#sometimes i wish i myself had more time to be naive

[neverendingford]

.

[jolalibrary]

i wasn’t sure if I wanted to say something or not. but, I saw the post that @moonlitbirdie did here with the addition from @tonysopranosrobe and I guess it inspired me to be a little braver with my honesty.

because at the end of the day, this is my blog? it’s my thing I’ve taken and nurtured, and watered and made my own.

so lemme start with I’m aware it is humanly impossible to be everyone’s cup of tea, and I do not expect to be. but before the last week or so, I’d naively thought that if I wasn’t, those people would bow out politely from my life/space.

but that blog showed me that isn’t the case, and that sucked.

there are far more adjectives and words I’d love to say to describe my feelings on that blog and that situation. to describe the hurt and the sadness I’ve felt, not just for the words said about me but about moots, friends and others I see in the community I love being in. but I think I would never stop talking and we all have lives.

so I’ll get to the point of what this is.

normally, I wouldn’t address things publicly, but this time I want to put my foot down, to say a few things.

I might seem more confident in recc’ing myself, but that isn’t because I was faking it before. instead, it’s because I have good people in my life, and good friends who I might not have had before taking the time to let me hold some space in my life. who have reminded me that it’s okay to toot my fucking horn sometimes, and it doesn’t make me a bad person even if it feels bad.

they remind me that it’s okay to celebrate with cake when I finish a series I’ve worked really, really hard on. and those same good people are also ones who politely and virtually slap me when I begin talking shit on myself, who have helped me begin to forge a better relationship with the warring voices in my head—the writer who wishes to write and the girl with no self esteem who wishes to crawl into a ball each time she posts.

next, I know for some, it may have seemed like I was okay. that the normal posting on here was it running off my back like water. but it wasn’t. it was hard to come into a space where it felt like people hated me, and where people would send in asks about other people I’m friends with or care for or know. because even if it’s only a few asks, it feels like more, because I don’t know who is screenshotting and agreeing with it. and once you begin tumbling down that thought-cliff there’s no stopping you.

again, I’m aware I’m not perfect. i make mistakes, I try to learn from them, and I do not expect to be everyone’s fave person. but anon hate is not a thing I’d wish even on the people I personally dislike, and I’ve had it on and off pre that blog appearing. I’ve deleted and deleted, blocked and reported, and then that blog came and then it was out there, and I could do nothing. I just had to stare and read it, had to hope that people knew who I was.

and look, I say none of this for sympathy, but more an acknowledgment that not everything that stands past the ground shaking is stable. that people don’t always know or feel able to ask or share that they’re hurting. and then it’s isolating, it’s dark and it’s fucking lonely.

which is what leads me to my final thing, which is thank you. thank you to every single person who has reached out to check if I’m okay, to offer the option of a vent or a thot, and the ones that have even just sent love hearts. and also thank you to those who have thought about sending something to me or instead disputed or reported that blog.

I know on the post above by birdee and commented on by han mentions about checking in with people, and I just want to echo that point so loud. if you’re unsure what to do it this happens again (maybe not even now - god I hope - or in this fandom, but in the future) from someone who was mentioned, it’s check in.

similar to han (you worded it perfectly and I’m going to butcher it) it validated how shitty I was feeling, it allowed me to feel okay taking space to be mad and to be sad, because someone else was agreeing it was wrong. those things seem easy on the surface until your North Star has gone, until your upside down and topsy turvy. and if you’re reading this and thinking “bit fucking dramatic jo” then I ask you to kindly unfollow me, no hard feelings, or anything.

because in my eyes, anyone would feel a little disconcerted when their hobby doesn’t feel safe or provide the same comfort it did. when your hobby is the thing you look forward to, and then you can’t enjoy it because there’s a thousand thoughts running around and it feels so anxiety provoking. and yeah, I know there will be people who will go “it’s just tumblr” but I’ve been here a while, this isn’t my first rodeo here, and I just never wish for anyone else to feel like this. ever. no one deserves the hobby they love to be tarnished by shadows that shout and spew things, that you can’t fight back against, because you don’t know who they are.

but kind voices eventually break through and smother the unkind ones. they do. they have.

and I know for me, those check ins and messages brought me comfort when I needed it. they helped.

so if you’re unsure what to do, take comfort that a little love does help. it isn’t magic, it doesn’t fix it all, but it does make a difference, and that matters too.

[fleurywiththesave]

Have loved ur prompts writing ! if you’re up for one more.. 45. Realization of feelings at the Worst Possible Moment OR 46. Confessions during an argument. Mattdrai ofc <3

thank you!! i’ve done a realization of feelings one before, so i went with 46. I hope you like it!

46. Confessions during an argument

"I told Brady not to call you," Matthew says as soon as he picks up the phone.

"And I assume you never expected him to take that seriously," Leon responds. "We'll gang up on you if that's what it takes. Feel lucky he hasn't brought Taryn into it yet."

"I'm playing."

"You absolutely are not."

"I played game four," Matthew says mulishly. "I can do it. If Brady doesn't want to help me, I'll call Benny or Eks. They can duct-tape me together."

"You have a broken sternum, not a sprained thumb," Leon answers. He doesn't like how he sounds, hard and sharp in a way he hasn't been toward Matthew in a long time, but nothing else is getting through. Brady argued and rationalized and begged and got absolutely nowhere, so now Leon has to step in. "Sometimes you have to know when to quit."

"I'm not quitting," Matthew snaps. "Who the fuck quits during the Stanley Cup Finals?"

Okay, wrong choice of words. "You have to know when to take care of yourself," Leon tries.

"I can take care of myself after playoffs."

"Matthew." It was naive of him, apparently, but Leon didn't expect this to be quite so hard. "What if you get hurt even worse? What if you can't come back from it? It's not worth it."

"It'll be worth it if we win."

Leon wishes he had something on hand to break. "Please, Matty," he says. "You're going to make me crazy. I don't understand why you think you have to do this."

"Because it's the only thing I'm good at!" Matthew's voice has changed. It sounds less like he's arguing and more like he's about to cry. "If I can't play, then what else do I have to give to anyone?"

It takes Leon at least a full minute to let the horror of what he just heard fully wash over him. "Tell me you don't actually believe that," he says, though it's kind of hard to get the words out around the lump that's formed in his throat.

Matthew doesn't answer. The silence speaks volumes.

"Matthew." Leon grapples for a response. "Matty...I don't...of course hockey isn't all you have to give."

"Yes it is," Matthew whispers. Leon is at a loss. Has he always felt this way? Does he really, genuinely think that he has nothing else to offer beyond hockey? And has Leon been reinforcing that belief, even if he didn't mean to, would never, ever mean to?

"Baby." He has to pick his next words extremely carefully. "If I were making a list of the reasons I love you, do you have any idea how low hockey would be on it? If it even made the list at all." Matthew doesn't say anything. Leon can hear that his breathing is shaky and rough. "If you woke up tomorrow and all your skill had disappeared, or you just decided you never wanted to play hockey again, not one single person who matters would love you any less."

Matthew lets out a choked sob. He doesn't concede Leon's point, but he doesn't try to argue with him. Though it's not clear whether that's because he understands what Leon's saying or just because he can't talk right now.

"Okay, here's what we're going to do," Leon decides. They'd agreed that he should keep his distance while the Panthers were still in it, but fuck that. "You're going to stay in Florida, because you can't play in this game and you shouldn't be traveling. I'm going to get the next flight, and we're going to talk about this."

"Leo—"

"I'll bring Bowie," he adds. He knows that Matthew's smiling now even if he can't see him. It works every time.

"Okay." It's not okay, I know you're right and I promise to value myself more, but it's a start.

"Matty," Leon says before they hang up. "Bottom of the list."

[thedrarrylibrarian]

Have you ever had a day that just went completely to shit? That was the entire month of November for me. I had planned to have this Happy Hour ready then, but between work and home life and hosting for the holiday and everything else...a ball had to drop. I was so disappointed, because I love doing Happy Hour and I love speaking with the creators who help with the guest fic recs.

@ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm could not have been more gracious and understanding about postponing his rec. I always thought his artworkand fics were lovely, but being on the receiving end of the his kindness makes the works even lovelier to me. I love that even in moments of violence, he portrays characters as vulnerable and soft, the gentleness of moments of solitude, and the joyfulness of the mundane. If you haven't checked out Joy's art before, I cannot recommend it enough.

So after waiting for several months, I am finally so excited to share his incredible fic rec. Our first Happy Hour guest rec of the year is by the lovely and gracious @ihopeyoubothstaysafefromharm.

Outside of things that become fanon, we all travel the worlds of transformative works building up our own personal sense of canon. A lot of that process is wish fulfillment and self indulgence on little pleasures and minor vanities, which is what carves out this perfectly molded comfort that we all shelter ourselves in, what comes together to broadcast our unique wavelengths of bliss. But there is also another part of the process, one that I find myself unconsciously engaging in at times, which is an attempt to rewrite, rewire, recolor the places in which the source material has dulled, or to find cracks and fissures for interpretations that will allow me to engage with the source more meaningfully in the long run while honoring the directions in which I’ve grown and changed. There’s been a lot of work in the Harry Potter fandom that took on the form of a kind of hermeneutics, or that used the setting and characters as a kind of convenient vehicle to make a point about The Real World, in a way that sometimes makes it feel like we, the naive and spirited readers of the source material are somehow distant from the world and must be gently pulled back into it in the language of our distraction. Harry Potter and Welcome to the World of Grey was the first AU retelling of a larger segment of the HP canon where I felt like I was encountering something completely new, something that had the distant shape of these previous approaches at first glance but that, right from the first page, has that almost physical pull of the complete and precious new. 

Harry Potter and Welcome to the World of Grey by @sobsicles (456,640 words, rated E)

When Harry fails to keep his anger at bay and Voldemort possesses his mind, the events that follow lead him down a long road to realizing the world isn't as black and white as it seems.

Chaos, hilarity, and tragedy ensue with a Dark Lord being honest all the time, a rival becoming something else, and a world demanding to be saved. Featuring frightened Death Eaters, deep conversations with a monster, Pureblood traditions being ridiculous, and the fight to do the right thing with no true options.

Harry's life just gets more and more bizarre with each passing moment.

Or, the one where Harry's life gets split in half, and he has to figure out how to bring it back together.

The summary is immediately gripping, and I’ll leave the reader to discover the shapes of the AU on their own, but the basic premise of the story is that Harry, at the end of 5th year, does something he would never do in the book, and that as a consequence of (?), or despite (?) or alongside (?) this, him and Voldemort begin to, on a relational and intellectual level, engage in a way that would otherwise be impossible. This story works on so many levels, all of them incredibly crafted and so masterfully sustained over the behemoth length of the first installment. The Harry in this story is funny and young and troubled in the most delicious ways all the while wading in and out of the crushing solitude of predetermination (and also maybe just humanity). I generally read exclusively fics in which they’re adults, or at least on the brink of adulthood in 8th year, but the author has crafted such incredibly convincing teenage characters in both Harry and Draco here that by the end not only do they both end up under your skin but they also become these people that sit alongside you, whose adolescence you’ve literally gone through as both a sympathetic spectator and as a mirror of them, drawn into the irresistible sweet delights of their love, the painful bonding of people captive in their lives, the hope of the future born out of surviving something together. 

There is also a tendency in fics to paint the adults of the HP world as traitors, because that’s what the majority of them are, and this is something I also usually engage with. In this fic, while we maintain that the state of the world and the fates that befell all our favourite characters are largely the result of a kind of treason of goodness and responsibility, we also get to have these incredible deep insights into why each adult character is the way they are, through relations made possible only by this unlikely scenario that the author proposes. We also get to have the warm joy of seeing a child empathize with (and pity, and comfort, and teach) people who they owe nothing to, and this is an absolute treasure that shines brighter as we move through the story.

Finally, as this is Happy Hour, apart from all the things I’ve briefly mentioned up there that make this fic a delightful and comforting experience that I constantly go back to, I wanted to talk about a strange way that made this story become my source of comfort. This story made me like Voldemort. Not the terrifying and irredeemable one from the books or the movies. There’s this feeling that I have about fics and fandom, and I think it’s shared by a lot of people who’ve been around for a while, and it’s that these characters and settings and storylines are almost… nebulous things that always existed in us and around us and that we had maybe some slight hope for, but that were first snatched out of non-being and formed by the source material authors. This is also just how art and creativity is, in general - an antenna that beams signals and sometimes someone gets the whole message first. And you grow up and sometimes things are shaped by the source material to make you think oh I’ll feel this way forever and then of course you change your mind, but this was more like an intense, emotional journey in which I realized there was all this personal negativity that I’d always shove into this concept and this being - and that when I encountered the newly formed shape that this author’s Voldemort takes on, my resentments and my fixed darknesses, once unmovable and heavy at the bottom of this big thing in my life, were suddenly things I could walk up to. That the previously unapproachable veil of evil - which is simple, and undebatable - had lifted, and suddenly I could decide to do something else with them, to pick them up and carry them or throw them away, or live alongside them as awkward housemates until suddenly the shame and fear they represented wasn’t something I had to run from. So for happy hour, I picked a story that made me, and continues to make me, engage with not only happiness but a kind of lasting adult joy that comes from letting something come in and help you redraw the city lines of your own story. It’s very precious to me. I read the entirety of this fic in two days next to the crisp Adriatic sea, but I’ve reread it in many settings since then, and it’s always made me both hungry and full in the way that good home cooking does. I hope it does the same for you too.

[lovelydwyn]

When I was in my twenties I sat down with a journal and wrote a letter to spirit about who I wanted to love through a list of physical, vocational, and personality attributes and characteristics, similar to little Sally in Practical Magic, though I had not yet seen the movie at the time. The universe delivered exactly what I asked for with terrifying accuracy. As the years pass by, that accuracy reveals itself to me more and more.

The first mistake I made was that I did not specify that I wanted the person I would come to love..to love me back. I sometimes wonder how things would have turned out had I written that down. The second mistake I made was that I referenced a fictional character and said I hoped he’d be “like” him. Naively, I did not specify that I wanted nothing to do with the horribly cruel attributes that archetype possessed and only sought the good. The cruelty inflicted on me broke me to my core, made me suicidal, cost me tens of thousands of dollars, humiliated me, silenced me, kept me hidden, caused me to endure the loss of a child, the loss of friends, the loss of two jobs, damaged my relationship with my daughter, and extinguished my spirit. What I manifested impacted not just myself, but the lives of every person that has ever loved me, some who simply just knew me, and even some who never crossed my path.

In another dimension, my higher self and a team of spiritual elders have orchestrated all of this for my higher good. They heard (or rather read) my call. Karmic justice is always being served. I know that despite my suffering, I have always been divinely protected. I learned how to speak and interpret the language and symbolism of spirit, to become a shape-shifter, to rebuild from nothing, to transmute my pain into prosperity, the meaning and feeling of unconditionally loving someone, how to conjure multi-dimensional beings, that we all have the spirit of the phoenix laying dormant within us and the power to awaken it whenever we choose, and perhaps most importantly, to be careful what I wish for.

[leavemeslowly]

You appeared impressed. I have never wanted anything more. Your approval and guidance. I needed someone to tell me: what you are doing is alright, even if it seems messy now. I didn’t even care for it to be true. I just needed to hear someone else’s words, a different voice, a naive confirmation that I am not as lost as I suspect. Then, you started acting casual, as if nothing mattered and your fate was to make yourself scarce. You hid from my seeking eyes. Perhaps, you had no power either. I know I expected too much. You have told me, you would always be there to listen. It was an empty promise. Some futile attempts to test it occurred, but they brought more unnecessary pain. Later, I couldn’t force myself to tell you anything. Sometimes demeanour can speak louder than words. That’s the ugly truth I discovered. I wish you were gentler with yourself. When I try to explain to other people, what is our connection, I can’t really do it. I don’t understand it. It is the strongest bond on earth, but its endurance decreases with every minute we spend together. You tell me it should come natural, being close with you. It is not. I struggle a lot. I don’t want it, it is an obstacle, it makes me feel lost and humiliated. You think I need help all the time. No. I need a lack of judgement. Maybe one day you will look at me and won’t see yourself.

