#psychology isn’t for mental health anymore

[r4v3nr0s3]

​therapy was never that people can’t be messy it was that you shouldn’t let your trauma make you cruel.

In her essay Less TikTok, More Screaming, Persinette writes that these e-therapists have turned healing into “a religion, a lifestyle, and above all, a brand” while promoting a culture of isolation and individual optimization. In this ecosystem, “...therapy has become a litmus test for social belonging and inherent goodness, a sign that one is aware of and has adapted to the newest standards of how to behave.”  The social standard this culture offers is one of controlled, placated solitude. Its narrative often insists that you’re surrounded by toxic people who are trying to hurt you, and the only way to ever become the person you’re meant to be is to cut them all off, retreat into a high-gloss cocoon of talk therapy and Notion templates, and emerge a non-emotive butterfly who will surely attract the relationships you’ve always deserved — relationships with other “healed” people, who don’t hurt you or depend on you or force you to feel difficult, taxing emotions. And finally, your life will be as frictionless and shiny as you, alone, have always deserved for it to be.

Rayne Fisher-Quann, no good alone

[weepingtalecowboy]

Considering what Batman did in Gotham war with Jason

A fanfic exploring how everyone (especially Jason) of his children starts genuinely fearing him

Because it is canon that there are more situations where he hit and beat Richard then there are off him hugging him in the comics

He did his hardest to push Tim away he literally tried to kill Jason and then he just mentally broke him because he thought that it was the only way to make him stop being a criminal

He was straight up unsupportive towards Damian and even though he knows that Damian has no idea what a normal life is and how he isn’t allowed to kill anybody because he genuinely has no idea how to navigate society but instead of therapy he just gets berated for something he doesn’t fully understand (and while I don’t excuse his behavior or actions if he was given help like even Richard himself was enough to somewhat help him out at how to actually do things without violence a therapist could probably do much more for him but Richard already shows that just basic support was good enough for a start)

Like considering how he maybe loves them but his own mental health is so bad that the constantly hurts everyone around him

He should not even be near them if he truly loves anyone of them (except if he got psychological treatment and even then he should for the love and happiness of his kids just stay as far away as physically possible)

Batman is a mess and not equipped to raise children let alone vigilantes

he himself isn’t copping well enough to help anyone he is emotionally unstable and has lots of issues but he at least has a nanny who will take care of him when he is neglecting himself but Alfred can’t do everything for everyone and Bruce himself can’t help his family and later Alfred dies anyway making Bruce's kids dependent on him

But Bruce has no idea how to do anything for them (it is not in his range of abilities to play an actual parental role that doesn’t just mean give the kid a home over their head and food)

And while I love his character a lot over the years he is losing his path of justice more and more there are more situations of genuine concern then ever before

It just makes him seem so much more human than ever before

Because no human can live a live of vigilantism without getting more mentally ill over their whole career

After all the military discharges soldiers who are unfit for duty because of mental or physical limitations and problems

It is for their own sake but Bruce wants to fight that fight for as long as he lives

And he is dragging in more and more innocent children into his war against crime

At some point it will be to much like how Jason was killed then brought back wrong

Or Richard snapping and beating him for what he did to his brother who will never be able to fully recover from something that traumatic

Tim already knows that without robin Batman will become a monster even without crossing the line of killing

And then did everything physically possible to stop him from his self destruction

But Batman is made to self destruct there is no way he won’t break at some point (seeing as he already is breaking apart and in Batman beyond he is totally and utterly alone till Terry joins in

A fanfic exploring what would have happened if he was hurt by Nightwing after what he did to Jason is an interesting opportunity to explore

But because at the end of the day everyone knows that Batman is needed they are forced to let him live but they also know that he will actually truly snap if they are not there for him

So everyone starts living at the mansion and in fear of angering him (because there is no Alfred anymore to stop him)

They do everything to keep Jason away from him but they can’t move away anymore because Bruce disapproves at it

And Richard forces himself to interact as much as possible with him so that he focuses on him instead of his younger siblings

But the most important thing is to make sure that he doesn’t find out about their fear of him because they all know that this will make him truly upset (and by now they will never try to even play with fire anymore)

But also he is forced to raise everyone by himself

Has to make sure that Jason feels comfortable enough not to feel adrenaline because that is another problem altogether (which is hard when he immediately starts crying when being in the same room as Bruce)

Has to shield everyone from Bruce because nobody feels safe anymore

And on top of that make food and do chores (as the only good enough cook in the family and Jason no longer being able to do so) and teach the others how to do their chores despite them all being disasters at it (because no Alfred anymore)

And to somehow make it even worse he has to somehow convince Bruce to take care of himself while also trying to not make him any more upset

Then after a few years into that dynamic Bruce and past Bruce swap bodies

And while the whole league of the past and the past Batman immediately think future Bruce is an imposter because he behaves differently from how Batman would they simply tie him up beat him up

Past Bruce is surprised that everyone is at home and speaking to him and just assumes that it’s a good week but quickly realizes that something is wrong like how his entire family is going out of his way except for Dick how he seems extremely nervous about everything he says

How everyone is doing their best to keep Jason away from him

Main While the whole family assume he is having a good week and under no circumstances should they ever try to upset him in any way which is hard when he is constantly seeking them out and asking about Jason

By the point he realized what happens

He proceeds to go and beat up his future self and get therapy because he absolutely hates how everyone is afraid of him

That is not how Batman should ever be seen Batman is a sign of hope for the city not a monster hell bend on hurting criminals

[hellosweetart]

I’ve thought of another route after the asylum ending: where Francis develops schizophrenia after Nacha and Anastacha cut him off. I’m no mental health expert but after doing a bit of research this is what I could come up with so if there’re any inaccuracies, my bad. Francis is completely isolated and locked up in his white room. He’ll never see his wife and daughter again after he kidnapped them and forced them to love him. When they told him they don’t love him anymore, it ultimately broke him. He can try all he wants to escape but he’s all locked up. And now his spirit is so broken that he didn’t have the will to live or find them anymore. Francis spends the rest of his days crying, calling out for Nacha and Anastacha to come back to him or lie down on his bed in a listless catatonic state. Francis won’t eat or take his medication even if the nurses ask him to.

He will create a world where he’s still with his family again, before everything went downhill. He and Nacha are still in love, she fully supports him and cooks him his favourite meals. Anastacha still loves him as a father. He still gets to hug her and say “I love you to his family.” He will create scenarios where they all lovingly spend time together like the park, the pool, the beach, anywhere as long as he gets to spend his every waking moment with them. What Francis isn’t aware of is that he’s actually all alone and that he’s just talking to the walls.

The psychiatrists and detectives observed Francis’s strange behaviour of hearing voices, talking to himself, his catatonia, etc, however since mental health care wasn’t the best so I don’t believe they know how to deal with it. During Francis’s sessions with his psychiatrist, if they try to shatter his perfect delusions, Francis will break into hysterical sobs and will frantically attack his psychiatrist shouting, “No you’re wrong! My wife loves me! My daughter loves me! We’re happy together! I know they love me! We’re in love!”

Francis’s memories will get blurry but if his psychiatrist questions Francis about his past or show something that will trigger any of his awful memories like a pot of hot tea or cigarettes, Francis will become more unstable and will have a mental breakdown, shrieking in fear as vague memories of his father abusing him or his mother psychologically abusing him comes back. Once again the medical assistants have to restrain him.

Eventually, Francis’s delusions would evolve to him regressing into a time when he was still with his mother. Even though his last memories with his mother was traumatic, he still held some love for her and Francis wanted to go back to a time where his mom still loves him.

“Mommy…mommy…” Francis muttered like a sad little boy asking for his mother’s affection, “Mommy…I’m tired… mom…can I ask for a hug… dad’s being cruel again… mom… can you tell me a story…”

He would go from crying fits to happy childlike giggling and vice versa. Soon his delusions would combine where all the three people he loves the most in his life come together as one happy family. He wouldn’t have to experience sadness and loneliness again as long as he has his mother, wife and daughter with him. Sometimes Angus appears as this weird uncle figure/good friend because a part of Francis still cares for him in a morbid way. This shows who Francis is at his core. He was an extremely traumatised and lonely child who went through so much abuse that it turned him into a monster that hurts people yet buried his emotions deep within himself. Everyone in his life abandoned him, including his own family. If no one could truly love him, what else can he do other than create a world where he’s happy with the ones he loves?

After years of being locked up in his padded cell, Francis Mosses is no more. He lost any semblance of what’s left of his former self. All that’s left of him is an empty shell drowning in his own hallucinations and delusions of the comfort of his made up happy family. The doctors would either lobotomise him or wait until the day of his execution.

As the day of his execution comes, Francis will savour his final meal of beef stew and strawberry cheesecake as he cries because it’s tastes just like home, how Nacha made his meals, where he and his family would sit down to have a quiet family dinner together. When Francis is strapped to the electric chair, he could barely make out his surroundings but he thought he saw his wife and daughter at the front stands (and possibly Angus at the back). When the executioner asks for his final words, all Francis could say is, “Nacha…Ana…where are you? I still love you…” before finishing the job.

Angus could only hide the sadness in his eyes with his hat. Even though he’s angry that Francis got himself caught, he still sees him as a friend and a part of him misses him. Nacha and Anastacha are crying into each other’s arms for support. All of their source of trauma is finally over. Despite everything Francis put them through, they don’t truly hate them as they thought they would. They still felt some sympathy for him but nothing could put weight the grief they caused them. Both mother and daughter stuck to each other after the execution since they only have each other now and they’ll learn how to cope with this together.

