#she's so funny and pathetic and frustrating and charismatic all at once

[dandadamnit]

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[whimsical-ness]

Felon | 01

◇ Link to Masterlist

◇ Baekhyun & Kyungsoo series: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05 | 06 | 07 | 08 | 09 | 10 | 11 | 12 | ?

◇ Genre: Cop! Ksoo, Criminal! Baek, Crime! AU

◇ Summary: As your life takes a dangerous turn when you get caught between a criminal and a cop, you begin to question how thin the line between good and bad really is.

◇ Word Count: 3.4k

◇ A/N: This fic is inspired by the film Dhoom 2, but for the most part, the story is very different. I hope you enjoy it!

You’d always considered yourself to be a good person. An honest, virtuous person; a law-abiding citizen.

Until a certain point in your life, when you started living on the wrong side of the law.

You hadn’t meant for it happen. Heck, you never imagined yourself to one day become a petty thief. But once you started to steal, you couldn’t stop.

It started off as picking small things from the supermarket, slipping in items into your denim jacket, pretending it was the metal buttons that were causing the alarms to go off.

Then it was makeup, clothes, and whatever else you managed to stuff away into your backpack, or your coat, smoothly talking your way out of any suspicion that was placed on you.

You didn’t know how you did it, but it worked. You were never caught. 

And so you couldn’t stop. Stealing gave you an odd sort of rush, a thrill, the fact that you were breaking the law giving you the dangerous adrenaline rush of trying not get caught.

Until one day, you did.

It was your fault really, that you took such a huge risk. You had never attempted to steal something as big as a car before. 

But the completely unreasonable urge in you was overpowering the logic, and so you did it.

You tried to steal a car. You spotted one parked on the deserted street, and put your plan in action, which was basically to try and pry open the door with a nifty crowbar. 

Naturally, you ended up not being strong enough for this, and you struggled for a good 10 minutes before you decided that smashing the window in was looking like the best option.

It was when a police siren blared in the distance that you realized you were in trouble. 

And no lengths of sweet talking or persuasion was going to get you out of that one.

The officer who’d picked you up was a no nonsense kind of guy, despite how soft and unassuming his appearance was.

“Mr...Do?” you drawled, reading off his badge. “It really wasn’t what it looked like. I swear. Do I look like someone who can steal a car?”

Mr. Do sighed, his gaze on the road ahead as he drove to the police station. “It’s always the ones who don’t look like they would do it,” he said, and the smoothness of his voice startled you. 

“But,” you went on, unbothered. “You don’t have any evidence!”

Officer Do parked the car with a screech, turning to look at you. Damn. It was the first time you’d seen a police officer this handsome before. His eyes were large and a warm shade of brown. His hair was black and cut short, but it made his handsome face even more striking. His lips, though, caught your attention the most. He had the plushest pair of lips you’d ever seen on a guy.

Everything about him was unnerving.

You tried not to stare at his beautiful mouth as he spoke, instead focusing on making your argument sound valid. “You can’t arrest me without evidence,” you said again, defiantly.

“You were attempting to break open the glass,” he replied as a matter-of-fact. “And you looked very keen while you were doing it. That’s evidence enough for me.”

You attempted your best apologetic face, pressing your lips together and fluttering your lashes. “Please, Officer Do. Let me off the hook this one time?”

Officer Do rolled his eyes. “Enough. Get out of the car.”

“Wait!” you protested, grabbing his arm before he could open the door, suddenly scared. “Look. I can’t go to jail, alright? I never meant to steal the stupid car. I wasn’t thinking straight. We all make mistakes, right?” you said desperately.

Officer Do narrowed his gaze. “That’s your justification? ‘We all make mistakes’?”

“It wasn’t like I thought I was going to get away with it,” you said quickly. “And I didn’t end up doing it, so how can you put me in jail for that?”

To your surprise, Officer Do began to laugh. “You’re a funny one. I’ll tell you what. You’re right, I can’t put you in jail because you didn’t steal the car, you only tried to. But I can definitely make you pay a very hefty fine, which is exactly what I’m planning on doing.”

You fiddled with the buttons on your jacket. “I’m afraid I can’t do that either, Officer. I’m broke.”

He shook his head. “That’s not my problem.”

“I’ll do anything,” you blurted. “I’ll do community service, or something, whatever you say.”

He seemed to consider this for a moment. “No.”

“Please,” you said softly, a last desperate attempt to get yourself out of the mess. Officer Do sighed. “Oh for God’s sake. Fine. But I’m not letting you off the hook. Come inside the station. We need to have a chat.”

You could hardly believe your ears when he said it. 

“A...spy?” you repeated, bewildered.

Officer Do tapped the edge of his pen against his desk irritatedly. “Not exactly. But we’ve been needing someone like you. Someone who has a knack for getting out of tricky situations, who can slip in and out of trouble easily. You’re going to prove to be very useful to us, if you follow all instructions and do what I say.”

“But what exactly do you need me to do?” you asked, still confused. You were beginning to think paying the fine would have been a better option.

“I need you to be on call, any time we need you,” he said evenly. “I call, you come. There are people in this city the police department keeps tabs on, and you’re going to help us do exactly that.”

You crossed your arms. “And what’s in this for me, then? And don’t just say it’s what I owe you for not putting me in jail.”

Officer Do smiled slightly. “I’m not stupid. I’ve seen you, before. Though you may not have realized. I’ve seen you steal things when you thought no one was looking.”

A chill ran down your spine. “Wh—”

“Why didn’t I catch you then?” he completed your question for you. “I was observing you. I had this weird hunch, that you were going to end up being of help. But you nearly crossed a line, trying to steal that car.”

You said nothing, staring at him.

“So what I’m saying is this: either you help us and have all of your previous crimes written off, or you refuse and face the law,” he said smoothly, leaning back in his chair. “It’s up to you.”

You laughed in disbelief. “Just know you’re making a mistake. I’m not some sort of a professional, or whoever you think I am. I’m nobody.”

Officer Do smiled. “Precisely.”

A month. All it took was a month for them to ‘train’ you, and just like that, you were working undercover for the police.

It wasn’t a job, not really. It was more of part-time thing that you never knew when to expect.

It was Officer Do calling you in the middle of the day, informing you that you had to tail a suspicious looking woman while she shopped for her groceries.

It was infiltrating a nightclub, posing as any ordinary person looking to have some fun, but secretly keepings tabs on a drug deal going down in the dark corners of the building, immediately tipping off the police so that they could arrive and make their arrests.

It was catching petty thieves, just how you’d been, following police suspects around the city, spying on those who’d broken the law and thought they’d gotten away with it, when really, they were just being watched. Before justice was served.

Unexpectedly, you enjoyed every minute of it. The thrill and adrenaline rush you’d previously gotten from stealing things was now fuelled by the challenge of maintaining your cover without getting caught by the bad guys.

And you were good at it. Within a few months, thanks to you (indirectly), the city was dredged of at least a few dozen amateur criminals, and it felt good.

It felt good, to be back on the right side of the law.

Oh, and there was the added benefit of getting to see Officer Do all the time. 

You didn’t even realize when you started to crush on him. It just happened. You’d never met someone like him before, someone so righteous, so charismatic, so confident and in control. He was young, yet he was highly respected, and always remained humble.

Your heart was screaming at him to date you.

Your pathetic attempts at flirting were brutally brushed aside at first, his eyebrows furrowing in annoyance at your words. Every compliment was received with a faint smile and roll of the eyes, nothing more, nothing less.

It frustrated you to no end. 

And then you found out his name, and used it to your advantage. 

“Officer Do,” you said sweetly, one day, sauntering into his office at the station. “Is it alright if I call you Kyungsoo?”

His ears went red. “Wouldn’t that be mildly inappropriate?” he replied, raising his eyebrows. You shrugged. “I don’t see why it would be. We’re practically the same age. And I don’t officially work under you or anything. Besides, it makes me feel closer to you,” you added with a smile.

Kyungsoo snorted. “And why do you want to feel closer to me?”

“Isn’t it obvious by now?” you said coyly, crossing your arms. “I like you. Now if you would just ask me out on a date...that would make life much easier for me.”

You couldn’t even believe what you were saying. You might have gone mad. But you were done trying to be shy and hopeful. If you wanted something, you were going to do everything you could to get it.

And right now, you wanted Do Kyungsoo.

Kyungsoo’s face flushed red. “What makes you think I’m interested in you?”

You thought over this for a minute. “I don’t see any reason why you wouldn’t be. One date. Then you can decide that for yourself.”

Your heart hammered. Maybe you’d gone too far.

But to your astonishment, he chuckled. “Fine. One date. How does tomorrow evening sound?”

You couldn’t stop the wide smile that spread across your cheeks. 

“It sounds perfect.”

To your completely ecstasy, one date turned into two. Two turned into three, and after the third you were positively over the moon.

He liked you. Kyungsoo liked you too. More than he let on.

Because it was a month later when he was stumbling into your apartment, his lips attached to your neck, your hands fumbling with his jeans to get them off.