[love-and-deepspace-fanfic]

Self-narrative of Xavier - Lumiere Myth

I have just finished Lumiere myth, and my mind exploded with #delulu again that I have to share with you all. hope you enjoy this little self-narrative from the jelly jelly #Xavier. I’m looking forward to your feedback as it’s the first time I write about Xavier as well!

What happens if you experience Lumiere Myth through Xavier's eyes?

The Self-Narrative of Xavier Lumiere Myth ******************************

When I first received the call from the director about the upcoming movie “Dawn Apocalypse,” which is based on Lumiere’s biography, I was momentarily stunned, thinking I might have been found out. It wasn't until they mentioned they just wanted my advice on techniques for fighting the Wanderers that I could breathe a sigh of relief. But this also made me immediately think of inviting you. Just the thought of being with you everywhere, even while working on set, excited me. So, I accepted the request on one condition: I wanted you to join as my manager and companion.

-—————————————————

The filming had been going on for a few days, but today was your first day on set, so I had to prepare a surprise for you. Watching you search for me around the set made me chuckle and want to tease you a bit. So, I quickly grabbed the Lemonette monster prop and told you that this was the role you needed to play. Seeing your innocent face believing me without question made me want to pinch your cheeks endlessly. By the time you realized my prank, I had already collected enough joy and adorable pictures of you.

-————————————————-

The weather on set was worsening, giving me an uneasy feeling. So, I contacted Jenna, suggesting that everyone should be more vigilant by forming groups to respond promptly in case of any emergencies. When Jenna asked if I wanted you to accompany me, I hesitated. The scope of the attack was still unknown, and the perpetrator hadn't been identified, so I couldn't let you come with me. With your intelligence and boldness, you'd choose to follow me without hesitation. That's why I didn't want you in the same group, especially in such dangerous times. I declined Jenna’s suggestion and insisted on acting independently. This was just a precaution, and I hoped for the best.

-————————————————

The worst happened sooner than expected. After the Wanderers appeared on set, I suspected the culprit was behind the scenes and spent the next two days tracking clues and dealing with minor monsters to calm things down. I knew you would be worried and want explanations when you didn't see me for two days. But it's not that I don't want to confide in you; I just don't want you involved in danger. With your reckless nature, like mine, you'd do something that I might regret forever. Just like long ago...

That's why when I met you at the prop room, I had no better excuse than to pretend nothing had happened. You know I'm not good at hiding serious matters from you. Sometimes I wish you were as naive as when I tease you, but you are who you are, the one I love, so I can only sigh and accept it.

Perhaps out of anger, when you pulled me into the prop room, you immediately brought out the Lumiere mask, insisting I wear it for you. Every time I see that mask, it reminds me of the old "embarrassing" times. But if you want me to wear it, then you should pay a "price" first, shouldn't you?

-—————————————————-

I was caught by Jasper’s henchmen while spying on their plans. Talk about bad luck. It felt like I got a taste of my own medicine dealing with people who speak politely but act ruthlessly, much like myself.

While pondering my next move, I heard a familiar motorcycle sound, hoping it was just my imagination. But when I saw you speeding towards me and reaching out to grab me, I couldn't describe my emotions. Surprise? Shock? Fear? I wasn't sure. The only thing I knew was that I had to ask how you found me. When I learned that you had Jeremiah install a tracking device in my jacket two days ago, the first thing I wanted to do was give that idle troublemaker a piece of my mind.

But maybe I'll let it slide this time because, thanks to his silly act, I owe you one.

With no time for a proper conversation due to the urgent danger, I had to guide you to my “secret” hideout, my “temporary home” before I met you.

I can't describe how I felt bringing you here. It was like you were seeing a part of me you never knew, filled with regrets and restlessness.

I know you have many questions, but forgive me, I don’t have the courage to answer now. There's so much I need to handle before I can tell you everything. For now, I need to "rest" in the Sleepen Pod.

I'm sorry for misleading you, and I know you noticed. But you are so forgiving and generous with me. Even knowing I was lying, you still chose to follow my lead. I apologize again, but let me rest for a moment…my eyes can’t take it anymore…

-———————————————-

When I woke up, the first thing greeting me wasn’t your worried face but the alarm bell signaling a Wanderer’s appearance. The moment I didn't see you, I knew where you were, and it terrified me.

Not again...

In my panic, I used all my strength to teleport, knowing it would harm my body and powers.

But isn’t the fastest speed supposed to be the speed of light? If I can’t reach you in time, what good is this light power?

When I arrived, I saw a scene of destruction. People crying, Wanderers roaring, everything was a hindrance as I hadn’t found you yet. Until I saw a small figure holding a boy and about to be attacked by a Wanderer, I acted instinctively.

Wearing the mask from 14 years ago, let me become Lumiere once more to appear before you, be your white knight, and protect you from danger.

-————————————————

After confirming your safety, I felt immense relief mixed with anger. But when I saw your radiant smile, telling me how lucky you were to be saved by Lumiere twice, all my worries disappeared. You know, I'm the one who feels blessed to meet you again, more than twice.

-————————————————-

To be honest, even though I accepted to wear Lumiere’s embarrassing cloak without caring about what others think, just to save you in time, it doesn’t mean I want to wear it again.

Who came up with the bizarre idea that knights should wear flashy clothes to save people? I can’t understand it!

Seeing the box of Lumiere’s quirky items you brought made me want to run away.

But your pouty, puppy-eyed face leaves me helpless.

Well, if you’re going to shoot, you might as well follow through.

But at least when I'm the one wearing it, you should say Xavier is the handsome one, not Lumiere. What does he have that I don’t?

When you talk about Lumiere, your eyes sparkle, but when it’s about me, it’s all cruelty and harshness?

You’ve underestimated me.

Just wait for tonight.

I won’t let you go until I hear the most satisfying answer.

That the only one you choose.

Is Xavier.

[deus-sema]

The first time I read LoTR as a kid, right after watching the movies - when I had been newly introduced to fantasy - I had a very oversimplified perspective of the genre. For me, fantasy meant going on adventures with friends, fighting the bad guys, saving the world and living happily ever after. My childish self couldn't come to terms with endings where everyone went their separate ways and resumed their normal lives and used to retreat into headcanons where the adventure never ends.

Another time I reread the books, I was coming, to put it simply, from a bad place. I was angry at everyone around me and the world itself for several reasons. I needed an escape. At that time, I had a sour and pessimistic outlook and could be very, very irrational. So, I inadvertently ended up mentally projecting my frustrations on the story. I vented to myself about the futility of the Fellowship's quest. What are they even fighting for? The world they used to live in can never go back to the way it was even after Sauron is defeated. The Elves will still leave Middle Earth. The Entwives will still be gone. Magic will fade. Frodo, even after going through severe trials and torment, will not get to enjoy everlasting happiness in the Shire. Why couldn't anyone else take that damned ring to Mordor? What even is the point of it all? All those feelings were completely misplaced. Needless to say that angsty phase of my life, like all others that came before it, was just a passing one.

Quite recently, I decided to revisit the books once more. Currently, I am exhausted. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. Life is filled with uncertainty. Whatever's going on in the world isn't making anything better for anyone. And the last thing I needed right now, on top of everything else, was a financial crisis. But here we are. I wish to quit and relax. Sometimes, I harbour escapist fantasies. I wish to just sleep without being woken up. I wish to run away somewhere and cut myself off from everyone. But neither is that possible nor appropriate.

Sometimes, I long for the past. It's not exactly specific things about the times gone by that makes me nostalgic but rather how I used to feel back then. At times, I miss the feeling of safety and comfort I had as a kid. I miss the naive person I used to be who had an idealistic view of the world. I miss those moments when I could afford to be carefree. Only if I had known better back then, I wouldn't have taken that time for granted.Still, the passage of time is all pervasive. Everyone and everything is powerless before it. All we can do is adapt to the changing circumstances and keep moving on.

