldn’t get in. He couldn’t saveus. But that didn’t matter. He didn’t matter. What he had seen, been through. Irrelavant. Her mum was dead and it was his job now to care for her. This was his life now and that is that. Any escape from that life was to be as difficult as his battle to enter the room the people he loved most were drowning.

It’s funny. Because like me, he was caring for a ‘victim’, someone you become so consumed with comforting and protecting, you lose all sight of any need for that yourself.

It is easy to gain such a negative view of the world and the people that occupy it. I truly see now why people can act scared in relationships and  grow to be occupied by fear, mask feelings that are dictated by paranoia, all from a kind of trauma. I see why people live shielded lives and emotionally behave in a locked up manner. But I won’t do that. I won’t let somebody ruin my chances at true happiness and everything I saw in that photo. I won’t let my fate escape me, all because of a makeshift personality you had me create to keep me in my prison.

I met a girl recently. And the feeling was alien. It was like every single part of me was not only accepted, but also encouraged. I was complimented, praised and spoken so positively about. I didn’t even know how to take it. Is this a lie, a joke?I have spent the past year so apologetic for everthing I am, I don’t even know how to take it. The things I once thought needed to change, were actually her biggest celebrations. There were no walls, games. It was a wave of unapologetic emotion, an exact replica of how my heart behaves. It was like a mirror, holding up an example of how hard I go, held up right infront of me, reminding me of the wonder of being so daring and open, and exactly why I had been so loved before. Why my family adored me. Why my friends adored me. After three meetings. She has done more to actively represent that photo than somebody I gave every moment of my time and emotional energy. I will never let negative elements of my past dictate how hard I love. I will never let your abuse and destruction affect my future happiness. It would just be what you wanted, wouldn’t it? Just because some people don’t deserve it, doesn’t mean I have to change. I have a video of her on my phone. A video that I know would be absolutely worn and shattered to pieces if it was a standard VHS tape. I watch that video several times an hour as it houses one single look that brings me more life than I have felt, for a duration that feels like a lifetime. Never has anybody combined such adoration, excitement and fondness in one single look. With her. There is no need for any apology or any single toning down of my personality. What a beautiful and unfamiliar feeling that leads me to thank god a thousand times, that I never decided to follow your rules.

I hope she knows how thankful I am for her existence. I hope she knows that I feel totally in awe. I hope wherever she is, she truly knows how wonderfully brilliant I will always think she is.