~ SK Francis anon 🔪

This is definitely one of the worst and saddest endings of the SK fanfic. When he is hallucinating about his family, it reminds me of Alice: Madness Returns, there the protagonist created her own world of imagination.

I can also see that in spite of the trauma SK Francis had inflicted on them, there still part of Nacha and Anastacha that still care for him. They know its a wrong feeling but he has never been physically abusive to them, nor dropped his duty of being husband and a father. They are financially stable thanks to his hard work as a milkman. Its just that...his method of taking care of them is...suffocating. They don't have freedom when he's around. Meanwhile, Angus is weeping inside, not only he lost a companion on his business, but more importantly, his friend and ally.

It may take a looooolng loong way for Nacha and Anastacha to recover from the trauma. Its their life now.

Also, this is pretty silly and funny but can you imagine that during his execution, Isthar Ereskigal appeared and took away Francis.

"AH, my other lover, I finally got you!"

Of course Francis, in deluded state, thought Nacha is talking to him. "Ah, my sweetie. I thought I'll never see you again..."

People around are mortified to see a floating undead female monster took the one of the worst criminal in their century.

Nacha is the most terrified of the bunch because how much she looks just like her. Ana felt the same.

"YOU TWO ENJOY YOUR LIVES! HE IS MINE NOW! HAHAHAHAH"

Then poof, the monster is gone with him.

I am sure Ishtar will "borrow" a potion from Lilith that will make him into a literal monster in Astral Circle.

[queerfandomtrifecta]

I’m in my unhinged-fan-theories-I-know-won’t-happen era since I can’t analyze things seriously anymore because of how awful s2 was.

So that being said, I have left team Jeff’s Adorable Cringefail Inn by the Sea and am now fully on team Jeff’s Psychological Horror Inn by the Sea.

Unsuspecting guests come to stay in what turns out to be just a dilapidated little shack on a remote island run by two men in a relationship where they do anything but talk about their issues. One of them never really wanted to be there to begin with and desperately wants to leave and the yellow wallpaper probably isn’t helping, but the other’s fragile mental health is so dependent upon him that he stays; things got… hard for other people the last time he left, so he’s learned not to do that again. The corpse of a man one of them mutilated again and again and again when he was still alive is buried in the front yard… or is it? There’s clearly growing friction between them but they’re not talking about it or about the familiar rotting smell they can’t find the source of. Their guests (like their former crew) quickly learn they’d better act like everything is Totally Fine as well, if they know what’s good for them.

Like take the names out so you can’t tell what show this is and it’s an absolutely perfect setup for a psychological horror story.

Will it be canon? Apparently anything is canon if I squint hard enough and do the exact right combination of mental gymnastics to make it make sense so why not?

[jagibee]

Call Me Luna Info

Hello dear readers, Mari speaking!

I just wanted to lay down some basic info about my story so that things are clear

- This story will probably not include super explicit smut unless or until I become more comfortable writing it, but due to heavy discussion of sex and suggestive scenes, this is an 18+ work, so it please respect that and MDNI

- The reader has an AFAB body and uses she/her pronouns and I think at some point I will have her wear skirts/dresses, and I decided to divide SKZ in half in regards to how old everyone is compared to the reader for the purpose of honorifics, but I looped Hyunjin in with the younger half since they were born in the same year. I also might have a background for character motivation purposes, so just oc family members and their secondary genders. Other than that, I try to keep it pretty neutral including race, religion, etc. Unfortunately I am limited to my own experiences, so if you feel like I’m not keeping it neutral or I am portraying something incorrectly or problematically, feel free to say something!

- I have ADHD and will deadass forget this story exists unless I have people interacting with me, so please do!

- My chapters will probably be over 1,000 words but I’m really inconsistent other than that so good luck

- This isn’t meant to be an exact biography of Stray Kids obviously so I’m not putting pressure on them or forcing them to be together or anything, also they have less managers and choreographers and sound people just because I don’t really feel like including all of that

- I’ll update when I want

- This is my story, so if you don’t like it, you can just leave without reading anymore!

- This story will deal with physical, verbal, and psychological abuse, as well as slight substance abuse, eating disorders, and mental health issues so please don’t read this if any of these affect you negatively

- Again, I can only go off of my experience so the way the characters in this story deal with things is not meant to be the “correct way” and it may not be relatable to everyone

- If you guys have any theories or ideas for what will happen next, let me know! It’s fun to see how people interpret writing (and maybe I’ll get my next plot point idea😁)

- I really don’t know what direction this will take so I’ll be adding trigger warnings as needed for individual chapters, and if there’s something that I haven’t tagged properly, please tell me! I want everyone to have a good experience with this story

- This story will have cursing, that’s just the way I think and write (and I think we all know the kids curse off camera)

- When any character uses English, I’ll show it like “‘“this”’”

- I’m shit at titles so….. we’re doing chapter numbers, but I might add chapter names later

- Tag list is open! You can send in an ask or message me if you want in! My tumblr is a bit fucked up so I can’t really respond to replies, but I always add you even if I don’t answer

- However, being on my taglist and being able to read my work is ultimately up to me, so if you do or say something that I dislike, I have no problem with blocking you

- I am fine with comments like “can’t wait for the next chapter!” but if it’s something more like “when’s the next part😡” consider it an automatic block, sorry not sorry!

- Liking and reblogging are always appreciated!

- Really, just have fun, stay positive, and (hopefully) enjoy the ride!

Info Regarding ABO

- omegas have heats three times a year for 7-10 days

- alphas have ruts twice a year for 3-6 days

- betas have slips once a year for 4-5 days

- heats include abdomen cramping, change of the omega’s scent, a need to nest, slick, and horniness for most

- heat suppressants are common, they don’t completely take away everything, there is still usually mild cramping, change of the omega’s scent and a need to nest, though they are pretty moderate

- ruts include a stronger scent of the alpha, possessiveness, need to mark their partner or partners, aggression, headaches, and horniness for most

- rut suppressants aren’t nearly as common as heat suppressants but they can tone down a rut to only include headaches, slightly stronger scent, and a bit of aggression

- slips include betas getting a stronger sense of smell and touch and they become very sensitive both physically and emotionally

- slip suppressants are very rare and only tone down a slip by about 20% while making the beta emotionally numb so many don’t like taking suppressants even when they have access

- there are no specific alpha scents or beta scents or omega scents, but in this universe, people can still identify someone’s secondary gender based on their scent

- scent glands are on the wrists and neck but if you put blockers on the neck, the body automatically stops releasing scents from the wrist gland

- scent blockers also lessen the wearer’s sense of smell

- wrist to wrist scentings are for acquaintances, neck to wrists are for good friends, and neck to necks are basically the equivalent of saying “I want you in my life forever” which can be platonic, familial, or romantic

And now onto the masterlist!

[noodle-shenaniganery]

Hello! You can call me Noodle. I have Fox to thank for that nickname.

Please stop sending me Gaza aid asks. I tried, but I do not have the resources to vet them all and it is really negatively impacting my mental health. I have donated to several fundraisers and aid organizations, but I can’t do the ask thing anymore.

Please, please, please, if you can, write to your senators to urge them to support Bernie Sander’s bill to stop giving weapons to Israel. The link I embedded is free, simple, and easy to follow. Millions of lives are at stake.

If you know why @bear-owo and @mentallyillanimal deactivated their accounts, I would appreciate being told.

Here is a list of reasons to live, if you’re struggling to find some. Here is a list of hotlines. Here is a self-care masterpost. I’m always here as a friendly stranger, if needed.

Here are some helpful posts if you’re struggling with handling the election results.

Here is a list of genuinely useful life hacks.

Do you feed your pet Blue Buffalo? Please don’t.

About Me

I am nonbinary and neptunic (or lesbian, if that makes more sense, though I’m also likely some flavor of aro/ace?), and anything other than she/her pronouns are fine with me.

I am white, trilingual (Portuguese, Spanish, and English, though I’m learning ASL), and from Brazil. 🇧🇷 Oi, gente!

I am also autistic, and have *breathes in dramatically* social anxiety disorder, generalized anxiety disorder, major depressive disorder, obsessive-compulsive disorder, trichotillomania, dermatillomania, and maladaptive daydreaming issues (it isn’t officially a disorder yet). I am able-bodied and have relatively low support needs.

As you may be able to tell, I don’t really have that good of a sense of what is and isn’t private, so I’ll probably answer any questions you may have! Ask away if you feel like it!

My special interests are: snakes, atypical psychology, Greek mythology, and Egyptian mythology. I also like horror as a genre, as well as art in general.

Some more specific things I like, though, include The Owl House, Extraordinary Attorney Woo, She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, Five Nights At Freddy’s, Heartbreak High, Heartstopper, Young Royals, Gravity Falls, Red, White, And Royal Blue, Nimona, Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, Melanie Martinez, Sub Urban, Jack Stauber, and Evelyn Evelyn. Feel free to rant to me about any of these!

Warnings

Since I am autistic, I struggle with social interactions and understanding things. I would appreciate patience.

If I make mistakes, please tell me! Also, I swear I am pretty much never trying to be rude, offensive, or insulting, even if it seems that way. If I say something wrong/bigoted/misleading, please let me know! If my blog isn’t accessible, please let me know how I can improve it (I try to include image descriptions on most of my own images, though unfortunately I struggle with adding them to others’). This is meant to be a safe space. :D

Interactions

I love interacting with folks on here! If you ever want to send me a message, or an ask, or a vent, feel free to do so!

I reblog, like… a lot.

I swear occasionally. Not that often, though.

I don’t technically have much of a tagging system, though I do tag posts that involve someone needing help with “help help help” and asks with “ask ask ask ask”.