“Wh-what kind of a cop doesn’t carry around handcuffs everywhere? Could’ve put them to some use right now,” you breathed, as his teeth nipped at your skin. “I forgot them,” he replied. “Remind me next time, will you?”

You grinned, bringing his lips back up to yours and melting into his touch.

The next morning, you almost couldn’t believe he was still lying there next to you, looking adorably innocent in his sleep.

You leaned over and woke him up with a peck to his cheek. He groaned and rolled over, his arm wrapping around your waist to pull you to him. 

“Morning, Officer,” you said lazily, and Kyungsoo chuckled into your shoulder. “I thought you preferred calling me Kyungsoo?”

“Officer is sexier.”

Infuriatingly, Kyungsoo did everything possible to avoid you in public, seemingly not wanting his colleagues to know that you were ‘dating’.

He didn’t even officially put a label on the relationship, though now it had been weeks since you’d started seeing each other, as well as started hooking up more than a few times at your place.

And it pissed you off. “Why do you pretend as though you hate me in front of everyone else?” you asked him finally, seething.

“I don’t want them to get the wrong idea about us. They might think the only reason I recommended you is because of our...relationship,” he replied, sighing. “Look, it shouldn’t matter—”

“It matters to me!” you blurted. “You can’t be ripping my clothes off one moment and then pretending as if I don’t exist the next. That’s not how it works. I’m not your fuck-buddy—”

“Of course you’re not,” said Kyungsoo fiercely. “What kind of person do you think I am? I care about you.”

“Oh yeah? Then why can’t we just make it official?” you shot back, crossing your arms over your chest. “

Kyungsoo rubbed at his forehead. “It is official to me. Please just let that be enough for now?”

You set your lips in a thin line. “I would hate you if you weren’t so goddamn attractive.”

Kyungsoo smiled. “Look, I promise we’ll sort this out later. But there’s an extremely high profile briefing in 20 minutes, and I need you to be at it.”

You raised your eyebrows. “High profile? And you’re involving me?”

He bit his lip. “Yes. I didn’t want to, but everyone else thinks you’re the one for this. But you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. I won’t let them force you into it.”

Now you were intrigued. “Huh. Sounds interesting.”

Kyungsoo sighed. “You have no idea.”

The meeting was being held not in the usual briefing room, but the one reserved for complicated cases that required the use of high-tech computers and screens to convey the details.

That was the first sign that this was definitely as high-profile as Kyungsoo had mentioned. But what could it be?

Gathered there, along with you, were the top police officials of the city; the chief criminal investigators, detectives, as well as the heads of the special operations crew.

You felt more than a little inferior being there, and unconsciously sunk lower down in your seat.

“Loosen up,” muttered a voice from next to you. You turned to see Jongin, one of the officers on Kyungsoo’s team, grinning at you. “You’re supposed to look confident and sure of yourself.”

You glared at him. “Yeah, well if someone told me what the hell I’m supposed to do. Kyu—Officer Do is being so secretive,” you said. Jongin chuckled. “You’ll see soon enough.”

Kyungsoo cleared his throat from where he was standing at the front of the room. He pressed a button on the clicker in his hand, prompting the screen behind him to illuminate with a picture.

Your forehead creased. All that was on the screen was a large letter ‘B’. 

“Now,” started Kyungsoo. “We’re all here right now to discuss the increasingly pressing matter of...the elusive Mr. B,” he said, glancing back at the screen.

Mr. B. You’d heard of him, of course. Heard his name being murmured around the station. He’d been agonizing the police for months now, a highly skillful criminal, who specialized in your former area of crime: stealing.

But Mr. B wasn’t your regular petty thief. No, he aimed higher than just cash from banks. He targeted precious artifacts, stealing from the country’s well guarded museums, carrying away priceless jewels from under the security’s very noses.

Kyungsoo proceeded to play footage of his crimes, and you couldn’t help but gape. It was stupefying, how he did it. How he got away. He was barely even caught on camera, managing to escape within means of exploiting any blindspots he could find. His face was completely covered by a black mask, and he was nimble on his feet, somehow managing to outrun police cars that swiftly chased after him, speeding away in a sleek black sports car.

Kyungsoo sighed at the look on everyone’s faces. “Now you see why this is beginning to become a bigger problem. His crimes are getting more ambitious. We traced his first one back to our city, but since then he’s been targeting places all over the country. Our prediction is that he’s going to move overseas, soon. As if he’s trying to make his mark on the entire globe.”

You sucked in a breath. 

“My team and I have analyzed his pattern. Though we aren’t completely certain yet, we think there’s a high possibility his next robbery is going to take place here. Again. He’s come full circle.” 

A projection of a map went up on the screen, and with a start you realized how he’d stolen from nearly every city in the country. It really did seem as if he was circling back to the first place he’d stolen from.

“And where do you think he’s going to steal from?” mused the Head Detective. Another click and a picture of the massive National Museum appeared on the screen. “But he’s already stolen from there hasn’t he?” piped an officer. “That ruby necklace you showed us earlier. Why would he come back here again?”

Kyungsoo smiled. “Just a few days ago, a large exhibition was set up at the museum. A range of priceless relics, shipped over all the way from India. My guess is he’ll want to get his hands on them. If not all, then this...”

A shimmering golden sword went up on the screen, its sheath covered in glittering jewels of different shapes and sizes. “It belonged to the king of an ancient kingdom,” Kyungsoo explained. “Seeing as how he’s going after precious jewels and the like, it’s not a reach to say he’ll want to steal this.”

You bit your lip. 

“And that brings me to what our plan is,” he continued. “We wait for him to strike. We set up the highest level of surveillance we can; we surround the place, inside and out. We don’t let him escape.”

“But this is all going on a hunch,” said the detective. “We can’t afford to waste our resources guarding the place and then have him not show up at all. Or worse, have him steal from elsewhere. The police will end up a laughing stock.”

“Which is why we lure him there,” said Kyungsoo slowly. You froze when his gze turned to you. “That’s where Miss Y/N here comes in.”

“How?” you stammered.

“Let me put it this way: we set up our own little robbery. Broadcast on television that the police have received a note from Mr. B himself challenging the police to catch him in the act of stealing from the museum. Which, of course, he hasn’t done.”

You looked at him in confusion.

He let out a breath. “What I’m saying is, we have him believe that there’s an imposter Mr. B out there, who’s going after his loot under his name. If I know this guy, he won’t like it. He’ll turn up there to challenge the imposter. I know he will.”

“And Y/N poses as the imposter,” finished Jongin for him. 

You stared at him, and then at Kyungsoo. “You want me to pretend to steal that sword?”

“Exactly,” said Kyungsoo, his smile grim. “If we’re lucky, you’ll serve as the perfect distraction for him. And that���s when we’ll catch him.”

It sounded wild, crazy, and your heart was already thumping with the thought of pulling it off. If this worked, you would be the one responsible for finally catching the notorious Mr. B. And boy, did you want a taste of that glory.

It was almost as if Kyungsoo could see the gears working in your head, because he spoke quickly. “You don’t have to do it. We can use someone else, someone more experienced—”

You crossed your arms. “He’s going to have to believe that I’m a thief,” you reminded him. “He’s not a fool. He’ll sniff out an imposter in no time. But I was like him. Not to that level, but I know the tricks. I know what makes a perfect thief,” you said. “If anyone can do this and make it believable; it’s me.”

Jongin whooped from beside you. “That’s what I told him,” he said cheerfully. “You’re perfect for it.”

You grinned. But Kyungsoo’s face was worried. “It’s not going to be easy,” he said softly. “Are you sure?”

You let out a breath. 

“I’m sure. Bring it on, Mr. B. Let’s see what you’ve got.”

A/N: Okay so I’m reallyyyy quite nervous about this, and would LOVE to hear some feedback so pretty please leave some in the comments or my ask?? I need the encouragement lol 💓 (also, bbh will be in the next part!)

[redefinethegrind]

Borderline Personality Disorder, The Will To Power, Spirituality, and Happiness: tying it all together

I am writing this manuscript on Borderline Personality Disorder because I want to connect to others with the same diagnosis. I am a provider with the diagnosis and I have an intimate understanding of what my brain goes through on a day to day basis. It is fascinating to me that something as simple as going to the gas station and buying a coffee could cause so much anxiety and grief. It has, however tied me up. I have spent hours trying to gather the courage to understand the perfect way to obtain a cup of coffee and it has impacted the flow of more than one of my days on this earth. That is ridiculous, but seemingly unavoidable to me when my anxiety, obsessive thought, splitting, and mood imbalances all hit at once.

My perception of self has never equaled the perception that others tell me that they see. People around me assure me that I am funny, charismatic, outgoing, caring, and a good person. In my head I often feel that I am disgusting, pathetic, weak, and a loser. I feel like a parasite sometimes while I fully strive to be a giving human being. That is the faulty wiring of my brain that I adopted sometime in early childhood. I have formed my personality around hating myself and feeling like I am never good enough. I don’t even know what I am trying to measure up to.

