#on account of the deep and overwhelming sadness i have to repress during the day so i can function as a human being

[connanro]

the greatest tragedy of my life is that i do not (and likely will not ever) have an anglo-cath girlfriend

[pokemon-ninjago-world]

Headcanon/Pokéninjago version of Lloyd’s identity crisis during season 5 of Ninjago

Got ab 12 likes on the announcement post so here we are: This is an essay-sorta-thing about something I thought and wrote some six years ago. It’s been so long since I wrote this I feel cringy reading it, but it’s tenable in Pokéninjago lore. It’s kind of a mix between my headcanon for the show, and canon of my AU, which is why there is mentions of “evolving” and Pokémon types.

Things to take into account:

Idk if there should be content warnings, but depression mention at least. Otherwise, this is pretty much as intense as season 5 went, just a little more angsty I suppose.

I must say that my version of Lloyd and his identity crisis were inspired by a certain artist’s version of him and by a comic they made about the Child’s Play episode’s aftermath. I don’t dare name the artist, since they don’t wish to be linked with the Ninjago fandom anymore, but some of you might know who I’m referring to. 

I do not know how psychology stuff actually works, all of this was made on grounds of a couple of high school psychology courses and a lot of imagination `:D

I wrote this originally in Finnish and let Word translate it, so this might be v clumsy at points.

Most of the text is under the cut!

                                                  ~***~

When Lloyd was just a small cub, closer to three years, his mother had left him in his father's care. Misako knew the boy would become the Green Ninja and Garmadon would become the Dark Lord. That is why she went looking for any ancient knowledge to avoid the final confrontation. Although her heart was torn since she had to leave her loved ones, she knew that she couldn’t just sit on her hands, and that perhaps she was the only one that could prevent the decisive battle between good and evil. It was also her wish that the father and the son could spend as much time together as possible. Thus, Lloyd's earliest childhood memories are about his father, and his recollections of his mother are blurry, obscure, and fading away as he grows up, or mixing with other memories.

            Dad meant everything to little Lloyd. Although they lived in the same monastery with Lloyd’s uncle as well, whom he also liked, his own father was still the greatest. Garmadon also loved his child deeply and wanted him to have a happy life. Although the poison in his veins was starting to get a hold of him and he was increasingly drawn to the Golden Weapons, his love for Lloyd and the desire to be with him in anticipation of Misako's return kept him away from them for much longer than if the boy had never existed.

                    When Lloyd "evolved," he lost some important years of his life, during which a youngster usually developes a picture of himself and his changing body. Lloyd's body changed in a single moment and even though his mind also changed to some degree, it was still mostly on the same level as before, since artificial aging did not bring him the years of experience that growing up normally would. From that moment on, he had to form himself a new image of himself. Frankly, he was facing a fierce identity crisis.

                     After the episode Child's Play, Lloyd adopted an identity whose foundation was flimsy and unstable. It consisted of a few simple pillars that supported his image of himself. Some emotions, thoughts, and memories that he could not, wasn’t able to or didn’t dare to deal with, secretly and slowly gnawed at those pillars like erosion. They grew into doubt that settled into the cracks like rockfoil.

                     That flimsy foundation for his self-image, consisted of these elements: I am the Green Ninja. I'm the strongest ninja of all. I’m the son of  sensei Garmadon. I’m the grandson of The First Spinjitzu Master. I'm one of the Elemental Masters. I'm a student of Sensei Wu. I'm one of the five elemental ninjas. It's my destiny to protect the world from evil.

                     This made it easy for Morro to destabilize and crush Lloyd’s self-esteem. Morro proved himself to be stronger and more independent than Lloyd, and that he could win him over and over again, no matter how hard Lloyd tried to fight back. Lloyd felt weak and desperate. Two pillars of his self-image collapsed to the ground and the masked emotions and doubts that chipped away at the other columns began to grow and intensify: He was not the strongest ninja and was therefore unable to protect the world from this evil.

                     This also affected his view of him as the Green Ninja. Although logically he still was just that – the Golden Weapons and his powers had proven it – he could not help but think that maybe Morro really was supposed to be the Chosen One. His identity was cracking, which ate away at his strength and self-esteem. Being a Psychic Type, his greatest strength resided in his psyche, and whenever his mind was in an unstable and vulnerable state, he couldn’t do his best, even if he had used everything he had learned. Losing his father fairly recently had already struck a dangerous notch in his mental stability.

