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helliontherapscallion · 3 years

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Phantasmagoria (Adrenaline Junkie Part 16)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 17

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of injuries, death, depersonalization, grief

REMINDER: you are real. the topics discussed in this is fiction and not reality. you are loved and valid, hydrate and eat 3 meals a day <3

Word count: 2,645

You were in and out of it for the next few days. Whenever your eyes would crack open and you would even slightly move your arm, you would be in immense pain before you would pass out again. You could sometimes hear the voices of your family talking to you, but never Arthur. Good, he definitely shouldn’t see you like this.

Whenever you heard Philza, he would be talking to you about all the journeys he’s been on in his hundreds of years of living. Oh yeah, you found out that he was an immortal being that can’t die. Your brain was too tired and clouded to contemplate it.

Whenever you heard Technoblade, his monotone and deep voice always eased your worries. It gave you something to focus on; if anything, his voice was the one that cut through the fog the most. He would always recite Greek myths to you, often telling you that you reminded him of a few characters.

Whenever you heard Wilbur, all you heard was him asking you questions such as ‘how was your day’ or ‘what do you think of someone-so’. He would talk to you as if you were conscious, often having one sided conversations with you. Sometimes he would bring his guitar and compose new songs, asking you if he should keep a lyric or if he should throw it away.

Whenever you heard Tommy, it broke your weak heart. It was like your little brother was a completely different person; his usually loud and upbeat tone was reduced to a quiet and broken one. He was the one that wouldn’t talk much, instead he would sit with you and eventually after a day or two (you think) of silence he would play his jukebox. But whenever he did talk (which was rare) he would tell you how scared he was seeing you like that on the table.

As time passed, you could feel yourself slipping deeper and deeper into your subconscious. It was like you were fading away, but you couldn’t fight against it. You wouldn’t fight against it; you could feel your pain fading and it was a great relief. You only wished you could hear your family’s voices before you completely left them, they were fading as well. Eventually, everything slipped into nothingness and you felt… euphoric.

When you opened your eyes, everything was black. You were sure that you had your eyes open, so why was everything so dark? Was this the afterlife? You expected it to be more… heavenly. However, you weren’t complaining; your entire body felt light and you felt waves of peace waft over you. This was nice. You didn’t have much time to relax while you were living.

After a while of staring into nothingness and just peacefully floating in one place, you became restless. Sure this was nice, but your hands itched to tinker with something. You’ve never done well with sitting in one place for too long, that’s always been your weakness. You tried to push your body off from anything so you could at least float around, but that proved useless when there was nothing to push off from. When you tried flapping your wings- well, wing- you only succeeded in spinning in circles. At least you thought you were spinning in circles, the inky abyss was unchanging and it was starting to mess with your perception. Your senses felt like they were deprived, but the worst thing about it was the overwhelming silence.

So, you talked to yourself to fill the ringing silence. You were merely voicing your thoughts, repeating your lessons you’ve taught Arthur over the last few weeks. After a while, you were running out of things to talk to yourself about. So, you sighed and crossed your arms. They were very pale, you were actually dead this time, huh? You could only wait to see your brothers and Arthur when it was their time, hoping that they wouldn’t come to you too soon. It pained you to remember that you would probably never see Philza again, but who knows; the universe has a strange way of working.

“It’s nice to finally meet you, (y/n).” You screamed at the soft voice that cut through the overwhelming silence and whipped your head around. There stood a woman that looked to be in her early thirties with long black hair and tanned skin. You could not see the upper half of her face as it was covered by a crow mask, however her eyes glowed a bright white. She was smiling at you with melancholy and bittersweet happiness. The two giant white feathered wings sprouted from her back were glowing slightly. The powerful and intense aura that loomed around her was the complete antithesis of the gentle smile she was giving you.

“Calm down,” she flew over to you and wove her hand in the air. You immediately felt a wave of calm ease over you. “That’s better. You’ve been through so much, my little fledgling.” Her little fledgling? That was something you’ve recently started to call Arthur.

“Who are you?”

“Oh where are my manners? I’m Kristin, the Goddess of Death. I wish I didn’t have to do this, but I’m here for your life.” You hummed, “that makes sense.” She tilted her head slightly and somehow the eyeholes of the mask morphed into an eyebrow raise. Was that her actual face? “You’re not scared of death?”

“No, I’ve already died twice- no, three times already. But this is- it’s different. Is that because I’ve lost my last life?”

“You’ll find out in due time. Ender, you’re everything Phil described you as and then some.”

You perked up slightly, “you know my Dad?” Her airy chuckle brought you even more at ease, “of course I do, he’s my husband.”

You gaped at her, “so does that- does that make you my mom?”