Formerly I thought that feeling never good enough was a positive thing for me. I thought it would push me to achieve more as I rose in life. I wanted to be the greatest human being in the world and I hated myself for not being that person already. I set an unreasonably high bar and laughed at myself when I failed to achieve success. If I failed at any task I would use it as evidence that I was indeed the failure I had come to know. If I succeeded I would write it off as something that should have been done better or more efficiently. It was unreasonable and counterproductive to my being to have those thoughts, but I could not make them go away.

I began seeking solace in material possessions at some point in my life. I was buying expensive cars and bigger homes. The material things would distract me from my inner conflict and pain. Ultimately, I realized that material possessions can never fill the void that I was feeling. Human connection is the only thing that can satiate that craving. I am indeed a human being. BPD has made me truly feel alien at times though and unable to connect with others. That is a fallacious thought and I now recognize it as such.

I have had days where I look around and everything seems foreign to me. During periods of stress and duress I would swear that people’s faces change and even the colors of my surroundings change. My inner voice takes on a different tone. My perception of the world warps with my mood. I feel it intensely and deeply. I am not making it up or crying for attention as I was led to believe as a child. My world genuinely changes based on my mood and faculties. That very subjective nature of my own reality makes this personality disorder difficult to pin down and properly treat regardless of the time and energy I dedicate.

This had led me to studying the very nature of consciousness and reality. I have read books by Jeffrey Schwartz and Caroline Leaf on neuroplasticity. I have studied quantum mechanics, relativity, anatomy, physiology, and psychology seeking concrete reasons for my sensation and perception. I became familiar with Deepak Chopra’s views on tying quantum mechanics to our consciousness. I started to see that I was not alone in viewing this reality as a very mailable and ever-changing substrate. I saw that humanities greatest minds were struggling with the same questions and looking on with both awe and frustration.

I wanted nothing more than to understand what my perception of consciousness, space, and time, truly boiled down to and to share my experience with other human beings. The kinds of thoughts I have are not typically talked about over morning coffee or the evening’s spaghetti. My thoughts are sometime uniquely Ernie ‘isms and I must accept that. Having BPD makes me immediately feel lonely though as I struggle to connect with others on concepts and ideas. I am well adapted at helping others in my professional life because I have an outlined task at hand and an end goal. I actually think my personality disorder makes me a better provider in some ways because knowing the type of person I am, I do not pass judgement. I am able to relate to others and feel empathy. Because my emotions are felt so extremely I am able to understand the emotions of others.

One maladaptive behavior I have taken to over the years is stifling my emotions completely on the surface. I have found myself to be suppressing the expression of my emotions to the point of operating in a robot-like fashion. I remember actually consciously choosing this process as a young child, as young as 5 years old maybe. I chose to suffocate emotions of anger and to sit in a hallway for hours on end one day. As I remember it I was at a relative’s house I did not want to be at and instead of participating in any social activities I sat in a hallway staring at the wall. Even at that young age I would sometimes skip breakfast and lunch as to isolate intentionally and not participate in normal activities. This went from a conscious decision as an early child to a subconscious reaction as an adult. Where the switch happened I don’t know, but now I catch myself avoiding social situations, meals, or performing simple daily tasks without having ever thought about it. It will be something that another person will point out. “Aren’t you hungry?” and I will think “Hmm, I don’t know, let me think about it… I guess I am hungry, I didn’t eat lunch.” Sometimes I will find a reason. It is like I throw a subconscious temper tantrum. I don’t even recognize myself doing it at this point and I wish I could control it. I am now monitoring my mood and looking for cues in order to correct the maladaptive behavior. This is strange as I am 33 years old.

I recall an experience in preschool when I was asked to sit in time out for coming at another kid with a plastic chainsaw. I took my time out of two minutes as I remember it, without fuss, then I would not get up on time in. I refused to get up for the rest of the day in fact. I made the punishment intentionally extreme as a choice. I remember choosing to not stand up as an act of self-disparaging rebellion. I remember thinking “I can sit here all day in time out just to show these people it doesn’t bother me.” As an adult I evaluate the behavior. I am thinking it was a way for me to say “I can’t be broken by your punishment.” I took a strong nihilist stance early on. Rules were ridiculous to me and whether or not I was supposed to suffer I would refuse to. I think I was trying to show them that punishment would be useless. They could not change me. They could not break me. I was in charge. I think I needed to feel in control. I believe it was overcompensation for a life that was truly out of my control. That is the best theory I can put together as an adult.

This sense of loss of control and my struggle to maintain a sense of it went on to define many aspects of my personality. Perhaps I was wanting that preschool teacher to look at me and say, “enough is enough, you don’t deserve to be punished” and to look at the ridiculous idea of changing another sentient being’s social behavior. I never understood why someone else could make rules or boundaries that I had to abide by. I think even as a young child I found them to be repulsive and insulting… arbitrary at best.

Was this manipulation? Was I truly engaging in a mind game with an adult at such a young age? In my mind the internal voice kept telling me to sit at that table in time out. To just wait it out. To see what happens. Who would break first? Not Ernie. That is what I did. It was a small event that essentially meant nothing, but in my mind, I can still relive it and feel the same emotions I felt then. I needed to show these people that though they could physically put me in restraints, it didn’t change a damn thing.

As an adult I saw the same behavior in a woman I call my twin. She seems to have many of the same thought processes and beliefs that I do. She struggles with boundaries and guidelines. She finds life to be mundane at best most days. She wonders why in the hell someone with so much mental energy has to be caged in such a dull environment. I stood in her way during a minor mincing of words we were having. I blocked her path to exit our shared kitchen. I could see her anger building. She was absolutely not going to give me a single answer at that time no matter how much I demanded it. She was appalled that I could stand in her way and physically overpower her. Though I could block her way, I could not get her to speak a single word. I could not break her. She was in control. She struggled and longed to have the ultimate sense of control. She could be physically restrained but even her living twin, the person she connects with deepest on this planet, was not going to be able to pull a single utterance from her conscious mind if she didn’t will it so. She had to win.

I saw myself in her that day. I saw an absolutely unbreakable spirit. What twinsie and I share is beyond physical, sexual, or psychological. It is deep and I cannot label it. I have never seen it in two other people. It is uniquely ours to share. We have something that the rest of this world could only dream of. I am the one person that she will ultimately break down for in this world and I am proud to be the one person that will break down for her. To take away those secure walls and expose our vibrant inner beauty. I love seeing her stand true and proud, a defiant lotus that the rest of this world doesn’t have access to. I am actually driven by being the one person that she lets in to her secretive world. That is how I define true love. I will absolutely break down and give up my sense of security and become vulnerable to share the ultimate connection with my true twin flame. I feel as though I long to both break through her every wall and to allow her to simultaneously break through every one of mine.

That is something I was seeking in this life and BPD was limiting me from sharing. A connection. The world felt alien. Until I felt someone with the same splitting, angst, core values, and pain I didn’t think I would ever find someone who would understand me. That feeling of loneliness was overwhelming and was defining my life. It left me standing alone in a crowded room.

Back to childhood, I look to an incident on the school yard. I was dangling from the monkey bars. I remember kicking my friend directly in the testicles intentionally while playing “chicken.” In my mind I knew exactly what I was doing, and I intended to kick him in the most painful area possible to drop him from that collection of steel. I was a child, I don’t know why I wanted to hurt him, but my thought was “I need to hurt this person right now.” I am still friends with him today, his name is Josh. We went on to discuss spiritual matters as adults. That day on the school yard I brought my leg forth and connected as intended right in his groin. I then remember the teacher coming to me and telling the other children that it was an accident. I bought into her story and lied about my intentions. I claimed I did it on accident. I took the teachers story and went with it. I saw that I could get away with murder. I saw that given the right social performance I could do anything and spin it as something it wasn’t.

Unfortunately, that ‘social performance’ aspect became central to my childhood. I felt like an actor much of the time. I was playing a role to get the results I wanted from every given situation. I never let even my family know the real me. I only opened up to a few core friends, and even then, I never fully opened up and showed my real core. I felt vulnerable if people were able to figure me out, so I always acted. I would pretend to be engaged in some boring TV show just to throw people off of understanding my true interests. It was like I knew I was surrounded by people that I really didn’t want to connect with so I would connect with them on things I didn’t care about so that I could then have false relationships with them. By maintaining the superficial relationship, I was in control. If I ever felt comfortable enough I would break down the superficial connection and allow a true, deep connection to exist. I can count on one hand the number of people I have ever started that process with. The people I would feel comfortable truly connecting with were special and I would show them my true vulnerabilities and interests in music, art, video games, and science on my own terms. To give them some sense of control in getting to know me was my ultimate way of letting them know that I truly loved them.