Terminology Stuff

To avoid misunderstandings, this is how I use certain terms (and honestly, the only ways they should be used):

Nonspeaking - Not able to reliably communicate through speech (long-term).

Nonverbal - Not able to reliably communicate through speech, and sometimes words (long-term).

A lot of people who cannot speak use this term, and it’s important to respect their preferences.

Important posts about these: https://www.tumblr.com/five-thousand-loaves-of-bread/712714609459593216/my-frustration-with-going-nonverbalnonspeaking

https://www.tumblr.com/five-thousand-loaves-of-bread/755083096785813504/wish-people-actually-respect-me-respect-my

Delusion - A clinically recognisable belief held by an individual who cannot be convinced otherwise, even though the belief is objectively false.

Psychotic - Experiencing psychosis: experiencing things disconnected from reality on a clinical level.

Psychopath - Someone who has Anti-Social Personality Disorder (term has a complex history, though).

Narcissist - Someone who has Narcissistic Personality Disorder.

Do Not Interact List

I don’t really have a DNI list. Just like. Don’t be mean? If you send me something mean, I will likely not be significantly bothered by it.

I am not trying to start fights. If you are trying to start a fight, and not a genuine discussion, please leave.

I do not tolerate hate against my mutuals of any kind. If you are mean to them, respectfully, please get out.

[bellelikesmcyt]

guys this is me yapping but here me out-

i’m getting really into psychology- like want to change my college major to psychology. and it’s made me realise a lot.

i don’t believe in good people or bad people anymore. we have people who do good things, and people who do bad things, but it’s all based off our own moral compass, which is unique.

people’s moral compasses might consider me “bad” for supporting wilbur and not supporting shovel by default. but mine considers this “good”. see where i’m coming from?

obviously, there’s a few exceptions (hitler, trump, ted bundy and the like), but this is what i’ve come to believe.

wilbur isn’t a good person. wilbur isn’t a bad person. wilbur is a person who’s done good things and bad things. i don’t want people to think he’s never done anything bad in his life, because nobody is flawless like that.

shovel isn’t a good person. shovel isn’t a bad person. shovel is a person who’s done good things and bad things. i don’t want people to think she’s never done anything good in her life, because nobody is flawed to that degree.

i’m not a good person. i’m not a bad person. i’m a person who’s done good things and bad things. i don’t want people to think i’ve never done anything good/never done anything bad in my life, because i’m human.

we have to decide what our own moral compasses make us view the world through. there’s always nuance in the world.

i hope this helps #wss feel better about things, because i know our mental health has been pretty shitty this year. if you have any psychology related questions about this whole situation (which, ironically, is the reason i want to go into psychology), please ask away :)

[until-another-one-comes]

More serial killer Francis headcanons part 8:

Tw for murder, past abuse, trauma, SH, death and suicide

Regarding generational trauma, Francis’s abusive dad (I’ll call him Richard) also had an abusive bringing. To top it all off, he was a war veteran that was discharged from the army with undiagnosed mental illnesses such as PTSD and IED. I’ll just say he was already a horrible human being who treats people like crap and isn’t mentally sound either (like his son). Meanwhile Francis’s mom is a naive country woman who Richard knocked up one night and married her out of convenience. He doesn’t give a crap about his family at all. He treats them like a nuisance and is physically abusive towards his wife and Francis, thus the cycle continues.

As you already know, Francis mom was kind to him but turned psychologically abusive after she had gone insane from her husband’s abuse (it seems that mental illness and insanity runs in the Mosses family). One part I wanted to add to Francis’s story is that while he was treating his mother’s pneumonia, his mother threw the hot water at Francis in her crazed state. She saw her abusive husband in Francis, yells at him to go away and says that she could never love a monster like him. As you can imagine, it traumatised with Francis his entire life.

Francis was a lonely wallflower type of kid at school. While the kids bully him for being an extension of his father, Francis wanted to fit in and be appreciated for once. So he tried his best to help his peers or the teachers anyway they can but they usually turn him down and sneer at him because they saw him as weak and a trashy human being. So Francis gave up on his hopes on being liked by his peers.

Francis hates the thought of serving in the military because a) that would mean he’s following in his father’s footsteps b) drafting himself in the war would make his mental state much worse than it already is.

He found a milkman job through a newspaper ad. Even after he had gone insane after killing his father, Francis wanted to start a new peaceful life for himself (at first). He thought by delivering milk to people would give him some purpose in life since he’s helping the community but after he started his killing spree and his mental health declined, he never saw the point in anything anymore and keeps on working as a milkman as a means to survive.

Francis’s second victim was the first of many housewives he would later on kill. She was also unfortunately a catalyst for the start of Francis’s murder sprees. Francis got a compliment by her a couple of times when he delivered the milk to her. At first, Francis was extremely confused and flustered why she kept flattering him until one day she suggested they have an affair. Francis accepted believing that the housewife might’ve loved him and he thought he can finally be cared for. He was afraid of showing his body to her but he let go of his fears for once just to sleep with her. However once they were about to do it, the housewife was disgusted when she saw Francis’s scar ridden body and backs out. She couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. This deeply hurts Francis because he was only seen as an object for the housewife to escape her mundane marriage. In his eyes, all his value was to her was nothing but a sex object that she can throw away. Francis’s body image decreased significantly and he only saw himself as ugly. In a fit of rage and sadness, Francis tortured and killed the housewife for using him before dumping her body where no one can find her.

From that day on, Francis swore revenge on the housewives who wanted to use him to escape their marriage because he wanted to take his anger out on them for seeing him as a tool they can discard and by extension his father for his infidelity.

Other than that, his co workers and neighbours never bothered to get to know him as a person. Whenever anyone would strike a conversation with him, Francis doesn’t know what to say to continue their conversation. All he does is reply with a short sentence or the usual “mmm…” because he’s never made a friend before so he doesn’t know how he can reply. So everyone ends up ignoring him because they perceive him as a boring man with nothing to offer. Soon, Francis began believing it himself. He has no interests or passions other than killing so there’s nothing he has he can bond with people. He saw himself as an invaluable person with an empty life so why should anyone care for him.

Francis unsurprisingly has self destructive tendencies such as not eating or sleeping when he’s supposed to as well as smoking and drinking on his own. He tried self harming but it only made his scars worse so he stopped.

With his abusive upbringing couple with mental illnesses, his homicidal nature, his misanthropy along with his deep self hatred and negative body image, it’s no wonder Francis is so fucked up. At his core, Francis is an unloved crying child who was never saved. He craved to live a normal life where he can be loved and appreciates but with the lifestyle he led, he knew it was an impossible dream. He was doomed to live a life of misery, violence and loneliness.

Depending on how Francis dies, he’ll live his afterlife as a ghost. If he dies peacefully or kills himself in his own room, his ghost will haunt his own apartment and will cause disturbances and nightmares for the next tenants

If Francis dies via electric chair, his ghost will take on the form of blue light energy shaped into his figure with hollow black eyes and a wide smile like the Hoon Man.

Or if he dies via natural causes, suicide or gets killed, Francis’s ghost will take on a darker, more disheveled form such as having longer shaggier hair, hollow black eyes that cry black blood and with the biggest frown and a loose ruffled white dress shirt drenched in the blood of his victims.

Either way, Francis’s ghost will be transported to the nightmare realm where his ghost haunts the astral circle and its residents. Many of them question why his ghost look like their fellow neighbour Yog Sothoth.

Like the masked ghost, the doorman has to let Francis’s ghost in. Calling the DDD can result in a jump scare and immediate death for the doorman.

Even after death, Francis can never find peace.

So that’s it for now. By the way, I’m writing two fanfics based on this SK Francis now, one detailing Francis’s backstory and the other one featuring milk bread featuring yandere Francis. I’ll send it to you once I’m done.

More backstory time! Off topic but backstories are one of my fave types of headcanons

I really like the backstory you give Francis's parents, especially his dad. It explains his actions but doesn't excuse them

Gah damn not even death can free him thats so fucked up 😭

Oooh looking forward to your fic anon!

[potol0ver]

Wine and paperwork.

(Lucifer angst.)

a/n; did I make my head cannon/theory about Lucifer into a fanfic? Yes, yes I did.

Warnings; referenced abused but not explicit, talk about mental health.

How many times has he pushed himself like this? Truly only god knows at this point, but that’d be if he even still watches over his first virtue-turned-sin. Lucifer like most nights found himself leaning over paperwork, gaining a headache because of the legal talk.

He skimmed and noted what he needed to do before signing and moving to the next paper. Again, skim, sign, next paper, skim, sign, next paper, skim-

”And I believe he should be knocked down a title because he isn’t worthy.”

Lucifer froze for a moment, of course this was just a recorded statement someone made against Mepho because they didn’t like him. Lucifer knew that. It was just a simple argument that had nothing to do with him.

Nothing…

And yet he’s yet he’s taken back to when he was an Angel… those words forced him to remember something just on the edge of his mind, something he would’ve liked to forget about forever.

He was in a big room, with another Angel… Micheal maybe? Hard to say but they had six wings and were tall like him. They we’re speaking to someone he couldn’t see.

“I believe he should be knocked down a title because he isn’t worthy. What arch-angel let alone virtue lets something like this happen father?”

That’s right… he was in trouble… but for what? He couldn’t remember… he couldn’t remember the punishment either… but he could remember being uncomfortable… being in pain… being violated by it… and something in his mind cracking because of it.

That’s when he met that voice, he pushed it off at first. Not wanting another voice other than his own in his head. Especially one that seemed to know nothing but anger and being defensive.