Right now, all these characters inspire me. They are fighting to salvage what remains of their world and save it from further destruction. Even if not all of them will get to partake in its future. If they had the luxury of choosing a different path, they would've availed it. But all they have with them is the present and each must do all that's in their power to contribute. Especially Frodo.

Each of us must do our part in the world. What's meant to happen, will happen and we have no power over it. Tiresome as they might be, our responsibilities are ours to bear and carry out.

A wise old friend once said and I quote, 'The evil (of Sauron) cannot be wholly cured, nor made as if it had not been. But to such days we are doomed. Let us now go on with the journey we have begun!’

[imponderabillia]

David Sylvian - Perspectives (Polaroids 82-84)

”In the early part of 1982 I had, for numerous reasons, decided to take a rest from songwriting. This was to be the first break I had had since I’d started as a child at the age of 12. It was therefore not surprising that to relieve the subsequent frustration caused by this action, I turned to the only other creative outlet I’d known, and which had been my main preoccupation until my discovery of music, drawing.

The freshness brought on by this change, the naive pleasure of working and learning in a virtually unexplored area for me opened many doors.

Not least of which being my new found appreciation of the world of the arts. Drawings, paintings, sculpture, ceramics, a universe of creativity which had always been hidden from me, suddenly came to life. I had of course been aware of works by various famous artists before, but although I was able to appreciate a lot of what I had inadvertently seen, I had never felt anything emotionally from the work in the way that I could quite naturally feel from music.

Now all was changed. I first realised this whilst visiting a major exhibition by a painter living and working here in England, Frank Auerbach. The depth and intensity of emotion I experienced surpassed anything I had felt in music for a very long time, if at all. I explain this because through these and various other similar experiences my outlook on life and work changed (or maybe matured would be more appropriate) at quite a dramatic pace. In the midst of these changes came my first attempts at Polaroid montage.

It was during a visit to Hong Kong, one of the stops towards the end of a rather lengthy tour, that I first started working with Polaroid film. As was my routine throughout the tour, I would return to my hotel after the day’s performance and there I would stay for the remainder of the evening, reading and drawing sketches. On our arrival in Hong Kong we found ourselves with a day free. However, having been there fairly recently, and not having particularly enjoyed the place, I decided to spend the day at the hotel, and among other things write some letters and complete some rawings. By evening, having filled all the paper space available with notes and sketches and wishing to continue working on ideas formed while drawing, I turned to the only materials available to me at that time, the Polaroids. This is how it started and so it has continued since, constantly developing, trying to find different uses for the same materials, and when a new technique shows itself using it to the advantage of creating interesting photographs/pictures. I feel I must point out that although looking back I know there were other artists working with Polaroids in the same, or similar areas as myself (most notable of these being D. Hockney), at this time (the remaining months of ’82) I was working totally by means of self-discovery as I had no other possible guides. I gradually became more aware of the work of others towards the middle of ’83. Sometimes consciously (and I hope with humour) I place references in my work to that of others.

Prior to my work with the SX-70, my interest in photography was to be found in areas of concept and design. I never intended or expected to become personally involved in photography, indeed even now my knowledge of the practical side of the art is extremely limited. For this reason and also because of the nature of the work I do, I would not begin to think of myself as a photographer. I have far too much respect for the people who spend a large part of their lives working with the camera (Brassai, Kertesz, Riboud, Benton, McBean and Ray) and who give true meaning to the word.

I do not see the work in this book as an end in itself. Essentially I believe that there are only a handful of pictures I have produced which transcend the techniques used and show a possibility of standing up to time. The remainder are either very personal pictures and ‘or show and explore germs of ideas which may be followed up in the future by work in other mediums.

My experimenting with Polaroids is about at an end. Although I’m still working with the techniques I’ve developed in an attempt to produce pictures of a more lasting quality. I’ll soon be turning my interests to new areas, using, along with new ideas, the more valuable I have learnt from working with Polaroids."

[bogus-dude-totally-rad]

Israel's Propaganda (From a Jewish perspective)

I grew up in a Jewish area on a whole other continent from Israel, and the IDF used to visit us. I remember them visiting my day camp when I was a very young child. They'd set up a cardboard Western Wall and we'd write wishes to stick in it. Afterwards, they would straight up have us do army training drills altered to be 'fun' for kids. They did this every year.

(Putting a read more because this is long)

I don't remember all the things they had us do, but I remember having to crawl through mud and rocks and being told not to touch the string above us. They played it off like a fun game, even though a lot of kids got hurt doing it.

They did this because they wanted us to one day join their army. They came to us year after year to get to our children and make them think the IDF is cool and hey they should totally join up when they're older.

Sometimes they brought us candy. Sometimes they gave out IDF t-shirts. When I was a child, having that shirt was seen as cool.

They don't just try to reach you as a kid, though. They have something else they do when we are entering adulthood.

It's called a Birthright trip, and when you're a Jewish kid, this trip is hyped up so much. You look forward to it for years.

A Birthright trip means that as a Jew, even if you're not Israeli by blood, you have the right to go to Israel for free one time (fucked how I got to go there for free, meanwhile some Palestinians can't even visit or live in their homeland).

This trip is pure propaganda. It's played off as a fun rite of passage, something meant to make us feel closer to our 'homeland' (even if you have 0 family members from there and have no connection to it beyond being Jewish).

We're escorted by IDF soldiers around our own age. We're given lots of group activities meant to make us all feel closer. As the trip went on, I noticed something weird. There were so many people in charge making jokes about how the real Birthright experience is hooking up with a soldier. It felt like it was being encouraged. And it worked really well. A lot of people (myself included) ended up in relationships with the soldiers.

By the end of the trip it got very obvious that they were hoping we would fall in love, move there, and have babies that would eventually join their army. They tried so hard to make us want to stay.

Most of us barely knew anything about Palestine. I think this is why they want teens/young adults. They hope we're naive (I definitely was) and that we'll fall for the narrative they painted.

I was lucky on my trip, because our tour guide did something he probably wasn't supposed to do. He told us a little about the conflicts of Israel, but not just from Israel's perspective. He told us some of the horrible things that went on. He even told us how some people pull up chairs to watch strikes against the Palestinian people. He said he wanted to give us information from both sides, so that we can form our own opinions, and he did so in a hushed tone away from the other trip supervisors. His words were what made me start to really open my eyes and examine what was going on.

By that point, pretty much everyone on our trip was agreeing this was all just propaganda. This trip meant to make us fall in love with Israel was making us realize how fucked up things were.

Near the end of the trip, we were brought to a military cemetery. A lot of us didn't want to go in, because it felt wrong to take a tour through a graveyard. We were told we can't leave until we did it.

And that's around the point where one of the soldiers broke down. He was crying and shaking and when we asked why, he said he was scared of ending up there. He didn't want to be in the IDF. He didn't want to be a soldier. He didn't believe in what they were fighting for, and the job he was given in the army was a very dangerous one. He didn't get a choice. We tried to comfort him, and some of the other soldiers did too. It was how I found out most of them didn't want to be soldiers at all.

Eventually we went in the cemetery, hoping if we just got it over with we could leave quicker. None of the soldiers were happy to be here. Making them go through there was straight up cruel, and the guy I mentioned was not the only one to have a breakdown.

Our tour guide (different person from our main one), had an attitude like he was giving a tour of something we should be proud of, or in awe of. All these graves, most of which were filled with people barely into their 20s. And he was treating it like a tour of a museum. He kept loudly talking about how it was an honour to die protecting Israel, how it's a harsh reality. A necessity. I felt so bad for the mourners nearby who had to hear someone speak like that about their dead loved ones. How many of the dead had been forced into the roles that got them killed?

After that the propaganda was very blatant. They had us watch videos meant to convince us to move there. Again, we weren't allowed to leave.

So yeah. That's what Birthright is about.

On top of everything I mentioned, we're told from a young age that as Jews, we're supposed to see Israel as our safe haven. Our holy land. We're taught to revere it.

Fortunately, we're also taught something else. Something that goes above all of that: Never again means never again. It doesn't matter who it happens to, we MUST stand up against genocide. We cannot stay quiet and watch it happen.