I don’t know why I complicated my social interactions so much, but I did. It was elaborate and took a lot of my thought process. It continues to do so and I do it now without conscious thought or effort. The truth is, I am able to ‘bond’ with anyone on just about anything because I have become a chameleon at blending in when needed. I can fake being interested in just about anything when needed and people automatically see me as their friend. The truth is, deep down I have not connected and with most of those people I share surface level connection I do not wish to have anything deeper. I do not wish to let them in. I genuinely have come to love all people and I actually enjoy getting to know them, but initially that wasn’t the case. Early on I simply played a role and felt completely detached emotionally from almost everyone I came into contact with. I now get my sense of well-being from being able to keep everyone calm and genuinely liking me. I don’t know why, but my personality has developed in that fashion. It seems that if someone has a problem with me I genuinely internalize it and let it gnaw at my gut deep down. On the surface, however, I have made a habit of acting completely unphased by anything no matter how harsh. It is like I feel one thing and exhibit another on the surface. My personality is complex and maybe even inappropriate.

I knew at some point my truth was my own truth. I could easily manipulate reality one way or another even as a child. I found myself in deep thought over emotions and relationships. If something was not going my way as a child I would do something like go out of my way to put myself in an obviously vulnerable position in order to gain some leverage in the form of getting an adults attention and therefor gain control over my environment when the adult found me to be in a precarious situation and would come to my rescue whether it be mentally or physically. I could use my projection of deep sadness to get adults to feel sorry for me. I could use a projection of being excited about something that everyone else found repulsive as a way to get people to back out of my personal space and think I was weird. I was in control. I was letting people in who I loved and pushing people away who I didn’t. I was learning more about those people while they learned nothing about me. It was a guaranteed safe place.

I now see my eccentric likes and dislikes as an elaborate filtering mechanism. I would put up a wall of weirdness and if someone actually tolerated getting through all of the weird parts of Ernie they had earned the right to get to know the true Ernie. They could get through and see that I am indeed a loving, caring, compassionate, gentle, altruistic human being. But first they had to wade through a sea of dead baby jokes, menstrual blood tinged cottage cheese and conspiracy theories that Ernie also finds amusing.

The good energy that makes me up is also capable of appreciating the dark side of life and finding it amusing. It is important to me that my true friends see that and know that all in all I am a good person but that I can laugh and muse at the darkness. That having no boundaries and no limits is simply my way of being truly open to experiencing every aspect of life. That being able to test my power one day doesn’t mean I want to be in control, because the very next day I might test my vulnerability. I want to experience life to it’s fullest and most extreme. I am wired that way. I want to feel fully in control while knowing fully well that ultimately I am powerless.

Looking back, it seems like a child’s cry for attention. As an adult I think that sense of control over emotional relationships gave me comfort in a way. I was more comfortable knowing that I was leading the adults on and letting them think I was a certain person when in my mind I was not that guy. I am trying to honestly explore that feeling and to see if I am indeed driven by the want to control and manipulate or if this is truly involuntary… or at least to explore what it is like living in a mind with BPD

In my first marriage I connected fairly quickly with a quiet girl who had a somewhat bumpy past. Growing up she was also left to fend for herself at times, at least that is what I gathered from the stories she told me. I connected with this girl and we spent much time together. We learned each other’s personalities, likes, and dislikes. I was not always honest in the beginning. I would, for example, say I didn’t like sea food when in reality I loved eating fish. I would choose to not like it because she didn’t like it. I would lie to connect with her. That went on for the first few months of our young relationship. I was 17 years old when I met this girl. I was still figuring out who I was, and I was forming it with another person around a process of manipulating in the context of borderline personality disorder.

The relationship had ups and downs, but early on I was the first to say “I Love You.” I was the first to make the extreme moves and then use my brain to fill in the rest later, trying to logically connect the dots. I saw this girl in a hallway in high-school and my first thoughts were “could you ever marry her, would you be with her forever, would she be the love of your life?” I immediately began planning to go all in with her after we first agreed that we were dating. I escalated things quickly and vowed to spend eternity with her because she gave me the time of day. Most people don’t think like that. I did. I was all in day one. I also at the same time felt like I would destroy her life by letting her get with such a loser like me. I wanted to love her and to save her by pushing her far away from me. The selfish part of me needed her, the selfless part of me needed her to be free.

I started off spending my every waking moment obsessing about this girl and ultimately did go on to marry her, but in the process, something strange happened as I did not understand my brain at the time. I would get comfortable with her and things would be going well, and I would assume that I was not doing enough or good enough for her. I would then create tension and angst in the relationship and pressure her away from me. I would push and push. Because I was not perfect. I would always assume that there was some flaw or fault in myself that just wasn’t good enough and I would use it against us. I would tell her time and time again that I was not good enough for her and that I was a pile of garbage and that she could do better. That was my depression seeping in and it was not a valid thought. The example that I read from a person with BPD that really stuck with me is this: “I could see a person begging for money. If I didn’t give them money I would kick myself for being selfish. If I did give them money I would kick myself for not giving enough.” It was like no matter what I gave it was never enough. I was wired to believe that my all out best effort was going to fall short and therefor I was doomed to be a piece of trash.

The pattern of constantly self-loathing and memorizing disparaging remarks created emotional turmoil and I would then push my partner away and reel her back in. This happened over and over again. It was exhausting. It resulted in significant damage. My personality was unstable enough that she never knew what she was going to get. She spent her time going out of her way to keep me from going insane and I constantly tested boundaries. What would she truly tolerate? Did she love me enough to put up with this? Unfortunately, this also enabled the borderline behavior to exacerbate. It went from something that I was doing at age 5 as an experiment to something that I couldn’t control as an adult. My emotions had become out of my control and they were being used to shape relationships in my life. It was chaotic and seemed a bit peculiar when compared with the way other people seemed to feel.

I have often felt alien and alone in this world. I felt that other people could not possibly feel so disconnected to their fellow man while fully knowing that they are indeed human themselves. Now reading the literature, I am encouraged that many people feel just like me. Alien. Robotic. Foreign. They have unknowingly programmed themselves to inappropriately use emotions to influence relationships as some sort of response to stress. The problem with BPD is, by the time it is active and roaring, it is too late to look back. It becomes the norm. The ego is established and without a great deal of introspection, guilt, pain, and rethatching, identifying these things as maladaptive can seem undefeatable. As a young adult I lost control of my emotions quite a bit and I was a bit all over the place. I didn’t recognize why, or even see it as a problem. It was just me. I would have outbursts of anger at others, at myself, at friends, and at family. Relationships would seem to be crashing to me when others had no clue what I was even focusing on. I would sometimes just stay quiet and disappear. I remember that was my way of quitting bands or quitting jobs… I would simply stop showing up, stop answering phonecalls, and just cease to exist. I would back out of relationships rather than face the conflict of admitting that perhaps it was time that I moved on.

I didn’t want to face the conflict in person, eye to eye. I didn’t want to let anyone down. I truly wanted to give my all to make everyone happy, but at the same time, a part of me was dying inside by continuing to be fake. I felt like an actor. I felt like I couldn’t simply stand up sometimes and say “this music we are making isn’t what I want to make” and walk away. I wanted to be in control of the writing and creative process but instead I would remain silent in the background playing drums and flexing to keep others happy. All the while, my unhappiness was boiling over and being exhibited through my avatar (as I have come to call my body) in silence and palpable disconnection. Where other people wanted to make music to make crowds of people think they were cool, I wanted to make music that connected spiritually with myself. Sometimes my peers would view me as a weird guy just wanting to make weird music for the sake of being different, a cry for attention perhaps. That wasn’t the case. I wanted to write the kind of music that truly expressed how I was feeling.

I wanted to the go on to perform that music on my own terms in my own way for others to either appreciate or reject. I longed to connect to others through that music, but if they couldn’t appreciate it that was okay too. I felt disconnected from my bandmates who simply wanted to perform a couple of cover songs for a room full of drunks. I was not there to entertain, I was there to teach and experience. That is what interested me and ultimately why I wanted to quit every band I was ever in. I have not been able to find another person who feels the same way, of wanting to create something that we can all connect on at a visceral level.

I would give my all to writing and performing drum and vocal parts for some of the bands I was in over the years. I would try to contribute my musings through ironic lyrics and nuanced drum fills. All the while I felt underappreciated. I felt like I was just a guy who was there to fill in where any drummer could just sit in. I felt that my views on the world and lyrics weren’t taken seriously, as much as they were written in satire, that is the seriousness that I intended. To satirically point out the ridiculous nature of heavy metal’s backbone which is isolating and pushing people away more and more as they seek the next “legit” band and scoff at “posers.” I wanted to bring these people together and give them a sense of “maybe we’re all in the same boat and we should just have a good time” rather than worrying about how freaking gay breakdowns and hardcore dancing was.

I lost music somewhere along the way because I could never find like-minded people to play it with. I wanted to simply connect. I wanted to make music for the sake of music, connection, love, solidarity, and to express our feelings with the human experience. I didn’t want to replicate what other people were already doing. I didn’t want to entertain a room full of people on a Friday night. I didn’t want a free bar tab or a backstage pass. I didn’t want paid for a single gig. I just wanted to see who else was feeling what I was feeling. I still want that, but I don’t know where to look.

Moving on, ultimately, I went on to end my first marriage and I had reasoned that there was just too much damage done and that there was no way to mend from the amount of times I had pushed and pulled this girl. I also had begun falling in love with another girl who happened to share many personality traits with me: the aforementioned twinsie. I finally felt that deep connection with another human being that I had been seeking for so long, and it was on the tail end of me trying to come to the conclusion that I was in fact not human refuse.