He hated when its words accidentally came out instead of his own, he hated that he couldn’t remember small areas of the day because it was more in control than he was… he didn’t like having this alter.

Lucifer messing up enough to be punished was few and far between, but the punishments were always harsh. In order to deal with the mental aftermath of them, he overworked himself. When that wasn’t enough, he found himself getting another baby brother even though he already had two… then two more… then a baby sister….

He loved all of them, he did. He even came to terms with the voice in his head that wasn’t his. He treated them all like siblings, they all helped him more than they realized in their own way.

He never felt a similar feeling from when the voice entered his head… until the fall…

It felt like a part of him got ripped off, that cracked part of him finally broke off, the voice got torn from him…

That’s how Satan was born…

Of course, since being down in Devildom things changed their relationship, they never talked about the times when Satan was his alter. Lucifer supposes that’s why he hates being compared to him…

Satan was stuck too long in a body, name, and mind that wasn’t his, and he didn’t want to be connected to it anymore. It does hurt in a way, but he gets it, he wouldn’t want to live in the shadow of someone else too. Besides he knows Satan deep down cares for him like he cares for Satan, there’s no need to feel this sadness… this emptiness now…

Even if Lucifer wanted to deny it, they’d see through his facade if they knew the whole story. Lucifer got used to Satan being in his mind, he got comfortable with it and even leaned on it at times. Now they’re two completely different people, creating a hole at the back of his brain that won’t fill.

Lucifer did his research once things settled in Devildom, about why the hell Satan formed and how that was possible. He searched every magical being book, every spell book, even old fable books to see if anything seemed familiar. None of it did, not a single story in any book seemed correct enough to fit what happened with Satan.

He was in his psychology class in RAD when he finally got his answer, DID, Dissociative Identity Disorder…

He got a damned disorder because of what he went through in heaven, and it was his powerful magic that caused all of this…

After that day Lucifer was stalked by a shroud of realization, he thought it’d bring relief but no it was like a looming shadow. It forced him to realize what the hell was happening to him in heaven, it now made sense why he felt dread thinking back to then even though he couldn’t remember a lot, his damned pride didn’t let him think anything was wrong.

He tries his best to forget it, reading, music, instruments, and even overworking himself like how he avoided his problems back then.

So now Lucifer just sits in his study, with wine in one hand, and a pen in the other, obsessively focusing on his paperwork when he knows it can be pushed off. He won’t though, he needs something mind-numbing to forget what happened…

Hopefully, the wine can help him forget his problems that brought the avatar of pride to tears of fear when thought about to long.

a/n; surprise!!! Fan fic out of nowhere after being radio silent.

I’ve had this theory for SO LONG about Lucifer and Satan, and I need to know y’all’s opinion on it. As a person with DID I thought about this concept as a joke except now I don’t think it’s a joke anymore-

[beardedmrbean]

U.S. Surgeon General Vivek Murthy on Monday called on Congress to require a tobacco-style warning for visitors to social media platforms.

In an op-ed published in The New York Times, Murthy said the mental health crisis among young people is an urgent problem, with social media “an important contributor.”

He said his vision of the warning includes language that would alert users to the potential mental health harms of the websites and apps.

"A surgeon general’s warning label, which requires congressional action, would regularly remind parents and adolescents that social media has not been proved safe," he wrote.

In 1965, after the previous year’s landmark report from Surgeon General Luther L. Terry that linked cigarette smoking to lung cancer and heart disease, Congress mandated unprecedented warning labels on packs of cigarettes, the first of which stated, “Caution: Cigarette Smoking May Be Hazardous to Your Health.”

Murthy said in the op-ed, “Evidence from tobacco labels shows that surgeon general’s warnings can increase awareness and change behavior.” But he acknowledged the limitations and said a label alone wouldn't make social media safe.

Steps can be taken by Congress, social media companies, parents and others to mitigate the risks, ensure a safer experience online and protect children from possible harm, he wrote.

In the op-ed, Murthy linked the amount of time spent on social media to the increasing risk that children will experience symptoms of anxiety and depression.

The American Psychological Association says teenagers spend nearly five hours every day on top platforms such as YouTube, TikTok and Instagram. In a 2019 study, the association found the proportion of young adults with suicidal thoughts or other suicide-related outcomes increased 47% from 2008 to 2017, when social media use among that age group soared.

And that was before the pandemic triggered a year's worth of virtual isolation for the U.S. In early 2021, amid continued pandemic lockdowns, Murthy called on social media platforms to “proactively enhance and contribute to the mental health and well-being of our children.”

In January, at a Senate Judiciary Committee hearing about social media’s impact on young people, Meta CEO Mark Zuckerberg apologized to parents who said the Meta platform Instagram contributed to their children’s suicides or exploitation.

“I’m sorry for everything you’ve all gone through,” he said. “It’s terrible. No one should have to go through the things that your families have suffered.”

A surgeon general's public health advisory on social media’s mental health published last year cited research finding that among its potential harms are exposure to violent and sexual content and to bullying, harassment and body shaming.

Murthy also focused in the 2023 advisory on what social media doesn't seem to do: It doesn't always enhance mental health through the proven method of face-to-face interaction.

"For too many children, social media use is compromising their sleep and valuable in-person time with family and friends," he said in a statement last year announcing the health advisory.

At a conference about the youth mental health crisis last month, Murthy said, "It’s no longer the culture for people to talk to each other anymore."

He has been careful to note that research on the matter isn’t conclusive, with much of it finding correlations between time spent on social media and negative mental health effects but without establishing cause and effect.

“More research is needed to fully understand the impact of social media,” he said in the advisory last year.

And he has acknowledged that social media can help teenagers find community, connection and a place for self-expression.

The companies behind the world’s most popular social media platforms had yet to respond to the op-ed Monday.

If you or someone you know is in crisis, call or text 988 to reach the Suicide and Crisis Lifeline or chat live at 988lifeline.org. You can also visit SpeakingOfSuicide.com/resources for additional support.

If you or someone you know is struggling with an eating disorder, visit The National Eating Disorders Association’s website.

[itsclydebitches]

Hi, I stopped watching RWBY midway through volume 5 and basically only keep up with it through your blog which has made volume 9 quite a trip. Anyway, I've got to ask what the fuck is going on in episode 9? The team is happy about Ruby drinking the tea???

I literally cannot imagine being you right now lol. Experiencing RWBY solely through this blog?? Absolutely wild concept. How does it feel being blindsided on a weekly basis? XD

But to actually answer your question... yes? The tea is heavily framed as a suicide attempt, given that Ruby drinks it after a physical and psychological beating from Neo, with the intent of not being Ruby Rose anymore, after Neo herself entices her with it because, as we know, she wants revenge on Ruby for (in her mind) killing Roman. There’s no version of Episode 8 in which this is framed as a positive action. However, at the same time the show has been pushing the idea that Ascension (AKA what Ruby has done by drinking the tea) is ultimately a good thing; a way for those who have fulfilled their purpose to finally move on and achieve something new. Now, however harmful a message that might be from our perspective, the show has made it clear that this is natural for an Afteran, so I could sort of buy it as a cultural difference...

Provided the show had explained how losing your memories/even your physical body isn’t a "real" kind of death.

If we hadn’t seen a character dragged off against their will, forced to Ascend despite clearly being opposed to the idea.

If our “best” version of the journey didn’t come from the Paper Pleasers, a group with cult-like undertones that are so obsessed with Ascension they orchestrate daily attempts at physical harm/suicide in order to achieve it.

If any one of the characters had bothered to consider whether this would be good for Ruby, a human who does not come from this world, especially after it’s explicitly pointed out that she shouldn’t be able to Ascend.

If any one of the characters had considered that Ruby doesn't have a defined purpose that she has completed and thus has no need to undergo the Be Assigned a New Purpose Ritual.

And if most of this information hadn’t come from the Cat, a manipulative (according to the heroes) party later revealed to be a Super Duper Evil Villain.

So even within the realm of ‘This is a good thing, just a cultural difference!’ there is a LOT of negative implications that the story hasn’t bothered to unpack. But here, in Episode 9, the group continues to ignore all of it. They see that the Paper Pleasers, after drowning themselves, have come back as the Genial Gems. Does it matter that they had to undergo such a horrific event in order to achieve that upgrade? No. Does it matter that they no longer remember Jaune, a friend who lived with them for years? No. Does it matter that they found Ruby beaten and bloody, being given the tea by Neo while a fake Roman talks about how the world would be better off without her, after she ran from them all post-meltdown because she (rightly) believes that no one cares about her mental health? No! All that matters is that the Gems came back “better” - with “better” defined as now being impervious to water and fire - so that means Ruby will definitely come back “better” too. Hurrah!

The characters don’t care about the horrors that it took to get Ruby to this place, or that she committed magical suicide in front of them, or that Neo helped orchestrate all this, or that Little was lying dead in front of her. All they care about is how this was supposedly Ruby’s “choice” and if she doesn’t come back as the same Ruby they knew, that can only be a good thing because - again - she chose to do this.

(I need to make a separate post on how no, this is not a choice in the way RWBY is framing it. There's a reason why we discuss depression as an illness. You don't "choose" it any more than you choose to die of cancer.)

I can’t emphasize enough that the message of Episode 9 couched in metaphor is, “Yes, if you hate yourself dying is an option. Agency is the most important thing, so if someone wants to die, you need to let them die and accept that fighting for them is selfish (remember Penny?). Lucky for the heroes, they exist in a magical world where death has a reset button, so choosing suicide is an even smarter choice because then you can reflect on that choice and possibly come back with a cool upgrade!”