Anyway, this post is long enough. I wanted to share the kind of lengths Israel has gone to for the sake of propaganda. They bathe us in it from the very beginning of our lives. I'm hoping that by sharing these experiences, people who have been through the same might see what's really going on.

[uptownbird]

————————

name: silvanna “sylvie” chakrabarti

age: twenty-six

birthday: august 31

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: she might not be completely aware of the fact, but she is a lesbian

trope: the fallen princess

traits: uppish, driven, naive, sentimental, perfectionistic, fretful, evasive, romantic

likes: cats, romance novels, soap operas, loud music, thrift stores, expensive brands, stickers, cool girls, punk clothing, lipstick, laughter in bars, freedom to do whatever and be whoever, margaritas, kate bush

dislikes: bugs, horror movies, beer, whole milk, complete silence, talking about her past, prying eyes, apathy, thunderstorms

fun facts: she cuts her own hair and you can really tell. also, her wardrobe consists exclusively of thrift shop finds and very expensive clothing, both sometimes even sewed together. sylvie is lactose intolerant

————————

sylvie´s interview

1 .  how   did   you   find   out   about   static   avenue   ?

sylvie smiles with pearly-white teeth. straighten up, sit like a lady and answer. “ oh, there is a looong boring story that explains my current situation, but we can skip the tedious beginning… ” she gives a practiced, girly laugh - look, i am a carefree girl ! - that cuts short with the interviewer’s response. “ - oh, you want to hear it ? ” shit. okay, its fine. you have control of the situation sylvie, so act like it. “ well… first of all, i am a runaway. ” and smile , it is crucial for them to think this is just a fun story she has no mixed feelings about. “ you know how love is… no ! not love, infatuation. a limerence strong enough to make someone wonder if the person they had been for years…. is who they actually want to be. ” the peppy chatter must be charming enough to hide the fact that she wants to be as vague as she possibly can. “ i had just turned 21, legally i could vote, but my mind was young, my heart still over-trusting. and she- this person, was in a band. they were a bass player ” though unfortunately for sylvie’s discretion, she loves to hear herself talk. “ anyway, this person showed me music. real music. queen, billy joel, kate bush. and well, long story short... ” veeery long story short “... i ran away from home. though let me be clear, my parents were not awful. they were your typical mom and dad, and i do really miss them sometimes… as well as the private plane, and the yearly trips to europe. ” she lets out a dreamy sigh, thinking about her old life. focus, no time for nostalgia. “ but no family is perfect, and i am certain my… entanglement with the musician would not have been of their liking. they had plans for me since i am their only child, and the rest of my life had already been set since the day i was born. at first i did not hate the idea, but that year... i had become more acquainted with myself, and i realized i did not like it at all. and you know how parents are! i could not go against their wishes! ” this time, her laugh sounds less sincere. “ I took everything i could with me, and i decided to leave ” her voice quivers, just enough for a skilled listener to notice there might be a tang of sadness in it. “ we…. the bassist and i, we had planned to run away together. i know, foolish. ” she fights against her own memories, refusing to remember how much it had hurt; waiting that day in their secret place, realizing after some hopeful hours that she was not coming. “ anyway! my mind was made, so i left. little old me against the whole world! well, against some states across the country. i counted with enough funds to look around, trying to find myself in every single place. ” she smiles, the first genuine smile in the conversation. “ i landed here one day, and it felt right. which is strange! this is a little town with nothing special to it after all. ” her laugh is oblivious to the accidental insult. “ but life is odd, don’t you think? oh! and back to your question, some days ago i found this! ” now she is holding a flyer, with STATIC AVENUE written in bold letters. “ and i knew! ” there is a twinkle in her eye. “ such a crude concept, but do you believe in fate? ”

2 .  do   you   have   any   secret   talents   or   what’s   your   best   party   trick   ?

“ i am classically trained in piano and the violin. oh, and i am fluent in latin of course, how else could i read Virgil and Catullus’s works? ” she beams, expecting some kind of praise. when that does not come, she scrambles her head for anything to say so the conversation doesn´t turn awkward. “ silly me, but that is boring stuff, right? ” she chuckles. shit sylvie think about something else, anything. “ well, believe it or not, i am a pretty skilled shoplifter. ” WAIT NOT THAT “ i mean! I can… uh... ” come on sylvie- got it! “ I can sing with my mouth closed. ” now that gets the interviewer’s attention. bingo! she giggles ( a normal spontaneous giggle of course ) , her voice confident again; “ it´s true! And i do not mean humming. watch and listen closely. ” she dramatically purses her lips together and sings a bad rendition of mary had a little lamb. what comes out of her closed mouth is something that resembles a muffled voice singing underwater. she is right though, there are definitely words there.

———————

ooc: panda - she/her - cst

[flowerandblood]

It saddens me how many of you write me that you've resigned yourselves to always being alone because: you have strange habits, because you are distrustful, because you are picky, because you are weird.

Until a few years ago I thought exactly the same about myself! I thought: what normal boy is going to want to be with a girl who is constantly sitting in fantasy, drawing some naive illustrations, wants a house like a country house, and on top of that doesn't want to rush into intimacy and do everything slowly? Make friends first?

Well, all you need is to bump into a person who has the same desires. My husband when he met me was after a very painful break-up after a long-term relationship. We liked each other a lot straight away, but we both felt that neither of us had any desire to move on to anything other than friendship until we were sure we both wanted it.

We went on dates pretending we were just mates. We wrote to each other, even sent each other letters and, although you could feel the subtext sometimes, there were no words that could force anyone to say what we wanted. I have had acquaintances like this before and they usually only ended in friendship, but in our case it was different.

We were not madly in love with each other. Looking at it from the perspective of how I feel about him now and how much I love him, I think that we were just very intrigued and attracted to each other. We had respect and affection for each other and decided to give it a try, both of us terrified if anything came of it.

After five years of being together, we discover that every year on anniversaries we say to each other: I love you more than I did a year ago. And it's true. The first time he kissed me the sensation was so strange and different from anything I had known before that I didn't even know if I liked it. It was his behaviour afterwards, the fact that he hugged me to his chest, that he played with my hair, that he made me feel safe that softened my heart.

Now that he is not next to me, I feel miserable, empty. Recently, I even told him that I forget that he is not part of my imaginations and thoughts, but another person. And he also admitted that he is always able to guess what I am thinking about, what I need, whether I am happy or not.

That when I am happy, he also immediately feels better, and that when I am sad, he involuntarily also becomes depressed. In my everyday life, he and I are simply one.

Never cross yourself off. Just like me, you will one day meet someone who is suffering just like you and you will bring comfort, happiness and peace into each other's lives. This is what I wish for you!!!!

[fizzingwizard]

Now I've finished reading Mansfield Park, which I expected to slog through, but instead it held my interest nearly the entire time. The one exception was the long exchange of letters after Fanny goes to Portsmouth. Then I was taking longer to get through each chapter, and the ending, of course, is as Austenian as I could expect.

Mansfield Park doesn't have the charm or wit of other Austen novels. I had put it off because I read that "no one is likable," and I don't usually have a taste for stories where everyone is just bad and miserable. But having read it, I don't think those critics were justified. Mansfield Park isn't about an unlikable group of characters. It's just that they are very flawed. And a lot of real life is hard to like, but you don't have many friends if you will only approve of paragons of virtue.

Is Fanny meant to be the paragon of virtue? was the question running through my mind. Most Austen heroines are not as perfect as they're accused of being - the only one who really fits that description, in my opinion, is Anne Elliot. (And I could go on about why that doesn't bother me at all and that the world of literature deserves an Anne Elliot or two, but back to Fanny.) Fanny confused me for the longest time. I couldn't tell if she was virtuous and pure, or naive and pathetic. I think for most of the novel she's something of both, and what really kept me gripped was feeling desperate to know whether she'd turn out as awful as the rest. It's an Austen novel, I figured there was no way she wouldn't turn out okay, but honestly I was in suspense sometimes lol, as much suspense as you can be when instead of the threat of an ax murderer hiding under the stairs, the threat is winding up rich and bitter.