That connection that I mention is a key part of my personality. It is central to my sense of well-being that I be understood, appreciated, and loved by someone else. I never recognized that before. I was so caught up in self-loathing that I honestly believed that I was not worth loving. I have read that this is common in those with BPD. A sense of being the one person that cannot be loved, appreciated, respected, or connected with has become central to many of us. We have developed maladaptive personalities as a response to absurd stimuli in the setting of distinctive genetics.

Western society has us filing through as caged animals. We are in fact mammals. We are designed by nature to eat, sleep, reproduce, and dominate. We have done a good job of dominating our environment. We are now at the top of the food chain on this planet, Earth. We human-beings are the apex predators and because of that we sometimes lose touch with our true inner animal. It is like the alcoholic who is 10 years sober who has that one drink, he is suddenly rushed back in to that cycle of drinking. Day after day and starting over at square one.

Human beings are complex social creatures. We thrive in settings of love. True love and empathy are the only ingredients necessary to produce positive results. We must love our children and nurture them. We must find ways to break down their walls and get through to them and let them know that we truly love them no matter what. That is the only ingredient needed for a successful life. Love. We must support them and bear with them as they learn this process of living.

I now realize that I am a valuable human being and that I do deserve to be loved. Unfortunately, it took me a very long time to realize this. It seems so simple, and on the surface, it is. But even with all of the logic in the world, my emotions would never allow me to love myself. I could have come in with this first, but it may have poisoned my understanding of life. I may have not gained the knowledge and insight that I have had I not suffered.

The worst decision I could have made in my life was to begin using chemicals to “shut my brain off” as I always called it. I began drinking heavily or taking sleeping pills to just go to sleep at the end of the day. The constant struggle of never feeling good enough or worth living. Studies clearly show the prevalence of alcohol and drug abuse with BPD. For me it was the option to turn off the torture generator in my head to drink enough alcohol to sleep. I wasn’t doing this to destroy my marriage, my career, or to hurt anyone. Ultimately it did cause a lot of strain and did cause stress on the things I valued. I didn’t choose alcohol over life, I chose shutting off painful thoughts over suicide. I was just wanting an off switch from the reality that I was interpreting as so painful. People don’t realize that. I feel sorry that people view it as a personal attack when I say reality hurts. I don’t mean it that way. I also don’t mean to ask for their sympathy. I simply want to live and let live. I will get by, I am strong, I have faith in me and I want others to have the same.

I was able to stop drinking alcohol and focus on myself early in 2018. But at that time, I was not really even thinking about the BPD, I was more focused on depression or bipolar disorder. I stopped drinking and started really focusing on myself through exercise and diet. I wasn’t aware of how my personality disorder played into my mood disorder. It was a chaotic dance of sorts. There were nuances of mania and depression rearing their heads with this an almost flat affect I had developed. I found everything in life to be absurd and treated life as though I were a stand-up comedian just musing on my observations. I kept a straight face. Only the most extreme things could cause me to truly laugh. I somehow inappropriately (or maybe appropriately, this is subjective) attached laughter with absurdity.

I was able to see the humor in everything. There was absolutely nothing off limits. My extreme personality allowed me to explore extreme topics. I had watched clips of people being hurt and killed and essentially found the ridiculousness of it all to allow me to laugh. My brain had seemingly wired a circuit to find absurdity funny, so I could escape the true pain that it was causing me. We see people get kicked in the scrotum on MTV all day and laugh at it, this is a light version of what I am describing. Having access to all things human via the internet I desensitized myself to the most extreme of human behaviors. I have seen video footage of a man being beaten to death with a hammer. I have seen a chainsaw beheading video. Even worse, I have heard a chainsaw beheading video.

When I honestly put myself in that man’s shoes whose lifeless body is gurgling for wind from some prehistoric reflex I feel the pain of the human condition. I am able to know that I am mortal. I will die. I will cease to exist in the form of Ernie one day. I have been face-to-face with death as a young child raised by elderly distant relatives, and I have watched other human beings take their last breath as a hospice nurse. I have hunted deer and geese. I have taken the life from a dove and consumed her flesh. It is a chaotic balance of energy that I have been a part of in this very real chain of events.

The will to power, the longing to be in control takes a darker turn at times. So for me to make the decision to take another sentient being’s life in order to eat, I now must question what that truly means. As a 33-year-old white male in America I am surrounded by meat and cheese. Lives lost for the sake of contributing energy back into the circle of life. It all comes back to me and I can feel so clearly the morning I first took the life of a white-tailed deer.

I was camped out in my tree stand. I was dressed like a redneck in camo and I had hiked into some fall scenery right out of a Mark Twain novel. I was sitting silently and waiting for motion. When I finally heard the crushing of leaves my heart began to race. This is it. This is the moment I have been waiting for. To kill this sentient being. The hunt was on.

I saw two does playfully wondering through a sparse patch of thin trunked trees. The leaves were golden and red. They were almost dancing with one another. They hadn’t noticed me but I watched them come into my field of vision. I moved and one of the does looked up. She made eye contact with me. Her tail flipped up. White flag! She was ready to run. She was afraid. I drew my bow and let loose an arrow into the distance.

There was a calamity of hooves and cracking leaves. My heart was racing and there was sweat on my brow. I could smell autumn. I was one with the nature scene I had very realistically painted myself into. I rushed down from my latter clumsier than I would like to admit and began taking large gallop-like steps toward a creek bed. I could see a faint trail of blood on the ground guiding me to where this injured creature must be. It was like I looked up and there she was. Right in front of me. I was on top of her and didn’t even see her. She appeared out of nowhere.

She was lying in a shallow creek bed making labored breaths. Begging mother nature for her life. I pulled my 9mm side arm from my waist and did what I thought was the right thing at the time. I mercifully killed her by shooting her in the head. To end her suffering. My adrenaline was coursing through my body and I could not imagine what my next move was. I picked up the lifeless doe that was once dancing with her friend and threw her over my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. I carried her out of the woods like a “real man” and disrespectfully threw her body in the back of my hatch back ford focus. Her eyes were glazed over and her tongue fell out the right side of her mouth.

I brought her to my home and removed her skin. I hung her from her hind legs in my shed with some bailing twine that was laying around and I opened YouTube videos on how to butcher a deer. I called my friend Gabe to see if he had a knife, he was too drunk to help me dress my kill.

I began hacking parts off of this majestic creature’s body with an axe and a dull kitchen knife. I had already purchased butchers paper and I broke down the meat the best I could with the guidance of Youtube. I turned on a death metal album by Cannibal Corpse to get me in a disgusting mindset as I butchered away. I needed the distraction in order to complete the job. My now ex-wife came home to find blood on the back porch and door knob and she knew “Ernie got a deer.” What the fuck does it even mean? I got one.

We went on to incorporate this fresh meat into our cooking for the rest of that year and I even tried to consume the organ meats with Gabe as to not waste any of the animal. Looking back it seems so barbaric and out of character for me. I don’t think I could ever pull the trigger again or let another arrow fly. The sanctity of life is not something that I wish to choose when it shall end. All life is sacred in This consciousness. That is what I have come to appreciate. I know others struggle with it and take it lightly, but I have intimately been there. I have danced with death and I know every callus lunge.

To me, now, the thought of being able to obtain a permit to hunt and end a life is absurd.  Of course, creatures need to eat. But I am looking at this planet as a whole. How can human beings simply choose what life is sacred and what life is not? We fish the oceans dry. Why must we consume those things with sentience in order to survive? I don’t believe it is necessary at this point. That seems a bit misguided to me to think that it is entirely just sack after sack of matter and therefore vitamins and nutrients. Sure, I have stomped out an ant hill, I have crushed a fly. But what gives me that right? I believe as a human being we are blessed and cursed to know that life is finite. I do not wish to be a god amongst plebeians.

Knowing that my true moral code is to love all life and to appreciate it and hold it in high regard is paramount to my existence. I can then, unfortunately, explore the very opposite of this notion. That life is not sacred. That this existence is pointless and meaningless. That we are simply chemical reactions. The view of materialists is that we are a complex series of reactions. While I don’t believe this to be accurate, I have had my brain chemistry altered to the point that I almost believed it.

I had a short stent of taking the drug Abilify for an episode of mania and panic. I was started on this in-patient and continued it for about a week after hospitalization. Honestly, within a few days of being on the drug I felt no emotional attachment to my wife of so many years. I also believe, however, my true emotional attachment to her had waxed and waned over the previous years as my personality disorder pushed and pulled my life. While on Abilify I was able to make cold and rigid decisions without any emotional repercussions. I truly feel I could have strangled somebody to death and not felt any remorse on that medication. Is it simply the neurotransmitters in our brains that regulate our sense of right and wrong or are we tuning into something greater like a collective consciousness?