                     Even though Lloyd was still his father's son, it didn't feel the same when he was no longer with him. Finally, he was only driven forward by his relationship with his other loved ones. He had to do everything he could to stop Morro from harming his friends. By protecting them he was also protecting the last intact remnants of his Self.

                     Lloyd did everything he could to resist Morro's possession. From time to time a memory of his friends and the will to keep them safe increased his "self-control," weakening the ghost's hold on him. However, a long, grueling time in constant motion, without water and nourishment, poisoned by a cold, vindictive spirit, steadily filled his mind with anguish and despair. Doubts penetrated deep into the tears of his self-image, breaking everything old until he no longer knew who he was. Only with the last bits of his mental strength could he interfere with Morro's possession so that he failed to clear the other ninjas out of his way.

                     Then, when Morro broke away from Lloyd's body, the Espeon felt like nothing more than an empty, broken shell floating aimlessly in the dark, beachless sea. He was unable to live up to any of the expectations and goals that had been set for him. Now, he was used as a trade-in item in the market of the world’s destiny. He longer had the strength or power to save even his best friends. He was as helpless as a newborn pup and all he could do was to stand by and apologize when he was traded for Realm Crystal.

                      Somewhere from his past, he dug up one last spark of strength. Already as a child, he had been left alone with unfriendly people, who then had ignited that stubborn flame in him: the desire to fight the cruel, unjust and repressive world. His body still had more strength than his mind, and this momentary burst of grit made him kick the Crystal out of Morro's hand. This, however, caused him to end up in the freezing stream, all his energy used up. There was not much left but a primitive desire to survive and a little strength to keep his head afloat before the cold numbed his muscles.

                     Lloyd's mind was in shambles. Images, memories, shattered fragments of his adopted identity… they all churned in his tired, blurred consciousness. Unintentionally, he began to go through the feelings of uncertainty, fear and inadequacy that he had denied from himself for years. The present seemed more surreal than the memories. He relived moments that had had a revolutionary impact on his life: When the golden weapons pointed him out as a Green Ninja; when he grew up under the influence of Tomorrow's Tea; when he met his mother and became to know her; when he unleashed the Golden Dragon in the Temple of Light; how he fought the Overlord who was possessing his father; how he harnessed his True Potential; got his father back; lost Zane; reunited his friends again and felt great togetherness with the other Elemental Masters. When he lost his father again. And when Morro possessed him.

                     Lloyd was lost. If it wasn’t for his friends and their care, he would have sunk deep into depression (and, on the other hand, drowned or, at the very least, died of hypothermia). When Kai carried him out of the FSM’s tomb, it triggered a very clear memory of the day when the Master of Fire had fulfilled his potential and Lloyd had been identified as the Chosen One. That day, Kai had come to save him from an erupting volcano and carried him to safety. Now, Lloyd felt like he was that little scared cub again, who had for a moment thought he was going to burn to the ground in the boiling lava of the volcano. He remembered how Kai's closeness had brought a feeling of immediate security around him. Even though the mountain had raged and wanted to kill them both, Lloyd had known he didn’t have to be afraid. Kai was there. He'd protect Lloyd. There was no reason to fight the fear anymore, he didn't have to pretend like he was tough. He was carried by someone older and stronger, whom to rely on.

                     The feeling was so intense, the memory so vivid that Lloyd was overwhelmed by an inexplicable, immense grief. The sadness of being forced to give up a carefree childhood so early on, to take on an enormous responsibility and assume a role that seemed too demanding for such a small boy to perform. He had had to grow up way too soon. He started shaking from holding back the tears. He didn’t mind since he thought Kai was probably assuming that he was shivering from the cold. But when Kai said quietly and understandingly: "Shh... It's okay... Don't worry about it," the last wall of pride and fear fell, and Lloyd could no longer repress his weeping.

                     At this point, he slowly began to build a new identity on the ruins of the wrecked one. He understood that even though he was the Green Ninja, it didn’t make him greater or more important than the others. He had more magical power than anyone else, but he was still only a person just like them. He could hesitate, too, and fail. There was no way for him to do anything more than what he was capable of, mentally, physically, and skill-wise. That’s all there was to offer, and if it wasn't enough, there were others whom he could rely on. Others, who would catch him when he ran out of strength. He wasn't the last link to hold the whole structure together.