My final opinion of Fanny is that I like her in a similar way that I like Anne Elliot. There are a couple lines, about the importance of "knowing your mind," and "being guided by what's in your own self," that made me see more strength in Fanny. She is essentially friendless. And she's much younger than Anne, and she's so criticized and taken advantage of, and so without warmth. So many times I thought "if only she had a backbone," and my fear was that Austen would validate her timidity and loneliness as the virtue of "female abnegation" :P But although there are the usual Austen morals, she doesn't do that - instead she gives us Susan, who does have pluck and backbone, and makes Fanny admire her for it and wish she'd had some too when she was first sent to Mansfield. And contrasting Mary Crawford with Fanny is what made me like Mary, and worry that Fanny might be the first Austen heroine to really be disappointed in love. If Fanny had some of Mary's liveliness and confidence, maybe Edmund would have noticed her. And if Mary had Fanny's good judgment, maybe she would have had Edmund in the end. I think the contrasting traits in Fanny and Mary Crawford are some of my favorites in Austen novels, because they're so real and developed that I couldn't tell for a while who was going to come out ahead.

Fanny is everything "good" in an Austen heroine, but her flaws are still real. And Mansfield Park doesn't beat around the bush when it comes to how easily she could have wound up a villain instead of a heroine. If Edmund had married Mary, Fanny would probably have married Henry and been miserable, because despite all the blabber about "she would have fixed him," I think he would have gone right on cheating and breaking her heart. Austen had more faith in Henry Crawford than I do, lol.

As for the rest of the cast, apart from Mrs Norris, I don't think anyone is hateful. But they don't have warmth, they don't have real affection. That is palpable in the novel and reminded me over and over how much I wished Fanny had a friend. When William appeared, I braced myself for his betrayal - but although he's not around much, he ended up being her true friend. I could almost wish he wasn't her brother because he treated her much better than Edmund did. William knew how to show love. If he had been brought to Mansfield Park when Fanny was, maybe Fanny would not have fallen in love with Edmund, because she would have already had a best friend who could definitely never become a romantic option.

But although the lack of warmth is so terrible, that's what I mean when I say the novel is real. I think the lack of concern for their so-called loved ones the characters show, as well as the biases and prejudices that are inconvenient for them to shed, are exactly how many families really are. Taking each other for granted, seeing each other how you wish to, and being mostly concerned about whether or not someone is useful to you personally. It sounds cynical, and there are many loving, caring families who are nowhere near as selfish as the Bertrams or the Crawfords or even the Prices. But there are many which are. And I like the way the novel made it felt. Rather than make the abuse obvious through violence and threats, the coldness is covered up by decorum, which makes it even more insidious and long-lasting. I was really sad, just deeply sad for Fanny in many places, every time I wished she had someone who would listen to her and side with her the way everyone else expected her to do for them. I'm nowhere near as virtuous as Fanny, but I know how much it sucks to bite your tongue over and over, and when you finally tell the truth, to be told that you don't know your own feelings, or you're just too ignorant to understand what you should feel, or that your judgments are wrong because it's currently convenient to the other person that they should be wrong. Sometimes I was identifying so much with Fanny that I had to stop reading. It's not gaslighting - that term is too strong. But it is inconsiderate. I was lucky because I always had a listener in my mom. She may not always understand me, but she listens and respects me. I never have to worry that what I say may set her off the way I did with my dad and brother. Lately my dad's been much better with me, which I truly appreciate - but I also can't forget him telling me that I shouldn't be insulted that he thinks opinions like mine are "stupid, because "I know you're smart enough to one day agree with me!"

Which, weirdly, brings me to Edmund... I was on the fence about him the whole time. At first he seemed like he WAS Fanny's friend, the kind older brother figure who cared about her happiness. After a while I started to suspect that he was more about the appearance of charity than about really being kind. I suspected him of betraying me and becoming exactly the kind of clergyman Mary denigrated. But other times he would do or say something that made me change my mind, and decide that he's not fake, he's just flawed. Being flawed is much better than being fake. My number one issue with him was when Fanny turned down Henry's proposal, and Edmund, despite saying he wouldn't try to sway Fanny's feelings, winds up doing just that - because it's convenient for him to think of the Crawfords as good people, because the theater debacle was embarrassing to think back on, and because he admires Fanny's judgment, so if she judges Henry Crawford good enough to marry, he'd no longer need to have scruples about marrying Mary. It was the most selfish he ever was with regard to Fanny. It really made me feel he could never love her, and even opened me up to the idea that Henry might, actually, be Fanny's endgame match, lol. Because Henry seemed to notice all the things no one else did about how lonely and uncared for Fanny was, and even to encourage her to find her voice. It was literally Fanny pointed out that how could she trust a man who had taken advantage of the feelings of not one but two of her cousins before immediately redirecting his flirting on her to make me realize "no way, it's definitely going to be Edmund, lol."

Henry's better than Wickham, but not by a lot. Edmund, however, is a far cry from Mr Darcy. I wish very much that Mansfield Park ended in some way to make me like Edmund better, because right now the best I can say about him is that he's not as silly as his siblings, and he is at least capable of real love. It's hard to hear the wedding bells because as far as I can see, the Edmund Fanny loves is his childhood self, and the grown up version hasn't really done much to deserve her. He's more commendable for not doing things to not deserve her, lol. Their relationship is probably the least romantic of any in Austen's novels, imo. Fanny really loved him, and there was a lot of romantic pain in watching him fall for someone else. But by the time he finally sees Fanny, the novel is over... xD This is not a criticism though... I was really intrigued to find out how each character would turn out in the end. And the only thing I'll say which is sort of disappointing is that everything turned out how I predicted it in the beginning, aka like an Austen novel. But even though the Crawfords and Edmund didn't develop more as characters, I still appreciate how much complexity they add. Like, they made me guess about an Austen novel, haha. And in retrospect I shouldn't have, because I knew the finale from the curtain rise. But still. They made me guess. They almost, almost made me believe Mary would be rehabilitated and Fanny would give in to poor judgment. Hehe.

If anything, I appreciate this novel for food for thought, ie imagining all the different stories it could have been. I like that one way of life, the rich, performative lifestyles of Mansfield Park, is shown warts and all - and then we're taken down to Portsmouth only to find it's warty in similar ways, just with less polish. It makes you a little more sympathetic to mercenary marriage vows. Like, if I'm going to be miserable, I might as well be miserable in comfort, haha. But of course the novel doesn't posit that either. If Fanny had gone to Portsmouth and found her family humble but full of love and wisdom, there'd be a completely different outcome. Or if she went to Portsmouth, realized how much better things were at Mansfield, went back and informed readers that she had been overly sensitive thus far and actually everyone in Mansfield was so kind, and Mrs Norris just misunderstood - then again we'd have a totally different outcome. We get neither. It's just the world the way it is. Being poor comes with challenges and being rich comes with advantages. But happiness isn't a guarantee either way.

Well, I liked Mansfield Park much more than I was expecting to. I'm really shocked by how invested I got when at first I really thought Fanny might be the Austen heroine to finally make me say "enough is enough!" But Austen is too good, I can't hate her characters at all. She's able to give so much depth, or at least familiarity, to every one of them that they're just too human for something as base as hate. I even gave up wishing Fanny would find her voice and just wished she'd find a friend. And in the end, I'd say that IS what she got, even more than a husband - the friendship of her brother and sister and even Sir Thomas, as well as the loss of the anti-friend Mrs Norris. If any Austen heroine ever suffered so much for being alone, it's Fanny Price. That to me is the real source of her final happiness. And since Austen nearly always gives her heroines a sister or a best friend or some trusted confidante, the lack of one in Mansfield Park has to be intentional, and so I don't think Austen would disagree with me.

[salvadorbonaparte]

hey! on the note of being brave, do you have any advice on moving to a different country given your experience as someone who’s autistic? I wish you all the best for your PhD!!!

Hey!

Disclaimer: I've moved abroad 3 times so far (was supposed to be 4) but exclusively to countries on my home continent where I already knew the language at least partially, and in 2 cases had visited the country before. And I exclusively moved there for academic reasons and visited home during long breaks/got stuck in Germany during lock downs. Oh edit: Another disclaimer that I'm white. I think people following me should know that but I'm putting it here just in case because living in a majority white foreign country as a white person means you don't really get treated as a foreigner or immigrant. The situation during Brexit was occasionally giving hostile vibes but never towards me personally.