Through the years professionally and personally I have chronically had angst about my performance or accomplishments. I would always immediately downplay my performance and know that I could do better. Until I drastically modified my lifestyle and stopped drinking alcohol I was headed toward self-destruction. Having our neurotransmitters out of balance is like tuning a piano with an out of tune reference. I don’t know how to better describe it. It is like interpreting the world through a faulty interpretation device. Nature provides us the tools to perfectly balance and calibrate our interpretation device if we are willing to take the time and effort.

In this eastern society it does take time and effort to calibrate your device. In the wild it would not. You would not worry about being depressed or manic in the wild for a number of reasons. The cycle would have simply played out as it should. In our artificial reality that we have constructed with these cities and roadways, we have to take the time to get back to nature if we want balance. We need to re-calibrate our brains. We need to balance our neurotransmitters.

Our neuro-endocrine systems naturally produce everything we need if they are functioning properly. In order to function properly they need the correct environment. Our biology is specifically fine-tuned to allow us to thrive in whatever given setting we happen to arise from. We are at a point in which we are modifying our environment faster than evolution can catch up with and thus we have the central disconnected feeling that comes out as angst and turmoil. Identifying this and utilizing our strengths to fit into our own lives on an individual level is the prescribed treatment. There is no one size fits all plan.

Neuro-endocrinology functions optimally when given appropriate ingredients and in human beings those ingredients can be obtained from plant sources, water, and of course love. In order to best fuel our bodies optimally we should be eating a vegan diet which is free of processed foods, hormones, antibiotics, and suffering. When we eat food, we are eating the building blocks of our body and mind. Food is information essentially. What we take in builds what we are. This is important. The fuel we run on is central to our functioning at our best.

Looking at myself now, I am obsessed with telling the truth and being accurate. I want to live a life that I am proud of and therefor hold no secrets. I want to connect with another human being on an intimate level in which I tell her no lies. I want to be as open and forth coming as possible. The ultimate vulnerability. The payoff, is the ultimate relationship. It is important that we all begin to shift our culture to a culture of openness. We should be proud of who we are. We should be able to express our deepest desires and interests freely.

If we have something to hide, it is likely leading to negative karma. This is how I weigh my karma. When I do something I ask myself, “Is this something you would feel proud to tell everyone in this world?” If it is not, there is a better option. It is important as a species as we continue to evolve spiritually and emotionally that we understand this internal compass and respect it. We need to always bend to the will of the internal compass and listen to it in order to have the most fulfilling lives. If your gut tells you not to do something, you seriously need to stop and reconsider that decision. Take time. Make the right choice. To truly work through this process is grueling but it will lead to the ultimate transcendence.

The ultimate will to power is to give up complete control. Give your life over to the laws of the universe. To love without questioning “what is in it for me?” to give without wondering “do they appreciate it?” to teach others to better themselves and stop judging them for what they aren’t. Start seeing human beings for their potential. To push forth and get every bit of positivity out of our fellow-man’s soul. To not wonder “how am I going to get by” and just wonder “how can I help someone else get by.”

That is what I am striving for. I will post this long post for free, relatively unedited, though it feels like it should probably be in some sort of BPD and spirituality book or something. I know that in my life the Universe will provide for me food, shelter, wisdom, and love if I stay on the right path. I have that faith. I am following it with open mind, open heart, and open soul.

[misssophiachase]

Learning to Fly

Thanks for the lovely reviews last chapter, everyone! 37 days until Christmas (not counting at all)! If you haven't started shopping yet I suggest you do hehe. I hope you enjoy this part. Points of view will alternate as usual.

Synopsis: It's only three days until Christmas and flight attendant Caroline Forbes thought her day was going to be all candy canes, Santa Claus and carols until she meets an unusual passenger on a flight and soon realises there's more to him and the situation than she first thought. Chapter one HERE

"I'm learning to fly but I ain't got wings, coming down is the hardest thing…"

Chapter 2: So this is Christmas

Mollie Fontaine Lounge, Memphis TN – 22nd December

"Do you have some remote tracking device on me or something?" Klaus demanded, slamming his whiskey glass on the bar in frustration. He'd finally managed to break free from their over-protective clutches to enjoy some alone time and wasn't impressed to see them appear unexpectedly and ruin his evening.

"Believe me Rebekah tried but apparently it's like against the law or something," Kol drawled, signalling to the bartender for a drink.

"Not funny, idiot," she snapped, flicking her blonde hair over her shoulder and managing to whip his face in the process.

"Hey! Watch where you're throwing those coarse split ends."

"How dare you," Rebekah growled. If there was anything Rebekah prided herself on it was personal grooming. Klaus knew exactly where this was headed and figured the nearby patrons would much prefer jazz than a needless cat fight between his brother and sister.

"For the last time, I'm not some three-year-old that needs to be babysat twenty-four bloody seven," Klaus hissed. "The least you could do is leave me in peace, I think it's the least I deserve."

After landing in Memphis, Klaus had checked into his suite at the Westin then left immediately, headed towards Beale Street for some much needed live music. He'd loved jazz ever since he could walk and talk thanks to his grandfather and if he was going to be held hostage in the city by his family he might as well take advantage. Another reason had brought him there and it was to reminisce over the gorgeous, blonde flight attendant he'd come across on his flight into town. She had calmed his nerves unlike anyone else and Klaus hadn't stopped smiling since. He just wished that he'd been his usual smooth self instead of his emotionally inept flying alter ego. Klaus prided himself on his way with women and he'd failed miserably when it had come to her unfortunately.

There was no denying he was a nervous, if not completely neurotic, flyer. He'd been that way since his first family vacation to San Francisco at age eight. Given flying time was less than an hour and his dramatic reaction, his parents had been somewhat concerned. All vacations were kept closer to home after that trip, Mikael hated when his children made a scene and embarrassed him.

Every time he flew since then his mind was cluttered with 'what if' scenarios and he would find himself standing up then pacing back and forth down the aisle even during the seatbelt induced parts. It was like his body and mind were disjointed and Klaus couldn't control his actions. Given he was usually so confident in life it had thrown him and he'd vowed never to fly again until his unexpected inheritance had changed that particular promise.

"How did you find me anyway?"

"You are too predictable," Kol offered. "Come on Nik, live jazz? Do you think we're that stupid?"

"Obviously my expectations were stupidly low." What he hadn't expected were his nosy siblings tracking him down like he was some missing child who was the subject of an amber alert. He had to deal with them most of the time and craved some time away from the Mikaelson madness. Was that too much to ask?

"Nik, did you ever think maybe that we want to just hang out together?" Rebekah implored, lower lip extended for extra effect.

"You've been pulling that pathetic puppy dog look since we were kids, what on earth makes you think I would ever fall for it?"

"We're just trying to help, no need to throw it back in our faces." Klaus felt slightly bad knowing what they were trying to do but resented the fact he should need any assistance at all.

Growing up, he'd been the most outgoing, charismatic, intelligent and popular out of the siblings and bedded a new conquest pretty much every week. In fact, Klaus considered himself practically invincible until life had thrown him a curveball he'd never seen coming. He could still remember the unexpected news like it was yesterday.

It was Spring Break of junior year in College. Klaus had finished top of his graduating high school class in Los Angeles and had every Ivy League School interested but had chosen Yale. Although he wouldn't admit it aloud, Klaus wanted to put as many miles between him and his father Mikael as possible.

He'd returned home to visit his mother in Los Angeles. His siblings were spread far and wide at the time. Elijah was studying at Harvard, Kol a freshman at Princeton and Rebekah completing her final year of boarding school in Chicago. Klaus had been extremely excited for the quiet solace of an almost empty house given his raucous and tiring adventures at college. What he hadn't expected was to find his mother in such a vulnerable position on arrival.

"Your father died yesterday," his mother Esther sobbed. Klaus was immediately confused upon finding her crumpled in a heap in the family home. No one else was there, including his father who was in Phoenix for work. As much as he detested Mikael, Klaus knew that tyrant was still very much alive.

"Mum, he's fine, unfortunately."

"No, he's gone."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he muttered in frustration, spying the empty spirit bottle and half full glass. "Did you take your back pain meds after one too many vodka martinis again?"

"I lied," she admitted sadly, her blue eyes brimming with unshed tears. Klaus was dumbstruck at first, unsure of what to say. It was obvious she'd been drinking but something in her tone was telling him she was deathly serious. "I'm so sorry, Niklaus."

"I think I should put you to bed," he said, attempting to move her towards the bedroom.

"No," she growled in defiance, pulling free from his grasp.

"Okay, if you don't want to go to bed, what exactly did you lie about then?"

"I was lonely and Mikael was…" Klaus swallowed knowing just what an ogre his father was. "And Ansel he cared about me..."

"Who is Ansel?"

"Ansel was your father." The life he once knew seemed to be unravelling in a split second. "And now he's gone," she murmured, taking a long sip from the glass.

"I don't understand, that can't be…"

"We had an affair before you were born." Klaus sat down running his hands through his dark blonde curls, unable to process what she was telling him. Was his whole life a lie? She moved towards him placing a hand on his shoulder, Klaus immediately shaking it off. The last thing he wanted right now was her of all people comforting him.