Yang has one (1) moment where she freaks a little after seeing Ruby encased in the tree, but Blake, Weiss, and Jaune talk her down because remember Yang, your sister chose this. It’s a good thing.

The rest of the episode is this vibe. Behold, the team literal minutes after watching a psychologically terrorized, physically beaten Ruby try to kill herself:

[onthevirgeofdestruction]

Ghost Furbies?

Words: 1,713 Warnings: Unreality, Delusions, Hallucinations, Playful Violence (via pillows), Questionable Health Choices, Overthinking, Entrapment, Don’t Do This Characters: Virgil, Remus Ships: Platonic and/or Ambiguous Dukexiety Universe: And they were Roommates Genre: Crack Extra Tags: Humour, Furbies, Sleepy Cuddles (violence style)

   Toh-dye. Virgil looked up and around the room, the shadows crawling in the corners unlit by his desk light. He wasn’t sure where that noise came from, and it was incredibly weird. It sounded very real. But it also sounded like a furby toy. And that didn’t seem right. He was home alone. Remus had left with Remy to go out hours ago. He reached up to check his ears for headphones, but all he felt was jewelry. Alright. Well. Unless he was haunted by a fucking furby, he didn’t know what to do with that.

   He glanced over at the clock, still blinking 12:00 at him. Boo toh-loo a-loh. What does that furby want? Virgil still hadn’t set the time, so it was incredibly pointless. Or maybe he set it once upon a time, then unplugged again it for staring at him. It did look annoyingly smug for a clock. Virgil reached around blindly for his phone and picked it up, checking the time on there. Yup. Awake fifty-two hours now. Still not tired. Not sure what he did wrong, but he didn’t really want to go to bed at this point. Way-loh. Though the last set of nightmares helped him never want to sleep again, too. So it could be a little right. But it still felt wrong. Other than the furby noises.

   There was something about this room. Or the weather. Possibly his roommate. They were best friends, but he didn’t fully trust the guy as far as he could throw him. Could be Virgil’s diet, right? Remus approved of him eating nothing but a bag of twizzlers and pop-rocks filled soda, but they went to the dollar store together to wrangle together something resembling dinner. Remus had swedish fish and canned dog food. That seemed worse, and he slept okay. They split that soda, even. Or was he just wrong about all of reality in the first place?

   Virgil sanity got called into question often, and Logan would say something about ‘sanity not being a viable gauge of mental health or the human condition, and is largely used derogatorily against people with psychological disorders and not for any medical purpose’. At the time he explained it, it made perfect sense, but now he was pretty certain he can’t be fixed so hard that he’s dead and possibly even a ghost? He had to be a ghost. Who doesn’t sleep for fifty-two hours and still isn’t tired? He isn’t even hungry. Virgil kind of feels like he’s… buzzing under his skin. Dah boh-bay. But that’s all he feels. He isn’t even sure he cares about anything. He doesn’t even care about the furby noises anymore. That sounded like classic ghost behaviour.

   The sound of the front door unlocking moved through his head passively, but not enough to fully register what it was. He wasn’t sure if that was the gears of the furby that haunted him or not. Noh-lah. And the furby now wants to dance, so the gears grind loudly as it rocks back and forth, making noises from its little plastic beak only translatable by the gods. Yup. He’s haunted by furbies, he’s pretty certain. Ghosts probably get haunted all the time. That’s what it’s called when ghosts hang out with each other because they can’t hang out with alive people. Speaking of, he’s also not sure when he last left the apartment. But ghosts can maybe leave the apartment. Maybe that’s not proof.

   “Virgil.”

   Not being hungry or sleeping thing was evidence, though. Virgil held up his palm and crept in to poke it. Reality glitched in little rectangles as he poked his palm, so pressed again, just to confirm. No, he’s not intangible. Or wait, if he was intangible, he wouldn’t go through himself, would he? Or maybe it’s an unconscious thing. His legs are buzzing too much to go try to walk through a wall, and he would probably have to surprise himself to get it to work. Things always seemed to work like that, stuff being simple was rare. What else did ghosts have?

   “Virge.”

   They’re see through, right? Virgil stared at his palm, forgetting what he was looking for. There was that furby gear sound again. It wants food. Doo-moh. The Furby hungers. Ay-tay. Feed it. Oh, right, invisibility. Wait. He’d still see himself again. Or it’s unconscious again, probably. Wait, what’s unconscious? Not him, that’s for sure. He doesn’t even know how many days that is.

   “Virgilius.”

   Can he even do math? He doesn’t think ghosts can do math. No, that’s not a thing ghosts are known for. Yeah, that’s evidence he’s a ghost. Can’t do math. Ghosts can’t drive, either. More proof he’s dead. Can’t get a license if you’re dead. Or if you keep getting psyched out and not taking the damned driver’s test, too, technically, but you can’t prove that’s not because he’s a ghost. Nobody can. There’s more proof that he’s a ghost than he isn’t.

   “Virgil!”

   Kkoh-koh. That furby keeps ghost-talking in his head. Lee-koo. Virgil groaned out a haunted noise, dancing his fingers in the air at themselves, still hunched over on his desk chair and staring down. Yup, ghost-like behaviour. No fighting it. He’s been dead this whole time. At least the furby gear grinding noise stopped.

   Virgil found himself floating out of the chair now, and he couldn’t help but hum delightedly in pure vindication. This made sense. He bounced over his bed and looked up at the ceiling, not really sure how he’d gotten here. Ghosts must teleport. A pillow landed hard on his face, and he blinked up, watching it rise and fall again, wondering if this made him a poltergeist.

   “Hey, fuckface!” Remus cried out, slamming the pillow down on his face again. “Are you fucking catatonic or what?”

   “No, I’m just dead,” Virgil shook his head. “Wait, you can see me?” He asked in surprise, pointing up to his face.

   “Can you see or hear *me? I’ve been trying to get your attention for ages!” Remus shot, flailing a hand with a bunch of glow stick bracelets on his wrist in the air.

   “Oh shit, am I the only human in a world of ghosts? What a twist,” Virgil hummed and nodded in satisfaction. What a nice ending. He liked that. Noo-loo.

   The pillow came down on his head. “Go”—more fuzz to the face—“to”—pillow punched—“sleep”—fluff fight—“you”—caution: cushion—“sleep-deprived”—downed by down—“dumpster fire!” The pillowed stayed pushed down on Virgil’s face until he struggled to breathe. He panicked at the lack of oxygen, flailing and shoving off the cushion and throwing it across the room as he gasped for air. A sullen Koo-doh from the furby.

   “Dude, what is your damage?” Virgil hissed, glowering at Remus, who seemed unfazed by the whole interaction, sporting a bored look and picking at his ear with his pinky.

   “What’s yours, webs-for-brains? I called your name four times, threw you on the bed, and socked you with a pillow. Nothing. Nada. It took some half-assed asphyxiating to get you to even react,” Remus stated matter-of-factly, picking at a bit of lint on his torn-up shirt.

   “That’s not a reason to fucking suffocate me!” Virgil shot, throwing the other pillow at him. It rebounded off of him to the floor, and he kicked it away without looking.

   “I let up as soon as you reacted,” Remus scoffed, rolling his eyes. “Are you going to sleep, or what?” He demanded to know, his eyes set in a hard line and his hand dropping to his hip.

   “Or what,” Virgil repeated with a scowl on his face.

   Remus smiled, tilting his head. “Then it’s time to play babysitter. It’s way past your bedtime, young man.” Remus’s grin grew wider, and he yanked at the blankets. In a swift move, he knocked Virgil over onto the bed and tucked the sheets around him tight, then fell on top of him and kept him pinned down. E-day may-lah.

   Virgil was stunned, questioning the reality of the situation. He attempted to break free from the blanket, but Remus didn't let go, keeping Virgil pinned to the bed. Both Virgil’s pillows were across the room, and he was under his partied-out roommate that smelled like questionable decisions and energy drinks, and he had no idea how he got here other than something about ghost furbies, because he had no memory of the past few… any.

   The confinement was uncomfortable, so thrashed some more, but the weight of Remus grew on him and he calmed down in just a few final flails. His face broke into a wide, shuddering yawn. He struggled to breathe in deep, and Remus shifted slightly to give him more room, and the extra space to breathe just made him yawn again. Actually, maybe this wasn’t so bad. As long as the ghost furbies stayed shut up. He heard no weird noises in what felt like a while. He’s not even sure what the problem was anymore. Was there even a problem?

   “Remus, what…” Virgil trailed off, yawning again, and it was starting to hurt his jaw. “What flavour is that smell?”

   “Green apple wildberry pineapple-mango blue razzle-dazzle mix,” Remus responded with an oddly self-satisfied tone.

   “Smells kinda… good,” Virgil stated, his eyes slipping closed. “Can I have some?”

   “Sure, emo. Count to six-six-six and I’ll give you a sip,” Remus answered playfully, reaching up to pat the top of his head before returning to his cuddle death-grip.

   “Okay. One. Two. Three…” Virgil’s head felt wobbly, and he scrunched up his face. He couldn’t rub it with his hand, so he leaned up to rub it on Remus’s head. “Four. Five. Six.” The volume tapered down after his head fell back to the bed. What was he counting for again? “Seven. Eight. Nine.” He yawned once more, and his entire head hurt from doing it. “Ten. Eleven. Twelve.” The numbers came out as a slurred together mumble. “Thirteen,” Virgil whispered, and he didn’t make it any farther. Remus didn’t let up until he was snoring, and all he did was go turn out the light before he crawled back into bed, pulling Virgil close, who rolled into him with an unintelligible murmur.