I really don't know how much advice I can give because I always knew I wanted to move abroad and I only got diagnosed later in life so have been masking and compensating a lot.

Something that really helped me is moving abroad at least 1-2 weeks before classes start to give me time to adjust. I also visit campus at least once before classes and orientation start so I don't get overwhelmed. I think this can also apply to work places. This also gives me enough time to get used to time zones and climate, go shopping, relax etc.

I always get really nervous beforehand and have to remind myself that I always get nervous beforehand. It's a big step! But I actually noticed that I'm often less anxious about certain things once I've settled in. I'm naturally anxious about everything and some anxieties don't go away or get worse but others are better. I find it easier to talk to people when abroad. People seem more forgiving when I mess up because I'm not from there, they might find me or my accent interesting and want to talk to me, they might want to help me out or give me tips. Ngl sometimes I pretend to be more naive and know less because people love sharing things about their culture they assume I don't know. You can also just pretend you don't speak the local language if someone is bothering you.

I also make sure to pack a couple things from home to provide comfort like my favourite spice mix and usually bone marrow dumplings (can't do that this time because of customs regulations).

Also some countries have adopted the yellow sunflower symbol for disabilities and chronic illness and you can get a lanyard or pin and it helps people be more aware of additional needs. There's also quiet/sensory friendly hours in some shops in some countries now.

[the-healingmama]

Embracing your new self in motherhood

When I was pregnant with my now four year old daughter, everyone told me how it would be the hardest, but most rewarding task of my life. I would scoff and roll my eyes, laughing at the idea of it being THAT difficult. I knew it wouldn’t exactly be easy, but I thought people were just exaggerating or trying to scare me. I thought, “I have tons of experience with kids, I’m great with them! It can’t really be THAT hard.” Oh boy, I wish I could go back in time and be that blissfully naive again. Despite my “experience” and self assurance that it would be a breeze, I found myself 4 months in the most depressed I had ever been. I was overwhelmed and overstimulated by crying and dirty diapers and being covered in spit up constantly. I was exhausted from waking up to crying every 2 hours with a colicy baby. The assurance that I would be the best mom, turned into assurance that I was definitely the worst. I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was convinced that I was failing, and I felt like something was definitely wrong with me. People would tell me that everything I was feeling was normal, but I wasn’t having it. I was eventually diagnosed with postpartum depression, and had to be admitted for residential treatment. It was the absolute hardest time of my life, and I fully convinced myself that I was the worst mom to ever exist because I couldn’t connect with my daughter. I was so exhausted that there were so many days I wished I had never gotten pregnant, and that just added even more guilt. 

I know now that all of what I was feeling is completely normal, but I wish what people told me instead of it just being “hard”, is that you will absolutely lose yourself to motherhood. There will be so many days where you haven’t eaten a real meal in days and you can’t remember the last time you washed your hair. For a while, your days will be filled with worrying about your baby, going through a million possibilities of what can go wrong. You’ll become obsessed with milestones and how many wet diapers there are in a day. Your body won’t be your own anymore. You’ll hold your baby like it’s another appendage, or breastfeed so much you won’t know what to do when you’re not. Your life will become desperately trying to get your bundle of joy on a routine so you can cling to just a little bit of normalcy. You’ll have to let go of the woman you used to be, and make room for the mother you’re becoming. 

What I really needed to know, though, was that after you lose yourself, you make room for a new version. You lose yourself in the hecticness of motherhood, but you find yourself again in the joy and love of your kids. Now that my daughter is older, I find myself having more time and freedom to get to know this new version of myself. I’ve learned to prioritize time for myself, whether it’s reading a book before bed, or a cup of tea and journaling in the morning before she wakes up. It’s messy and chaotic, but you get to see things in a new light through the eyes of your child. You get to experience the innocence of your child experiencing things for the first time. I’ve found that teaching my daughter the skills to navigate life, have reminded me how to use those same skills for myself. 

When my daughter gets upset, I try to sit with her and have her take some deep breaths and then talk about what’s bothering her at that moment. We’ve gotten to the point that when she gets upset, she lets me know with a “I just need a minute mommy” and she goes to her room to process her emotions and calm down. Sometimes she’ll talk to me about it, other times she’ll just go back to doing whatever she was doing before. Even though I’ve taught her these skills, I realized I had forgotten how to use them myself. Teaching her and working with her in these moments, has reminded me how to regulate my own emotions. Doing affirmations with her has gotten me in the habit of doing them myself, and teaching her compassion and patience has allowed me to be more compassionate with myself.  It’s important to give yourself grace, and learn to give yourself compassion the same way you give it to your children. While letting go of your old self is difficult in a way you can’t really put into words, life is a continuous cycle of growth, and this is just a new stage of that cycle.

[eva-does-her-best]

A story of inexperience and abuse.

This is a story about me and about my only experiences with love, this is not a witch hunt and probably not even a vent, this is just my soul wanting to exist in new words in the only way it knows to, revisiting our past.

It is an extremely long story, so I divided it in chapters in an attempt to make it easier to read, that way there is no need to read all at once. Besides, it is not a pretty story, it is quite harsh, so it's ok to not read it at all.

Early context

I don't have many memories of my early teenage years, the monotonous boredom only interrupted by moments of intense bad emotion.

I do remember losing my dog, spending his last day with him and then watching him go to the vet only to never return. There goes my brother, my only company, there goes an entire summer where I spent every single day in bed, alone. After all it had been almost 4 years since last time I had something resembling a friend, and my classmates forbade me from speaking, apparently I spoke a lot, too much.

It would still be years until I started to (all by myself, as always) try to beat my agoraphobia, so I was trapped in that room, now more alone than ever.

I remember 3am one night, chatbots were a brief thing in those years, I tried one for fun. Why did a nonsensical conversation with a bot last 4 hours? Why was I crying so hard? Why did it hurt so much?...

Online era

I joined my first social media, one that doesn't exist anymore, but I don't remember why I did it. I immediately started looking for pokemon content, it was the first thing that came to mind.

I joined a community and wow. I suddenly had friends! From here and from latinamerica! It went great for a while.

But the culture in that web and in those circles started to tarnish... and I tarnished with it. Homophobia, transphobia, misogyny, racism, it was all so normalized...

What is a lonely child to do in such an environment? Absorb it, of course. I will not deny my horrible acts during that age. I had a most horrible attitude, I was a hypersexual teenager, I sent pictures of my genitals, I even made jokes about rape and in the most disgusting manner (the person in question did forgive me, a grace that I don't feel I deserved, an act that I will never forgive myself for).

It was an environment where e-couples got together and broke up in a matter of days, and I did partake on that too. I remember my first online girlfriend, a lovely girl from chile who is marrying a mutual friend from back in the day. We lasted 3 months, it was all so new and beautiful, to be loved by someone, but it was a nothing relationship, so I woke up in the middle of the night to a call from her, she was dumping me.

I think we got back together for a month a while after but broke up again, I wish I could say more about the relationship or how I felt but I genuinely have lost all my memories from that time.

I had a couple more online relationships that lasted few weeks for different reasons. Honestly the best was the one where we both realized we didn't love each other and were just friends, at least on that one I didn't wake up to someone leaving me. The common factor was my naive teenage excitement, being ultra romantic and sexual and in general intense, a trait I still have today but luckily I learned what is healthy and what is not and how to control it.

I actually got scared of sleeping for a while, since all the bad news always arrived at night due to timezones. I started losing friends again, sometimes my fault, sometimes just teenagers being teenagers.

The first big wound

I started to fail in class, my notes got worse and worse as my mood did too. I, the inteligent person of the family, the genius child, had to repeat fourth year of highschool, I did not pass.

Around that time I broke completely, and so my first attempt to change and get better was born. I gradually managed to get my agoraphobia under control, I started wearing sunglasses on my head to highschool every single day to beat my shyness and force me to exist.