"Did Mikael know?" He managed to bite out, unable to look her in the eye. Given her betrayal all Klaus needed was the facts and not to see her cry.

"Yes," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I guess that explains why he hated me so much," he growled. Klaus always assumed he'd done something wrong given the way Mikael would belittle him unlike the rest of his siblings.

"Niklaus…"

"I've heard enough," he barked, standing to face her.

"But I want to explain…"

"How can I believe anything you say to me anymore?" He brushed past her before she could give him some feeble excuse and made his way to the door. Klaus never wanted to step foot in that house again, it was tainted for him now after all the lies he'd been fed there over the years.

Klaus shook his head, attempting to dislodge the memories before his siblings thought he'd completely lost the plot.

"Fine," he conceded, knowing that he'd been moody but given his current challenge it was hardly unexpected. "A round of drinks for my brother and sister. Speaking of brothers, where is Elijah? Don't tell me it's past his bedtime already?"

"You know him too well."

"He saw a girl half dressed and now he's down for the count, he really needs to get laid," Kol chuckled, earning a whack from Rebekah along with a steely gaze.

"What's going on, Rebekah?"

"Nothing, it's just something I don't want to be visualising right now and I don't think he wouldn't appreciate us talking about his…"

"Shortcomings?" Kol finished, his brown eyes lighting up mischievously. Klaus joined in, he'd already had his fair share of whiskey and after his day he needed some form of release.

"Well, now my attention is piqued, how and why did Elijah see a naked woman? The only possibility would be a strip club and we all know how he feels about them ad nauseam."

"He, uh, accidentally switched onto an X rated film in the hotel," Kol explained. "In true Elijah fashion, he's now concerned he'll be charged for the privilege."

"If that's the case, I insist on escorting him to check-out in the morning," Klaus chuckled. Sometimes life seemed so rough but it was these times he found some pure happiness with his siblings, even if it was at their own expense.

"Well, in that case we need to be out at six," Rebekah instructed. She always was the schedule planner in the family. "Our Delta flight to Denver leaves at eight."

"Delta?" Klaus asked, his enthusiasm coming across more than he'd hoped. If she was on his flight again, Klaus was suddenly buoyed by that fact, knowing everything might just be okay.

"Yes, Delta," Rebekah confirmed. "Sounds like you're finally a little excited about flying, Niklaus?" Klaus didn't respond, knowing that it was a predictable trap his sister liked to try and pull him into. Plus, he didn't know if he'd see her ever again, even if every fibre in his body was screaming for a reunion. Given it was almost Christmas, Klaus hoped his festive wish would come true.

On FF HERE What’s going to happen next? Would love to hear your thoughts : ) 

[fyeahanneboleyn]

Well, I finally finished it! Thoughts under the cut, and beware spoilers, such as they are:

First off, I have to say that this was the most thorough fictional portrayal of Anne I’ve yet read - as it should be, clocking in at almost 550 pages. As with most of Alison Weir’s novels it was an entertaining read that kept me engaged. And as with most of Alison Weir’s novels it also had things that annoyed the hell out of me. Disclaimer: I do have an advanced reader’s copy, so there’s a chance that some of these things will be fixed in the general publication. But i doubt it.

The Good:

1. Weir definitely did her research with this one and it shows. The novel is chock-full of anecdotes, quotes and incidents Anne fans will recognize from her life, which really adds a sense of flavor and realism to the world. (Among my personal favorites: Anne’s meeting with Leonardo da Vinci and Henry informing Anne of Purkoy’s death.)

2. The Anne portrayal, while I keep going back and forth on it, felt pretty good. It was complex and layered and I do think it was ultimately meant to be sympathetic. Young Anne is surrounded by female role models, and therefore grows up with ambitions to be a respected female ruler herself - a force for religious reform in particular, which I liked. She is hot-tempered and sometimes vindictive but fundamentally kind, becoming increasingly volatile and high-strung as her marriage unravels. I especially liked the scenes of her imprisonment, trial and eventual execution; I thought her vacillating emotional state, as well as her ultimate strength and dignity, came across very well.

3. The beginnings of her relationship with Henry are portrayed as sexual harassment. Anne is horrified at Henry’s attention, as she has no feelings for him and is actually rather fond of Catherine. It’s an interesting case of ‘Anne as uncomfortable victim’ that eventually segues into ‘Anne as ambitious re: making the best of a bad situation to advance her reformist causes’, and I didn’t dislike it.

4. Weir does include authorial notes at the end of the book, explaining (some of) what was pulled from history versus made up and naming (some of) her sources. I do still have a few issues with the content - she notes that Chapuys loathed Anne but still considers him “well-informed” because he “cites his sources” - but as I’ve said before, I respect including these notes on principle.

The Groanworthy:

1. A caveat to the generally fair portrayal of Anne as outlined above: Anne is portrayed as being unable to bond with or love Elizabeth who, as a girl, is an irrevocable disappointment. Incredibly, Weir doesn’t ignore the evidence of the real Anne’s affection for her daughter; rather she justifies it in the novel as Anne’s way of trying to soothe her own conscience. What. Just what.

2. A disappointing number of the old cliches continue to rear their heads, such as: Anne having a sixth fingernail, Anne and Mary being rivals, Anne being an utterly loathed queen, and Jane Parker as an embittered and unpleasant woman trapped in a hated marriage. It’s 2017. Come on now.

3. The writing has some issues. The dialogue can feel uneven, sometimes veering into anachronistic territory and then veering the other way whenever historical quotes are used. There are places where repetitive word choice and phrasing become painfully apparent (”Darling” oh my goddd), especially during the long rigmarole of Henry’s attempt to get an annulment. By the time he and Anne have about the sixteenth variant of the exact same conversation it feels like the book is just spinning its wheels. Speaking of whom…

4. Henry. Holy shit, was this characterization annoying. I couldn’t stand him, I couldn’t stand his dialogue, and not even for the usual reasons. There is nothing to appreciate here; he’s not charming or charismatic, he’s not proactive, he’s not especially intelligent or politically savvy. What he is is obnoxious, whiny, ineffective, dominated first by Catherine and then Anne, easily manipulated by everyone around him, and overall just a pathetic figure. He is pitifully attached to Anne, so terrified of her leaving him that he does whatever she wants. His famous temper doesn’t even make an appearance to liven things up; his only redeeming feature is his enduring “fatherly love”. /vomit

Aside from the fact that this portrayal ignores nearly everything we know about the real Henry, it also makes his “partnership” with Anne unbearably one-sided and dull. There’s no dynamic and very little exchange of ideas - it’s just Anne and her family blatantly manipulating the king on one side, and figures like Wolsey and Cromwell doing the same on the other. As a result there’s no indication that Henry knows the charges against Anne are false; the whole coup is framed as Cromwell’s doing, and given that Henry has been shown to be a malleable idiot up to this point, there’s no reason to think he questions any of it. A thought: Stop trying to make women like COA and Anne look “strong” by making the men around them laughably weak. It doesn’t help anyone’s cause.

The Perplexing:

1. I’ve praised Weir’s research in putting together this book, but it occasionally fell victim to some bizarre Critical Research Failure. Why did Anne have two extra brothers, when a basic Google search could tell you Elizabeth Howard only had three children who lived to adulthood? Why do these characters exist when they add nothing to the story, don’t affect events and are killed off fairly quickly? There’s no reason for them to be there, and it’s distracting when most of the book seems well thought-out.

2. The treatment of Mary and George Boleyn was just…strange. There’s nothing really new about Mary’s characterization, but Weir puts forth the idea that she was violently raped by both Francis and Henry. Why is this here? At best it’s meant as an early reason for Anne to distrust men, but there were plenty of other (more tasteful) ways to do that. Anne even lampshades the fact that it “beggared belief” that Mary could be raped by both kings - you don’t say!

As for George…I really don’t know what Weir’s beef with him is, or how it served the story, but George Boleyn here is effectively Satan. He sexually humiliates his wife, sleeps with everyone (and is possibly bi, the shock, the horror!), admits to raping women of all ages, and - most bizarrely - is “revealed” as having poisoned Catherine of Aragon (and implied to be the source of Fisher’s assassination attempt as well). Again: why is any of this here? All it does is make Anne look terrible by association, as she learns these things about her brother and never changes her opinion of him for more than five minutes.

3. Anne and Henry Norris are in love. That’s…interesting, I suppose, though backed up by basically nothing. Even in the novel it’s utterly underdeveloped; Anne falls in love with Norris at first sight - from afar - and for the rest of the book we’re meant to accept that they have this great unspoken passion for each other. I don’t necessarily object to the idea of Anne having feelings for someone else during her marriage to Henry, as long as the author doesn’t toe the line of “she really was an adulteress” too closely. But this felt so random and gratuitous that their “emotional” scenes together read as unintentionally funny.