“Only if you’re comfortable with it, I wouldn’t want to push you into something you didn’t want.”

“I’ve always wanted a mom. D-don’t get me wrong, Dad’s done more than enough for me he’s an amazing parent-”

“I understand and I’d love to be the mother of someone so smart. You’re destined to do great things one day, my little fledgling.” You tilted your head slightly, “greater than being an inventor?”

She nodded, her black locks swaying with the movement, “greater than being an inventor. Our time together is coming to a close.” She flew over gracefully and pulled you into a hug. You reciprocated it. Her hug felt warm and welcoming. It was hard to believe that she was the Goddess of Death, you always thought Kristin would be ruthless and cruel.

“You will face many trials and tribulations and you must persevere through them. This is indeed your reality, but you share it. Do not be afraid to ask for help. The world can be a lonely place, but remember that you are never truly alone.”

She pulled away from you and placed a gentle kiss on your forehead, the beak of her mask poking you. Suddenly, the weightlessness feeling disappeared and you felt a tugging sensation from deep within your chest. Your body was sent flying through the abyss, the gripping sensation you felt in your inner chest felt very intimate somehow. After a bit of screaming, you were still flying through the void. You had no idea how long you were flying for, but eventually you just crossed your arms and went limp in the mysterious embrace. Aaaanny time now.

Eventually you saw a pinprick of light far off into the distance and it was rapidly approaching you. You sighed out a drawn out “finally.” And watched as it came at you at mach speed. After you crashed into it, everything went white.

You jolted up with wide eyes and looked around panting. You saw the walls of your childhood room? So you didn’t die? Then what the hell were you doing in the void? You were so sure that you died permanently. That you lost your last life. When you glanced out the window, everything was dark. When you sat up, you felt the familiar tugging sensation of the scar tissue around the base of your wing, except it was less intense and you had less mobility in your right shoulder. You glanced at the hearts on your wrist expecting to see three empty outlines. Instead, two ruby red hearts stared at you.

Impossible. Impossible. You were in your last life so even if you didn’t die, you should still only be in your last life. Your second life was taken from you in an explosion. It should not show up on your wrist. Furrowing your eyebrows, you ignored the sound of the door opening and footsteps rushing towards you. You ignored hands appearing in your vision and hovering unsure above your hand.

You only looked up when the hand grabbed your wrist and blocked the two perplexing ruby red hearts. You saw Philza with a look of immense relief on his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“I don’t know.” You looked back at your covered wrist and took it out of Philza’s grasp, staring at the two red hearts again in confusion. “I-I should only have one life. Where’s Arthur? Ender, he’s probably so scared. Did you leave my prosthetic in the cave?” Your rapid fire questioning was stopped by a hand on your shoulder.

“Slow down, you only just respawned.” You threw your hands up in frustration (well, you tried with your right arm, it only moved to about two thirds of your full range of movement before you felt a slight pain and a stretching sensation), “how the hell do I respawn when I was on my last life?”

“You aren’t-”

“Yes I am! Fuck man, how do you forget that?! First time: Warden. Second time: explosion! I know I just died for the last time, so how am I still here?!” You glared up at him. It astonished you that he just forgot about the first two times you died. Who forgets their own kids’ deaths? It takes a real monster to forget things like that.

“(Y/n), you’ve only died once and that was because the infection you got was too severe,” he put a gentle hand on your shoulder and pulled you into a hug. You pushed him away and seethed, “How do you not remember! Ender, did the last two and a half years just escape you? You’re fucking immortal, almost three years is nothing to you!”

“Two and a half- (y/n). Two and a half years ago you were fourteen and you were barely just learning how to do tricks midair.”

“No, I’m twenty years old! How the fuck do you forget your own kid’s age?”

“You turned seventeen six months ago, (y/n).”

You ran a frustrated hand through your hair and laughed sardonically, “I’m not dealing with your bullshit right now. Where’s Arthur?” You stood up with shaky legs and swatted his hands away. “I don’t know an Arthur. Please lay back down, you’re-”

“First you forget my deaths, next my age, and now Arthur?! What the actual fuck is wrong with you? Where is he?” You gritted the last sentence out through clenched teeth.

“Who-”

“Curly red hair, freckles, always smiling, about yay high,” you flailed your hand from side to side rapidly at your mid torso, “your grandson. That ring a bell?”

“No because I don’t have a grandson. Sit down, I think I know what’s happening.”

“No. Not until I see Arthur.” You brushed his shoulder as you walked by him and out of the room. You could hear him following behind you, but you ignored him. After you ripped Arthur’s door open, you paused in the doorway.