[vizthedatum]

I still think that “narcissism” is a helpful term (and I do view it differently than the eponymous diagnosis which was coined in the 1900s), but I am coming around to seeing the value (especially as someone who can finally start to articulate the behaviors I’ve experienced) of describing what I’ve gone through without using the term.

I still don’t think the usage of the term is ableist, and this isn’t a post justifying that. I will not respond to any people or comments about why I should not use the term. If you wanna debate, then debate on your own blog instead of policing someone’s language.

I just think that, from a survivor-mindset where the survivor may or may not have a psychology background but is seeking resources and help, it is helpful for our growth to say what happened:

—

They were purposely and intentionally antagonistic towards me when they wanted to be so that they could get their way in the relationship, without regard for my mental and physical health.

I enabled these behaviors, and I also had maladaptive behaviors of my own. I fawned to avoid conflict a lot.

I am aware that I severely “betrayed” my ex-spouse’s trust by leaving our marriage, telling my friends it was domestic violence (which I truly believed and still do), filing a protective order, and demanding my share of our assets.

I am aware that I hurt my ex-spouse by the constant fighting we both engaged in the last year of our relationship.

I am aware that they thought I cheated on them even though I told them about all my dalliances, under our agreement that we had a poly and open relationship. They wanted to be in control of who I fell in love with, even though they knew I wanted to be publicly poly since we initially dated.

I am aware that my chronic health issues and my depressive modes were “too much” for them to handle, becoming an inconvenience for them, especially during the pandemic.

I am aware that they think that I’m endangering people with my current Covid precaution strategy, which is more “lax” and more realistic than their privileged stance of staying indoors the whole time while not getting vaccinated regularly.

I am aware that they and whoever they’ve told about our situation think I’m absolutely unhinged, abusive, selfish, insecure, insensitive, ableist, etc.

I’ve been aware of all this and more FOR A LONG TIME. I might be autistic and traumatized, but I’m not dumb - I knew they’d turn on me once our relationship was over by their standards (aka they couldn’t control me anymore).

—

My ex lied and manipulated me, consistently. They emotionally harmed me. They threw temper tantrums. They knowingly put me in toxic situations. They warped my mind without my consent.

They didn’t want to go to therapy, let alone couples’ counseling.

They played me, and I fell for it.

They will likely never apologize, and they paint me out to be the abuser or toxic person. They are unlikely to take any accountability for systematically ruining my life - because they don’t think they have.

—

I LOVED THEM AND I MISS SO MANY THINGS. I WAS IN LOVE WITH THEM. I doubled down on my love, with blind faith.

—

Fuck them. I hope they work on themselves.

I forgive myself for even being in that situation.

I’m so glad I never had any children or pets with them.

[enchaentd]

repost and bold what applies to your muse: health edition.  ˎˊ˗            gets colds easily - has a chronic condition - has had major surgery - has had minor surgery - suffers from spring allergies - has broken a bone - has a sensitive stomach - gets headaches easily - has anxiety - has depression - is prone to panic attacks - bruises easily - has had a major health scare - has lost a loved one to health issues - pushes themselves when sick - is a poor patient - is a good patient - ignores signs of poor health in themselves - is a hypochondriac - has undiagnosed health issues - isn’t bothered by medical settings - hates medical settings

has broken a bone: especially in her childhood, she would frequently climb trees. she still does. she’s also fairly clumsy, again, still true. it definitely happened once or twice (or more) when her mother cared enough to heal them with some sort of magic. but they absolutely never went to a hospital, and olette never reached out for help, otherwise.

has a sensitive stomach: listen, i’m definitely projecting because of my own tummy issues. but all i know is tummy hurt her, she’s so brave. it’s often a sensitive reaction from her anxiety.

has anxiety: so much, all the time. she really tries to be chill and casual and carefree and in so many ways, she is. but she also tries to project it, because she is filled with so much worry, for everyone and everything all the time.

has depression: she experiences extreme seasonal depression when it gets cold out, all of winter and some of fall. as the world outside starts to decay and wilt for winter, she does, too, just emotionally. it’s almost hibernating. she stays inside and feels a lot of fatigue, isolates at the cottage which, of course only makes it worse. she sleeps for days at a time.

is prone to panic attacks: not severely prone, but it is true that she’s very easily overwhelmed, and doesn’t do well in times of high stress, especially without support. it happens a lot less often than it could because so much of her trauma comes from her mother, who isn’t around her anymore. it’s italicized because there are definitely events and dynamics i’ve plotted that would easily trigger a panic attack from her.

bruises easily: this is just true. is there anything to add here?

is a poor patient / is a good patient: listen… she’s very obedient and submissive (in the not nsfw way, in this context) and so eager to please everyone and anyone. so she’s a good patient in that sense, but she hates to be a burden so much that she will insist she’s fine and try to do things that she really shouldn’t, because she’s trying to help. you gotta give her a stern(-ish) talking to and she’ll listen and be still, or whatever is needed. she just really needs verbal communication that It’s Okay.

ignores signs of poor health in themselves: yeah… oopsies. to be fair to her, her fae blood prevents a lot of common sickness/virus from getting to her. so when she gets sick, it’s typically something really bad. she’s not great at asking for help when there’s any potential to be a burden.

has undiagnosed health issues: never been diagnosed with anything, ever, thanks. she definitely has more mental health issues/diagnoses than physical. [psychology + mental health deep dive]

hates medical settings: she has general formal medical anxiety, which is fueled by how much her mother poisoned them against her in her youth. she’s very, very afraid of hospitals and doctors. i don’t know how she went through school without vaccinations and records, it’s fae magic.

tagging;   you, steal this and say i tagged you!

[appreciatingtokrev]

of loving men and /loving/ men

link to ao3

rating: t (rated t for mentions/descriptions of abuse, neglect, trauma, death, and grief)

archive warnings: chose not to use archive warnings

relationships: kisaki hideko (kisaki tetta’s mother) & kisaki tetta

characters: kisaki hideko (kisaki tetta’s mother)

additional tags: hanma shuji, mentioned kisaki tetta, kisaki tetta dies, kisaki tetta’s father, non-linear narrative, angst, hurt no comfort, character study, relationship study, regret, grief/mourning, family issues, physical abuse, emotional/psychological abuse, past domestic violence, neglect, child neglect, past child abuse, trauma, mental health issues, minor character death, canonical character death, original character death(s)

wordcount: ~4.3k

notes: her name is (with permission) directly taken from the diary of a boy who will never be missed by @/ruoyeah on ao3 btw,, this fic is also inspired by said work, as well as mourning sickness by @/dazed (spiritscript), also on ao3!! also i think i could write abt hideko forever i grew too attached to her... i love her sm and somehow writing this was very easy?? i see it as a win

Tetta’s mother is a wreck. Hideko is a wreck. Hideko is a punching bag, a ghost, and anything she could possibly be, except herself.

Or: A study on Kisaki Tetta’s mother.

She sees him standing in front of her son’s grave. His name is Hanma, she guesses, and he looks just as sad as she does with his shoulders held low and his hood on his head. Her hair is starting to go gray, and she’s only thirty-five. She’s not pretty anymore, and she’s still so young. The grief doesn’t suit her.

He turns around as she walks closer, recognising the familiar blue in her eyes. ,,Are you Kisaki’s mother?’’, he asks, and the grief doesn’t suit him either. He’s letting his hair grow out, it seems, and his voice is monotone. There’s no smile decorating his lips, only a cigarette.

,,I’m Kisaki Hideko’’, she introduces herself, ,,I believe that you’re Hanma? You were his friend.’’ She tries to smile, but the corners of her mouth only waver.

 

,,I’m Kisaki Hideko’’, she introduces herself, ,,I got married last month. Please change my name in your database.’’ She smiles. Her hair isn’t gray yet.

,,Oh, congratulations!’’, the girl at the counter exclaims, and types something into the computer in front of her. Probably her new name. It feels too fresh, too unfamiliar, but she likes the sound of it. Kisaki. Like her husband. Like the little boy that’s growing in her womb.

,,Thank you, dear’’, she says and bows her head. ,,I’m very happy, he’s a loving man.’’ A loving man who kisses her belly every morning, and who runs his fingers through her hair. A loving man who brings her flowers, and makes her tea. A loving man who’s never home, and hits her with his belt. She’s still not sure which part is real and which part she pretends is.

,,I’m very glad for you. I hope to one day marry a man like yours’’, the girl says, smiling, fully believing it’s real. It makes her believe it’s real. That he’s a loving man, and that the little Kisaki inside her belly will turn out to be a loving man, too. She’s sure of it.

 

And Tetta was a loving man. Perhaps he was too loving for his girl. Perhaps she was too loving for him. Or not loving enough. It was hard to love when the people you love loved through abuse and neglect. She now knows that she did it wrong herself. Loving. All her life, she thought that there was one thing you couldn’t fail, no matter what—and yet here she is, standing in front of a gravestone, with everything she ever claimed to love buried six feet under.

She now knows that she loved wrongly. She fell in love with the wrong man, gave birth to the wrong boy, and raised him wrongly. Both the loving man that she married and the loving man that she carried in her belly for nine months are dead, and she doesn’t think she ever wanted to love them at all. Not the man who hit her when he wasn’t away like always, and not the man who was away when he didn’t hit her like always.

 

Tetta always watches when he hits her. She doesn’t know why. Out of fear, maybe, out of power, out of love. He looks at her with those big eyes full of pain and hate and rage. She hopes that the hate and rage are for her husband. And she looks back with the same emotions on her face.

She hugs Tetta when he leaves the room, holds him close. He doesn’t move. She lays her head on his shoulder, and she doesn’t cry. He’s already five years old. It’s nothing new.