4. Speaking of gratuitous! The choice to keep Anne conscious in the moments after her beheading was really weird, and frankly it pissed me off a little. Weir doesn’t totally pull this out of nowhere, granted, but once more: it didn’t need to be there. At this point the reader has spent over 500 pages watching Anne grow up, sympathizing with her and relating to her and liking her. The entire last section of the book is devoted to Anne’s mental anguish and terror over her circumstances, which is difficult enough to read. Ending the novel with a gory description of her experience post-decapitation, ending her story with nothing but more fear and physical agony, was unnecessary. It was cruel.

It was also, I might add, a marked contrast to the ending of the previous book in this series, Katherine of Aragon: The True Queen. That novel ends with Catherine dying peacefully in her bed and being welcomed into heaven. Compare that to Anne’s horrific final moments before “merciful darkness descended” and tell me it doesn’t feel like authorial bias. Which is strange because, again, I think we’re supposed to root for Anne in this novel.

So, yes, this was an interesting and entertaining read. It did shed light on episodes of Anne’s life and facets of her personality that don’t get much in the way of popular attention. There are frustrating moments and confusing narrative choices, but I’d still recommend giving it a look.

[halfmoon-sunglasses-blog]

   “Ay, no chinges!” I nudged Juan’s head off my shoulder, feeling his drool make a wet path down my arm. “I’m just so tired,” he yawned, “between work, the kid’s and Marisol nagging me everyday: do this, don’t do that, be careful. I’m beat.” Juan sighed, as he laid his head back on my shoulder. “Nope! Not happening today,” I exclaimed shaking his head off my damp arm, “you’re not using me like a pillow, I don’t want your drool all over me…makes me look like I’ve been walking around the city in 100 degree weather,” annoyed, I looked around hoping no one would look at the patches he already left behind. But no one seemed to notice or care we were having a minor quarrel in the back of the bus. “Ah man. What happened to my sweet baby brother Jaime,” he cooed, echoing mamá’s sugary voice, “who would do anything for me? Mi niño tan hermoso!” he flashed an over the top smile and blew kisses—I couldn’t help but laugh and roll my eyes. But then his words registered with me and a spout of frustration ran through,  “What do you call this then?!” throwing my hands up quizzically; motioning to the dirty old bus we were in, “I don’t want to be here, you dragged me here. It’s always because of you!”  “You’re here ‘cause you’re a good brother, mijo,” Juan said sweetly, still acting like mamá. “Yeah, yeah. I know,” defeated, I know I could never say no to him, “you’re lucky we’re brothers. If this was anyone else, I would have left their ass on this bus a long time ago.”     Smugly Juan replied, “Yeah. Well, what are brothers for?” He nudged my elbow with his, giving the same mischievous smile he did when he was younger. In the small millisecond of a moment where silence sat between us, he looked different. Serious, almost— his eyes looked much softer, calm. He took a breath as if he had something to say. I stayed quiet, intrigued with what was going to happen next. But just as fast as the mood changed, it went back to normal. “Tú te vas ir al cielo, hijo!” Juan exclaimed in the same sing-song voice mamá has. Laughing, I pushed him away and told him to quit it already. He’s the funny one in the family. Always making mamá and all our Tía’s laugh so hard tears would form whenever he does his Ranchero version of Juan Gabriel to deflect attention away from whatever he did previously that could really get him in trouble. But that’s my brother, always getting into trouble because he would much rather do things his way than follow behind anyone else. And even though he did get in trouble no one could stay mad at him for that long— too charismatic, goofy, ridiculous, maybe even too irritating to leave in time out because he’d be pestering you about when he could leave his room. It was annoying when we were growing up, it still is now, kinda. But not even I could stay mad at him for long. There is something so inviting and whimsical about him, he was loud and said whatever was on his mind but he would do anything for his family; family first. Whatever Juan is doing, wherever he is at, you want to be there too, you want to hear his stories about his travels, you want to see what stupid thing he does next, you want to be his best friend. I’m lucky he’s mine and that’s the way it’s been my whole life. The bus ride is taking a lot out of me, but I can tell it’s affecting Juan even more, he looks terrible. Wiping the sweat off his neck, his antsy legs are bouncing up and down, his breathing is labored and although everything seems frantic as his body is working overtime; Juan’s movements are stuck in slow motion. He’s trapped on two different speeds. I hate it. “What’s up with you?” I asked, nonchalantly, breaking him out of his daze. “Nothing, man. Just tired, why? ” he breathes out a sad excuse of a chuckle. He looks terrible. “Ay no manches, cabrón!” I hate when he lies to me. It takes all my will not to punch that fake smile off his face, “Enough! You can pull that shit with anyone else,” I say between my teeth, “but not me. You don’t lie to me… if you won’t listen to mama or Marisol, at least listen to me.” What I intended to be a powerful delivery ended up a weak plea. I could’t even look at him, I didn’t want to see another struggled breath or watch his pale skin glisten with sweat. It’s why I avoided coming here in the first place, I didn’t want to piss him off, or make mama worry, I didn’t want to make things worse than they already are. I’m here because of him and I hate it. I hear Juan sigh, softly he speaks, “It’s just hard, y’know? Some days I’m really good and I can hide how I’m feeling. Other days I can barely walk or have the energy to do anything.” He lightly nudges my elbow to get my attention. It’s then that I see his face and how broken he truly is. Eyes sunken in, the sweat has matted his hair, lips chapped. Juan looks at me the same way he did earlier: calm. I just nod, hoping he reads this as a green light for him to continue. “I don’t know why you’re always lecturing me thinking you’re all high and mighty,” Juan deflected, annoyed that the topic of conversation was back on him. “What’s that supposed to mean?” “You’re always giving people advice and shit but you don’t do nothing with your life,” it was stated as matter-of-fact. No anger or hostility, “You gave up on art because some pendejos said it wasn’t good enough? And now you’re making me feel bad because I gave up?” “No seas mamón, por favor! It’s not the same thing. I gave up on a hobby. You’re destroying your whole life and wasting everyone’s time for no reason!” “If it’s my time to go, then so be it. I’m not gonna start fighting with God!” Juan threw his hands up and moved his shoulders up and down, as if signaling he has truly given up. I looked at him with disgust, rage, frustration— I wish I could slap him, rip his hair out, scream at him, let him know how pathetic his logic is… but I couldn’t. As much as I wanted to, I couldn’t. It’s as if a stronger force took hold of me and stole my anger with it; bottling it so far away I couldn’t find it, or even be bothered with the quest. I ran my hands through my hair and let my head rest in my palms. I was just as defeated as Juan was. Juan’s damp hand patted my back, “Hey,” he spoke so faintly I almost missed it. “Mírame,” he said authoritatively, “I’m sorry. Ok? I’m sorry.” he laid his head over my curled shoulders, his breathing erratic and out of sync, his forehead leaving a bigger pool than his drool ever could. Squeezing my eyes shut in that odd moment I felt serenity wash over me. I was seeing snapshots of our greatest adventures: visiting the museums in Guanajuato, going to the city for El Día de los Muertos, making tamales with mamá on Christmas Eve, creating our own little world in the backyard with scorpions and random lego pieces we found, breaking a window in Abuela’s house when we wrestled on the bed; I was seeing a video reel of everything all at once. Glimmers of happiness floating all around me, encapsulating the memories I cherish. “But you know what you gotta do now, right?” Juan mumbled, lifting his head off my back, we both sat up straight. He looked better now: color in his cheeks, his hair was gelled back no longer matted with sweat, he carried that mischievous smile; smug yet charming. He looked at ease. “What?” I said, mesmerized by his sudden turn-around. “Keep drawing. Keep writing. Mamá loves that. She loves how happy it makes you.” “I don’t know. I-” before I could finish my pessimistic thought Juan cut me off. “No empieces, güey! You’re good. Really good. It makes you happy, it makes mamá happy, and you know I love everything you do!” he poked my ribs, “Mi estrella! Mi lindo niño, corazon de mi vida!” there he went again, that ridiculous impersonation of mamá that never failed to make me cringe and laugh all at once. “Stop worrying about what other people will think, do what you love. Make people happy… who knows you could make it into one of the Guanajuato museums,” he winked and wiggled his eyebrows. The thought alone made me feel proud, I flash my best over the top Juan inspired smile. “Cómo eres mamón,” he laughs, lightly pushing my head away. I see Juan’s mouth move, his facial expressions, bold and dramatic, he looks excited. I can’t hear anything. I see his happiness I feel his emotion but I hear nothing. “What? I can’t hear you!” Silence. “Juan! I can’t hear you!” Silence. Off in the distance I hear an unfamiliar voice. Gritty and bothered, “Orale muchacho, ya llegamos!” I’m startled. Jolted, as if someone had been trying to shake me out of a coma. I look to my left, already anticipating to find Juan the culprit of my sudden burst . But there’s no one sitting beside me. “Estas bien hombre? Ya llegamos,” the random voice speaks again. I look up to find the bus driver, annoyed and unamused with me being the last one left. “Perdon, lo siento señor.” I reply, embarrassed and confused. I walk out of the bus and immediately get hit with a sudden slap of reality. Panteón Valle De Los Cedros  the rusted metal sign reads. I sigh, making the somber walk to the familiar headstone. “I miss you Juan,” is all I can muster to say.