                     These ideas developed slowly in Lloyd's exhausted mind. Slowly, he got stitched back up from the fragments of his previous self-image. This time, however, his new identity was not something that was given to him from the outside, in which he would have had to fit himself, but it was a solid, authentic self-image created as a result of self-reflection. It was still obscure, uncertain and seeking its form, and its growth was overshadowed by fear. But the conversation with his father drove away that last fear. The fear that Morro was supposed to be the Green Ninja instead of Lloyd. His father assured that Lloyd’s qi had no influence on how he should live and act. He should live the way his heart told him to.

                     In the end, although Morro managed to beat Lloyd one last time, this time he did not break down. He was more intact now, he had more inner strength, and he knew for sure he wouldn't be abandoned. That the fate of the world wasn't really up to him. He may have been part of the story, but after all, he wasn't the protagonist, at least not the only one of them.

[comecollective-blog1]

3 things I thought I knew about sexualized violence – until I became a survivor

Trigger warning for anyone who has experienced sexualized violence or for whom this is a sensitive topic–find support here​.

Please note that this piece is based on personal experience and thus completely subjective. There is no right or wrong way to be a survivor.

I call myself a feminist. Even though I still have a lot to educate myself on, I thought I had one topic pretty much figured out: sexualized violence.

I am familiar with the national and global discourse, know the laws on sexualized violence in my country (Germany), and like to keep up to date on research and statistics. In a way, I was always prepared to become part of these statistics. After all, ​35% of German women*​ report having experienced physical assault and/or sexualized violence from age 15 onward. Taking into account that only ​5–15 % of survivors​ chose to report, my odds looked even grimmer.

Knowing this, I was, as bitter as it may sound, not really surprised, when one night some years ago, I experienced an attempted rape. I was shocked, however, by what followed. Even with all my reading and research, I was in no way prepared for how I and the people around me would handle the situation. Five things I thought I knew about sexual violence did not hold true at all in my personal experience.

1. I will be sure that I’ve experienced sexualized violence

During my lifetime I have experienced my fair share of sexual harassment, just as many feminine presenting folks do––from catcalling and groping up to being followed home by strangers or stalked by a public masturbator. All these experiences had 3 things in common:

I knew exactly what was happening and that it was wrong

I defended myself, called for help, and informed security, doormen, or the police

I did not know the perpetrator prior to the incident

For my assault, however, the last one of these points did not hold true, which, in a way, changed everything.

I had known my attacker since we were 5 years old. We had grown up together, went to kindergarten and primary school together, graduated from high school, partied and hung out together. He was my friend. My friend wouldn’t do such a thing to me, that’s what my brain kept telling me. I must be wrong in feeling violated, disgusted and shaken to my core, because my friend would never do anything that would make me feel that way. I must have misunderstood what he was trying to do, he must have misunderstood my signals. There must have been a mistake.

Thankfully, somehow, I managed to not let my doubts control me. I defended myself, I got out of the situation before anything more could happen. Yet, I could not for the life of me explain or put into legal terms what had just happened to me.

Later, on the phone with a ​crisis hotline I had called, knowing I wouldn’t make it through the next few hours alone, I told the counsellor what had happened in detail, step by step. When I heard them say the phrases “sexual assault” and “attempted rape”, I was in disbelief. I couldn’t understand that according to the law I had prided myself on knowing, my friend had acted as the perpetrator and I had become his victim––to this day I struggle with the term victim, I like survivor better.

The first thing I needed to understand is that the experience of sexualized violence can be so overwhelming that it becomes hard to recognise and name what happened to you. This is why professional help can be so important––but more on that later.

2. My friends and family will support me

I had been aware that 77% of the women* who experience sexualized violence know their attacker. What I hadn’t thought about, however, was what that meant for my lived experience. A majority of my friends knew the perpetrator. They were not only my but also his friends. My family had watched my attacker grow up. They were acquainted with his parents, had arranged our playdates and heard me tell countless fun stories involving him.

When I approached the people around me, who I considered my support system, and told them what had happened, they responded similarly to how I had first reacted: with disbelief

and dismissal. It was incredibly hard for them to grasp that this was not just a fight between friends. That this was not me asking them to “pick a side” or to be on my team. It hadn’t even occurred to me that any of my friends might still want to hang out with my attacker after hearing what happened.

But some of them did and here’s why: Everyone, including myself, had known the perpetrator as a nice guy. He had always gotten along with everyone, was socially and politically conscious, he volunteered in his free time and got elected class president. At the time of the assault his best friend was in the police academy and he himself was a law student. I’m sure if you asked him, both then and now, he’d call himself a feminist.