 

It’s nothing new when Tetta comes home with bruises. He’s thirteen, and he’s a delinquent, and he knows what to do. He knows half of the books in the library by heart, and she knows how double the bruises on his body feel. They feel like love. She smiles, he must have a loving boy. Girls don’t hit, only boys do, and she doesn’t care because her son looks normal and loved.

She teaches Tetta how to hide the bruises, how to touch them up with makeup. They’re standing in front of the bathroom sink. She’s looking at his blue eyes in the mirror. They’re the same color as hers, the same color as the sky, the same color as the monster in her nightmares. They’re beautiful. She corrects Tetta when he applies too much foundation. It’s meant to look like his skin is perfect. No bruises, no makeup. Flawless, just like everything else about him.

Tetta comes home with blood on his face and broken glasses. He wears a proud smile. She asks him what happened, why he’s so happy. He says that he watched a horrible person die a horrible death. That day, she wonders if he saw her smile as she watched her loving man die. She wonders if his loving boy died. She wonders if she killed him. She wonders if he did.

 

Days after Tetta’s death, it’s the first time in eighteen years that she allows herself to try and break down the facade again. It’s hard. It’s hard to let out the seventeen year old girl in herself when she was defined by having money, smiling, and being hit for so long. It’s hard to let out the little kid in herself when she wanted nothing but for herself to be a good mother, and she failed nothing except that. It’s hard when you ended up being the most unloving loving mother. But, still, she tries her best. So she goes to buy a stuffed cat and cuts it open with a pair of scissors after she comes home. And then she cries.

 

One day, she notices that Tetta hasn’t come home with bruises in a while. ,,Does he not love you anymore?’’, she asks him.

,,Who?’’, he asks back, staring at her face with his blue eyes. With her blue eyes. And his cheekbones. And jawline. And eyebrows, and ears, and lips, and teeth, and hair color. He bleaches his hair a lot, but it’s not enough to cover the black roots. It’s like makeup. It fades out, and it stops hiding the ugly bruises she gets from her loving man. It stops hiding the black hair he inherited from his loving father.

,,You know, the boy you love. The one who caused all the bruises. He must’ve loved you as much as my husband loved me’’, she explains. What she’s talking about is all normal, she tells herself, it’s how love is supposed to work. Because love is suffering through pain for someone, love is covering up the issues for them, love is looking at your bruises at night, and it’s smiling about your lover’s dead body at the foot of the stairs.

,,Oh, he’s gone. But there’s a girl I’ve loved for even longer. She’s precious. She wouldn’t ever hit anyone’’, Tetta says. She wonders if his loving boy was the one who he smiled about when he came home with broken glasses, but she doesn’t ask. It’s not important anyway. She’s glad that there’s a girl that he loves so much. She’s glad that he doesn’t get hit anymore. She’s glad that she pushed him down the stairs, and that Tetta smiled about his death.

 

Her father reaches for her hand, and she flinches away before grabbing his. She squeezes his fingers, doesn’t let go. ,,My precious daughter....’’, he breathes out, and she tries to pretend that it means something as he continues, ,,I love you. Don’t cry.’’ She does. She sobs, horribly, and she screams. The word love doesn’t mean anything to her, but she feels like she’s robbed of everything she’s ever had. His hand slips from hers, he’s dead. And she’s all alone, because her loving man is at work, away, somewhere at the other end of the sea, and she doesn’t have anyone else.

 

Tetta’s favorite food is fried rice with lots of vegetables, and she makes sure to cook it often. Just for him. Hence, she’s filling bowls with tofu, spicy rice, and lots of carrots. She sets the table, makes sure to place his plate between his chopsticks and a glass of water, right beside her own. ,,Tetta!’’, she calls, ,,Dinner is ready.’’ Soon after, he arrives as she’s already sitting on her chair, waiting for him to join in, but he just grabs his food and chopsticks. He turns around, goes back to his room. She sighs, and starts her dinner, and it tastes as bland as every day that she has it alone because her own son won’t look her in the eyes.

 

,,Hanma Shuji. Nice to meet you, ma’am’’, he says. She has to look up to see his eyes. He’s so much taller than her, than Tetta, about the height of her late husband. His eyes are dull, one is yellow, one purple. She doesn’t know why she searches for the blue in every pair.

,,I’m sorry’’, is all she can manage. She doesn’t know what else to say. Her son is dead, and she loved him so much that it wasn’t enough. She wishes that she’d never given birth to him. She wishes that she’d never loved him.

 

,,I hate you’’, she whispers, cradling Tetta in her arms. He’s sleeping soundly, and she doesn’t want to wake him. He looks so peaceful, so weak wrapped up in the white blanket. It scares her. It scares her; that he could die.

,,I hate you so much, Tetta. I wish I would’ve never given birth to you’’, she continues to whisper. She loves him. She hopes that he’ll live forever. Tetta’s just a little boy, and he deserves the world, she thinks. He deserves everything that she gives him, and everything that she doesn’t.

 

She hates the grave that she stands in front of. Her hair is starting to go gray, and there are two bodies buried under the flowers. Two loving men. One that she loved too much, and one that she didn’t love enough. She misses the bruises. She misses the laughter. She misses herself. But she doesn’t miss either of the dead men.

 

Often, she dreams of blue skies, and she’s just a little girl dreaming of happiness and comfort. She dreams of blue skies over green flower fields, blue skies over dark and mysterious forests, blue skies over rivers running full of blood. She’s only four, she’s only five, she’s only six, only seven, eight, nine, ten. She doesn’t know what the blue skies and the rivers full of blood mean. Sometimes she wishes she does.

 

Her loving man leans down, gets on one knee, and holds up a little ring. She knows that it’s his grandmother’s wedding ring, and that it means the world to him. He asks if she wants to marry him, and she says yes as she breaks out in tears. She doesn’t know if she cries because she’s happy or if she does because she’s sad. He doesn’t hold her.

He never holds her. He didn’t hold her when she was seventeen, he didn’t hold her when her father died, he didn’t hold her on the day they got married. He didn’t hold her when she gave birth to their son. He wasn’t even there. All he ever does is give her money, and flowers, and expensive dresses, and yet another credit card. She’s happy, she’s glad that she can create her own life, but sometimes she just really wants to be held.

 

Tetta never tells her about his friends. She asks and asks, but he always says that he doesn’t want to talk. She says that she knows that he sneaks in every day, every night, that he could walk through the door instead. He says that she’s hallucinating. That she’s making it up to make him feel bad about not ever bringing anyone over.

One day, Tetta tells her that his name is Hanma. That she should finally stop asking questions, because it’s his business, not hers. So she does. She starts pressing her ear to the door of his room and smiles when she hears them laugh. She smiles when he hears Tetta curse out Hanma for eating chips on his bed. She smiles when she hears Hanma’s screams of joy for winning a video game and Tetta’s snickers about how his mother shouldn’t find out that he’s there.

 

Their house always feels so empty. Most of the time, Tetta is there, but it’s as if he isn’t. He’s completely silent, staying in his room all day, closing the door when he comes into the kitchen to get food. She doesn’t know what to make of it. She tells him that he doesn’t always have to study, that he can take breaks, tells him that she won’t be mad if he’s in the living room, that it’s okay if he makes noises, that she won’t go and snoop around in his things if he doesn’t lock the door. But Tetta doesn’t listen, and she feels so guilty and helpless, and she tries to forget it by always having television run in the background.

Tetta starts to go out with his delinquent friends a lot, and while she’s happy for him, she’s mostly happy for herself. He has a good life, he does nice things, and she doesn’t have to feel miserable about their house feeling so empty all the time because it is. There is no loving man in their house, most of the time, and neither is there a loving boy. And she feels alone, so very alone and lonely, but now she has the right to be sad about it.

 

She picks up the stuffed cat that her mother just bought her. It’s fluffy, and big, and warm. It makes her feel safe. She looks at her mother, into her dark eyes, and she searches for something she’s never seen. ,,Go play in your own room. I need to do work. Hush!’’, she shoos, gesturing towards the door. She looks back one last time, then leaves, running away until she climbs onto her bed. She takes her scissors and starts to cut open the fluffy cat because there is no love in her mother’s eyes, and the only affection she gets is money. And it doesn’t matter anyway because she will just buy her a new one without asking what happened to the other.

 

When Tetta brings home good grades, she smiles. When Tetta brings home bruises, she smiles. When Tetta brings home books, she smiles. When Tetta gets brought home in a casket, she smiles. All she’s ever done is smile, and she only stops after she knows that her loving men are both dead because she’s seen both of their corpses. She thinks that she should hate herself. She’s sad, and she’s not smiling anymore, but she’s relieved that they’re gone. She’s always been scared of the name Kisaki.

She loves Tetta. She loves him with all her heart, all her might, and she loves that he’s dead. She wishes that he’d never died. She wishes that she’d raised him differently. That she’d gotten rid of her husband earlier in life. That she’d never given birth to her son. That he’d been born into another family. She still loves him too much.

 

,,What for?’’, he asks. He lifts his cigarette up to his lips, takes another drag. He turns his head away to breathe out the smoke, caring enough not to blow it into her face. She wonders why this boy cares more than hers ever did.

,,For loving him’’, she says. It doesn’t make sense to him, she knows that, but it’s the truth. She’s sorry for everything. And everything she’s ever done was love the wrong man and love the wrong son.

Hanma looks at her. This time he doesn’t look away to breathe out the smoke, blows it right into her face. She coughs, does her best to stop. She stares up at his face. His eyebrows are softer, his jawline is even sharper, his cheekbones are lower, his lips are wider, his hair is darker than the bleach and lighter than the roots, and his ears are rounder, his teeth are not the same. She doesn’t know why she keeps comparing everyone to him. Everyone except herself.