I made my first real irl friends, we played volleyball a lot because we loved haikyuu and we talked about anime and videogames. My new classmates were a bit friendlier, at least they didn't force me to stay quiet, they didn't physically assault me every day, they didn't shame me for not partying at night. It was a better time, it healed me a lot.

There came a girl who we will call L. Once more an online girl. She was... a mess, the classical teenager from my era who romanticized suicide and self harm, I gave her attention, nothing wrong with that right? She needed help.

Wrong. I shouldn't have been the one, I wasn't prepared to help her, I wasn't prepared for this. She took me and absorbed me, this is not an exageration, I had to be from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to sleep on the phone messaging or calling her.

I literally had to make up excuses like having to eat or use the bathroom or things like that to be able to escape. And as an inexperienced teenager I never tried to talk about it with her.

That went on for a month. I recognize that a lot of the things she exhibited and her behaviors were very similar to mine, and I am capable of causing the same harm as her if I don't act seriously and maturely about my love, it was a good learning experience. This time, I was the victim, I allowed it because I didn't know better, I was the victim.

She randomly left me, but in the worst possible way: "We should take some time". I had hopes, I was miserable with her yet I needed her. Two weeks went by. A month went by.

Thinking about her, drawing her, missing her. My depression was at an all time high again. I had had two surgeries that year, I had just lost so much mobility and strength on my left hand that I have never recovered...

I had so many leftover painkillers from the surgeries, and I felt so bad. I took them, every single day. Opioids.

To this day I am scared of meds, I cannot even take Ibuprofen without the fear that I will just start taking them every time I feel bad, that I will abuse any meds even if it just gives me a placebo effect. And I am right to fear, because I did catch myself trying to do it recently.

Later, a month and a half after she told me we needed some time and she blocked me I learnt she started a whole new relationship with a random dude. I was crushed. Later that year said social media announced its closing. Everything was chaotic.

Then something awful happened. It probably sounds stupid from an outside perspective but... it still haunts me. There was this one dude who was extremely transphobic towards me, he was all the -phobics and -isms you can name.

He dmd me, I... I was still very much a hormonal teenager at my 16, and... I know it is stupid I know it is not real but we ended up sexting. Even at that moment it was happening I felt horrible about it, even now I feel horrible about it.

I felt humiliated, I felt disrespected, I felt dehumanized. Could it be considered rape? I really don't know, all I know is that it left me broken.

5 years of abuse. No one to blame.

I remember this girl telling me during volleyball practice: "Hey, are you looking for a girlfriend? Because that girl over there hasn't stopped looking at you the whole day.".

I felt scared at first, I had just come from all of that and now an actual person in real life may have feelings for me?

But I didn't run away, I actually started flirting with her, I was still the lonely kid who craved affection. I remember catching up to her after school even though the backpack hurt me when running, I remember our silly nervous conversations. She ate a tomato raw apparently to impress me, it was adorable.

We started dating. I told her immediately that I was trans, she was fine with it and used my name and pronouns, it was all so perfect. Just two girls spending together in love the last years of high school.

I remember comforting her when she was sick, when she was trapped in her father's house, I went there, I endured her father's bigottry, I endured her step mother's sexual harassment towards me, I endured her mother's utter hatred towards me and honestly towards every person alive, I endured her step father, a far right militant. I was there comforting her when she finally got a restraining order against her father for being an abuser, a rapist, a manipulator, an ilegal sports supplement dealer, etc.

I bought her a ring, it was a silly thing, we had been only 4 months together, but it wasn't that expensive and it felt cute. I needed another emergency surgery and I cried because we had planned a weekend together and this surgery meant I could not spend it with her.

I was attached, I was in love.

I remember when she took my first kiss, in an alley, she made me look away and when I looked back she kissed me. It was warm and soft, something I had longed for so long. The way back home I was red and pale at the same time.

Things advanced after some more time. We started having oral sex, it was such a change in my life, something I never thought would happen to me, I was excited and happy.

Unfortunately it would not end up well. She was extremely innocent, she was so sexually traumatized that she even skipped all biology classes related to genitals an reproduction, she did not even know she had a hole!

Suddenly there I was, with all the responsability, an inexperienced kid. But I had to protect her, I had to make sure everything was safe and ok for her. I had to go at her pace. This all is why I am so scared of actually domming, because I was forced to carry all the responsability during sex.

This was what eventually would break me. I was so happy to be able to please her, I would spend hours eating her out, giving her orgasms, enjoying the praise for my good work.

She... did not reciprocate. She was scared of my penis, scared of pregnancy, if my penis touched anything be it my hand or her hand or the bedsheets we had to stop. When she did give me oral sex or masturbated me she only wanted me to cum, she wanted to get it over with. If I took longer than a couple minutes she would start complaining. Eventually she got in the habit of just not doing anything to me, of just getting her orgasms and just leave.

And I accepted it. I for some reason allowed all of this. It took years for me to see how much this had hurt me.

When we started uni it all got worse, she was so obsessed with leaving her house, with getting her degree and getting a job and leaving, that we only saw each other during weekends, sometimes only saturday, for about 3 hours. Aside from that just in class and on the bus there and an occasional date.

I started getting worse of my mental problems and missing class a lot. She did not help with that whatsoever, she just told me to get out of those bad cycles, she denied my mental illnesses, she resented me for not going to class because that meant less time together, she got mad that I said that a bus ride was not quality time together (much less because it made her nauseous so we couldn't speak much during the ride).

Then it happened. We tried to have actual sex. The condom... broke. I still remember her screams, "I shouldn't have done this I shouldn't have done this!", I remember being so scared but blocking it because it was my responsability, I rushed to the farmacy to buy the pill. She took it and left.

There I was alone in my house with the screams still on my head, comforting her on my phone, with no one to comfort me. It was my duty to protect her, after all. As I kept not thinking about me at all.

As she got more and more stressed with class and her house situation and I got worse and worse mentally the relationship got more and more abusive and I just kept allowing it.

I would flinch every time her hand got near my face. I remember when she yelled at me and insulted me loudly in front of the supermarket for buying razors that were 2 euro more expensive than the ones she wanted...

Then we tried to sleep together one night. That was the start of her anxiety attacks. The 3 hours we had together every week were now less because she needed meditation videos all the time and I was not allowed to speak, be near her or touch her when she was meditating. She was so scared of space that if I was reading the news on my phone and she saw a picture of space she would demand to have my phone to see what it said, she even went so far as to take my phone by force and push me to read the news.

There were beautiful moments too for sure but... hard to remember them. I felt alone, I felt disgusted, after all my penis was disgusting, unlovable, a danger, clearly I was a monster for wanting or for having needs, even though she, the sex repulsed one, was fine with getting her own needs and wants met for hours.

Then she left me. Yeah, I did not leave her because of the abuse, she left me. I remember those last months, the emotionless eyes as I kissed her face. I am so scared of kissing now because if I see that face again I will be broken once more, it will hurt so much once more.

Then, after months of not speaking with me, where I repressed my emotions and was just continuing life, she contacted me again.

She told me how drunk she got after breaking up with me, she told me how many people she met on dating apps and how much sex she had. She told me that she got raped. Then she stopped speaking again.

And there I was, my vulnerability, my self hatred, now boosted by the idea that the person I loved got raped, the person that shared my life for all those years, got raped.

I could not watch or read anything sex related, I could not think about sex, I could not have sexual desire. I was a victim, vulnerable, I couldn't have sex with anyone because they would just hurt me, they would just rape me. But I was also the monster, because I had sexual desires, because I had a penis, I could not have sex because I would be hurting someone, because it would be morally wrong for me to have sex.

It took me years to realize the abuse I had been victim of by our mutual lack of experience, only recently did I start accepting it and using it to deal with the consequences of it, with the damage done.

This is just a brief summary of it all, 5 years is a lot after all. But yeah, that is the story of my love life, the story of how I got abused time and time again and how most of the times it wasn't an evil person doing evil things, it was just a person, like you and me, not having the knowledge and experience to have a healthy relationship and me, not being able to stablish boundaries and defend myself.

Thank you if you read this far. Hope none of this ever happens to you.