In addition to the perpetrator seeming like a perfectly good guy, I didn’t exactly act like a victim myself. When I first told everyone about what had happened, I was still in deep shock. I didn’t cry, I didn’t want to be held, I didn’t ask for anything––I just needed people to know. From an outside perspective it looked like I was handling things just fine. My friends and family mistook this first “autopilot survival” stage of my trauma for indifference.

I recounted the details of the assault and told everyone that I did not want to see the perpetrator ever again. I believed the support I needed would automatically follow. But here’s the thing: People like what they already know.

Actually believing my story would have significantly disrupted everyone’s world view. It would’ve raised uneasy questions and required actual effort and changes in people’s everyday lives:

Did my friend really commit a sexual offence?

Did he always have that potential in him?

How did I never notice?

Do I confront him about what I’ve just learned?

How do I act around him?

What does that mean for our circle of friends?

My family and some of my friends chose to openly face these questions and put the effort in. For these people I’m incredibly grateful. Others chose differently. They had heard “both sides of the story”, my recollection of an attempted rape as well a the perpetrators insistence that this was all a big misunderstanding and he was incredibly sorry, and they thought it best “not to get involved”.

I will say this now in case someone out there needs to hear it: There is no such thing as “not getting involved” when one of your friends is accusing another of a sexual offence. If you choose not to confront the alleged attacker, if you choose to act like nothing happened, if you treat both parties just as you did before, you’re giving power to the perpetrator and taking it from the survivor. The attacker will interpret your non-action as tolerance of their crime while the victim will understand that their experience is insignificant and that people don’t care.

It would have been nice to tell my story and be instantly surrounded by understanding and support. In my experience, however, even the people willing to be there for me often did not know how best to help. They cut all ties with my attacker but in fear of doing something wrong, they did nothing besides that. Only when I actively and specifically voiced my needs did I receive the support I needed. Asking for help is exhausting but healing. Cutting ties hurts, but just one person who sees, believes, and supports you can make all the difference.

3. I will report

I didn’t report. At least, I haven’t reported yet. This is still a hard one for me to grasp, even years later. I struggle to talk or even write about this. It is the only part of my experience as a survivor that fills me with shame. So why didn’t I just do it? After all, I have reported many other acts of sexual harassment, way less serious cases, to the police.

In this statement alone lies part of the answer. After the assault happened, I was simply too overwhelmed. It was too much, I couldn’t grasp what was going on and was in complete survival mode. This state was followed by a year of strict repression. I pushed every thought of the assault into the deepest depths of my brain and locked all of them in a box. I needed to do this, so I could go on with my life. Only when that sealed box of repressed thoughts broke open and caused a complete meltdown once the anniversary of the assault neared, did I realise, I should probably deal with this.

I still am dealing with it. I found a counsellor for victims of sexualized violence and have been going to sessions for a year now. These sessions are healing and necessary (for me personally) but they are also extremely draining and require a lot of energy. At this point, I simply do not have enough strenght or emotional resources to heal myself and also report.

After all, reporting does not only mean reliving the traumatic experiences––I do that every other week in therapy. It means reliving the traumatic experiences in an unsafe space. In a space, where I will be asked, whether I had been drinking, what I had been wearing, if I am sure it wasn’t just a friendly cuddle. It means retelling my darkest experiences and maybe not being believed.

A sad truth for my case is, that the chances of the perpetrator actually being prosecuted are slim to none. It will be his word against mine and there is no physical evidence. Cases like mine, where there was no penetration and there is no rape kit, rarely even make it to court. So why do I feel bad for not reporting?

I feel that by not reporting, I’m not standing up for myself the way I would want to. I feel that I’m letting him win and am not warning other women out there about him. It makes me feel weak and incapable.

The main reason why one day, when I have regained my strength and am ready to face the authorities’ bias and scrutiny, I want to report is this: sexual predators tend to be repeat offenders. In my case, the perpetrator did not even understand that he did something wrong––so what’s keeping him from doing it again?

There is a considerable chance that somewhere out there is another woman who has fallen or will fall victim to his violence. And if this person chooses to report, I want her to have better chances than me. I don’t want it to be her words against his, I want it to be OUR WORDS against his. I want to lay the groundwork for exposing the pattern. If not for myself, then for other women like me.

*The statistics cited here focus on cis women. Trans women and feminine representing non-binary people are affected at an even higher rate.

- Anonymous Survivor