 

Tetta is turning out pretty well. She’s raising him the way her mother raised her, with neglect. She gives him food, and water, and a warm bed, and money. She gives him the opportunity, he builds his own life. He buys books, and snacks, and a video game console, and she knows that he dislikes video games, and that it’s for Hanma, but she doesn’t say anything.

She hopes that the money is enough to keep him happy. She never comforts him, and he never cries. He doesn’t stand still in the doorway and stares as he hits her anymore, because he’s dead, and she goes to place new flowers on his grave and throw away the old ones every two weeks. It snows, and she ignores her freezing hands as she digs through the inches to reach for the old petals.

 

She blows out the seventeen candles on her chocolate cake. She doesn’t really like chocolate, prefers vanilla, but she feels like she should be happy that her father left a cake for her birthday in the freezer because it’s still better than nothing. It’s her only gift, except for the new book she bought herself, because her father is at work, far far away, and her boyfriend is staying with his grieving mother, who’s just lost her husband. And she thinks that she should be happy, because at least she has a birthday cake, and birthday candles, and a birthday wish, but she also knows that she will never truly be loved, no matter how many wishes she makes.

 

They never go somewhere together. A few times she’s asked if Tetta would like to go anywhere, but he said no every time, arguing that he could just go alone. Or that she could go alone, if she wanted to. Or to find someone else to do things with because he doesn’t want to. It’s not her fault, she thinks, that she wasn’t ever there for him. There never was any moment in his life in which he needed someone other than himself. She would have been there. She would have been there to stop the truck if she had known.

 

He’s a small child, barely ten, and he brings home a friend for the first time. His name is Takemichi. He has black hair and green eyes. He’s loud, he talks a lot, and Tetta looks at him as if he was heaven and hell at the same time. She cuts a mango and some melon into slices, puts it all into a bowl, and brings it into his room. Takemichi’s eyes shine bright, he grins and bows his head. Tetta just nods. She leaves and closes the door behind her. It’s the last time Takemichi ever comes over, and it’s the last time Tetta shows her one of his friends.

 

,,Father, do you think that mother will ever come back?’’, she asks, looking up from her book to study his expression. It shifts from a peaceful reading face to that of a man after five years of war. He furrows his brows, unfocuses his eyes, and wrinkles form on his forehead as he slightly scrunches up his nose. The corners of his mouth waver in a sad attempt to smile.

,,I don’t know. I don’t know, Hideko’’, he says, slowly shaking his head. She knows that he tells the truth, she knows, and she still hopes that he’s lying. She still hopes for her mother to come back. Even though she’s just a woman, just a woman in a thirteen year old girl’s life who tries to keep her happy by buying her expensive gifts and credit cards. A woman who doesn’t realise that all her daughter’s ever wanted was to be loved, to be held, to be looked at with gentle eyes and a soft smile. And she vows to never ever become such a mother herself, and instead hug her future son, to hug him, even if he doesn’t cry, and to show him how much she cares.

 

She loved her son so much that it wasn’t enough. She didn’t love her husband enough, and it still ended up being too much. They’re both dead. Now she’s stuck with just herself, and she doesn’t think that she can ever love herself again after everything she’s done and lived through. She misses the green flower fields, and the dark, mysterious forests in her dreams. She misses the happiness that the blue skies brought. She misses herself, and she misses the little girl she used to love so much. Because when she was a child, there had been no one else to love except herself.

 

Her loving man calls, she puts him on speaker after his request. Four year old Tetta’s sitting on her knees, excitedly waiting for his father to tell him that he’ll be back before the next day. ,,I’m sorry, darling, I’m so very sorry, Tetta. I can’t make it today. Expect me to be home next month instead. I miss and love you both, but I have to go now. Goodbye’’, is all he says. Tetta frowns, pouts, his lip is trembling. But he doesn’t cry. He doesn’t scream. She smiles.

,,I’m sure he’ll be back next time, Tetta. Only two more weeks’’, she tries to lift both of their spirits. It doesn’t work. Tetta gets up, tells her that he’s fine, walks into his own room, and closes the door. He doesn’t need her, or any of her love. Nor does he need his father. All he needs is himself, and the world at his feet, but he’s at the feet of the world instead, and she wonders why a four year old tries to be so grown up when all she wishes for is to be a kid again.

 

Tetta never hits her. He never hits anyone, as far as she knows. He’s a delinquent, and he fights, he beats up people, but only the ones who can hit back. She fears that he will never love anyone because love is supposed to hurt. Love is supposed to rob you of yourself. She knows that Tetta will grow up to be a loving man, that he will never hit anyone, and that his love won’t hurt. And she’s jealous of that.

Tetta never gets hit. She doesn’t hit him, because women don’t hit. Girls don’t hit. And her loving man, she doesn’t know why, but she thinks he doesn’t love their son because he never hits him, and inflicting pain is how he shows his love. Or maybe he loves him through her, he loves through the money he gives her that she then gives Tetta. But that doesn’t really count, she thinks, because he never looks Tetta in the eyes and smiles when she gives him his money because he’s never home.

 

She looks at the stairs, and thinks about how they killed one of her loving men. She remembers the other. A truck. She remembers the man in the truck, scrambles for her phone. She calls the police department, asks for the man who killed her loving boy. He was sent to the hospital, she gets told, and then she calls the number they tell her when she asks about it. Someone picks up. She asks for his name. He’s alive, they say, he barely made it. They ask if she’s family, and she says that she is. She asks if they have his number. They do, and she calls him.

,,I forgive you’’, she whispers when he picks up, ,,I forgive you for killing my son.’’ A sad laugh escapes her. She still loves him too much. She’s glad that he’s dead. She wishes that he’d been immortal. The man says something, but she doesn’t understand what. She can’t concentrate on the words. All she can concentrate on is herself, herself and her two dead, loving men. She hangs up, and goes to drink a glass of water.

 

She has everything she’s ever wanted, and somehow, she’s still broken all of the promises she’s made with herself as a kid. She promised to love her future son, to love him with warmth, with welcoming arms. She promised to marry a kind man, one who doesn’t hit or scream, one who cares. She promised not to do any of the mistakes her parents did. And still, twenty-five years later, she’s lying in her bed at night with a husband who hits, and a son who never tells her good night. And all the money in her bank account, all the marriage certificates on her desk, and all the birth papers in her drawer can’t fix it.

 

Hanma sighs. He nods. He takes another puff of his cigarette. He blows more smoke into her face. He stares into her eyes. ,,I thought I loved the color blue’’, he says, and then he turns around. She, too, thought that she loved the color blue. In reality, she loved her old self. What little that was left of her. She stared at his blue eyes so much because they resembled her own.

,,It was nice to meet you’’, she calls after him. Maybe he doesn’t hear her, maybe he just doesn’t react. He walks away without looking back. She turns to the gravestone, and thinks about the blue in her eyes, in his eyes, in the sky, and in the monster from her nightmares. The monster is a little girl, with tears on her cheeks, and blood on her hands. It’s her. It’s the tears she cries for all the people she loves. It’s the blood of all the people she’s killed by loving wrongly. It’s the blood of herself.

tag list: @offtaskotaku

[designs-by-kayla]

Big data and algorithms like social media can be such powerful and amazing tools if used right. They can help reunite lost family members, find organ donors, make meaningful systemic changes, inspire people, and spread positivity. There is always a dark side to everything so what’s the catch to all of this? There is a link between mental health and self-esteem issues with social media, there is fake news and cyber attacks, and data stealing, data mining, data tracking, and people are now addicted to their phones. One interesting quote from the movie was “There are only two industries that call their customers “user” illegal drugs and social media.” Social media algorithms now track (monitors and records) what you look at, and how long you look at it. It knows what mood people are in, photo history, if you’re introverted or extroverted, what neuroses you have, and what your personality type is like. These algorithms have three goals

1. Engagement goal (what drives up uses and keeps you scrolling)

2. Growth goal (what keeps you coming back and inviting friends)

3. Advertising goal ( how much money can they make off of you)

Another interesting quote is “Advertisers are the customer; we are the thing being sold.” And that’s just a simplification of it cause really “it’s the gradual slight imperceptible change in your own behavior and perception that is the product.” Changing what you do, how you think, who you are (the product).  It’s a perfect world for business and advertising, it’s a guarantee that if it places an ad it will be successful (they sell certainty) in order to be successful you have to have great predictions that begins with one imperative (lots of data).

Tech people are taught “How can you use everything you know about the psychology of what persuades people and build that into technology.” Social media isn’t a tool just waiting to be used anymore, it has its own goals and it has its own means of pursuing them by using your own psychology against you.

What needs to be used is Ethical design in social media (humane technology) The point we need to what for is when tech exceeds and overwhelms human weaknesses, crossing this point is at the root of addiction, polarization, radicalization, outrage-ification, overpowering human nature, and checkmate on humanity. The algorithm has a mind of its own, we build a machine that can change itself, we as humans have almost lost control over these systems, these systems are controlling us more than we control them.

These problems are very confusing, they can be great, they can be scary, and horrible. I personally don’t use a ton of social media, I am barely on Facebook, or Instagram. I do use Snapchat daily, but I don’t have a Twitter or a TikTok account. I always joke about how my parents have TikTok but I don’t. I think these issues are a huge undertaking and even if we dismantle the whole system these building blocks have already been built so it’s not like we would restart with a better design in mind. It all starts with ourselves taking a step back and examining it all, and lowering our usage.