The entire room was decorated with Wilbur’s belongings. Instead of random bags of redstone dust and small contraptions that Arthur was too proud of to throw away, piles of sheet music and the occasional book was strewn about. Instead of the poster of you Arthur had hung up on the wall (you had laughed at it at first, he still geeked out over you even though you were his parent), a picture of the family was there. Despite it being a sweet picture (it was one of the very few ones of the family where everybody was smiling at the artist and not moving around), it shook you to your core. “A-Arthur?” You whispered in a broken voice. What was going on, where was he?

You faintly felt someone put a hand on your shoulder. You however stood frozen clutching the door handle in your hand until you walked over to the nightstand. It was completely barren except for the glasses case sitting near the lamp. This isn’t right, this isn’t right at all. Arthur’s things should be there, not Wilbur’s.

“No, no, no, no this isn’t right.” You broke off into mumbling while staring at Arthur’s (or Wilbur’s?) nightstand desperately trying to find the feather hidden somewhere. Once again, you felt a hand on your upper arm. “Everything’s right, (y/n).” You said nothing as you stared at the glasses case on the nightstand. “C’mon, let’s go sit down.” You barely registered him leading you gently back to your room and handing you a glass of water. “(Y/n)?”

“Why is his stuff just- just gone? Everything was there before I left.”

Philza was silent for a moment, his feathers ruffling and brushing against your arm. “...Sometimes when a person’s been through something traumatic and they’re about to die, they sort of… make up their own reality without knowing that they’re doing it. It’s the brain’s way of coping.

“This reality could last anywhere from a few days to years for them with the events seeming real, but in actuality only a few minutes have passed and nothing that the person thinks happened actually happened. It’s just the person’s subconscious mind playing out scenarios that they think would happen or wished had happened.”

You felt like you were previously walking on a stable sheet of ice before you were plunged into the icy abyss of unknowing. You felt several emotions coursing through your veins ranging from anxiety and frustration to grief and disbelief. The cup of water in your hands became incredibly blurry before you were pulled into his chest. He wrapped his arms and wings around you tightly and held your face securely against his shoulder. He started rocking you back and forth as you felt the tears silently leave your eyes and your breathing shudder. You felt yourself start to sob when a barrage of thoughts came and the reality of the situation hit you.

None of your inventions actually existed.

L’manberg doesn’t exist.

Your name was unknown.

The last two and a half years were pointless.

Arthur doesn’t exist.

Your precious Artie, the little boy that idolized you, begged for you to teach him everything you knew, followed you around like a little duckling, held your feather against his chest as he slept, enthusiastically asked you if you could take him flying, your little fledgling, your pride and joy, your son, didn’t fucking exist. You were never going to see his smile again. You were never going to laugh with him as you took him into the clouds. You were never going to cook breakfast with him again. He was never going to give you magnets again. He was never going to ask you to teach him something or ask you to help him with his own inventions. He was gone and there was nothing you could do to get him back.

“I- I prom-mised him that I’d never leave him.” You sobbed into his shoulder, clutching onto his shirt. “I fucking promised him and I’m never gonna see him again.”

(A/N): ok so a little explanation, chapters 4-mid 15 didn’t actually happen. It was in the reader’s mind as after they passed out in chapter 3. There was foreshadowing (esp in chapter 4, I consider chapter 4 to be the chapter where the brain is getting used to the illusion it set up (hence the title “what is real”)). It explains why the reader couldn’t remember their own death. The line “You were probably still in the cave bleeding out as your delirious mind turned stone into the comforting walls of your home. You were probably imagining hearing your dad’s voice in a last chance to comfort yourself as you neared your impending doom” was pretty self explanatory. In the last chapter, the souls saying “wake up, we need to get you out of here” and “don’t leave me” were Philza’s voice cutting through (”The voices ranged from... familiar to unfamiliar”)

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@crybabyjabby @izzybobizzy13 @goldenstarofthunderclan @bunnyz-pxstel @averytiredfanfictionwriter @dcml04 @sparkling-gayyyy @bbigbbrainn @thaticecreambish @kiinokochii @satansphatass @bxkubitch @bxmentchildxx @roxy3457 @montygator17 @feverish-dove @the-fictionwriters-hairdo @jichuuchaeng @404rynnotfound @luluwinchester @laura--444 @the-cult-classic-bitch @youngstarfishdinosaur @nottheotheruser @ohworm-writes @localwolfanon @realitycanbeajerk @v10dw4lk3r

GN and male reader taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@twitchchatvroom

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@acecarddraws @ravennightingaleandavatempus @dirtydiavolo @yeiras-world @immadatmostthings @hee-hee-haw @jackalopedoodles @m1lkmandan @vanhakirja @im-a-depressed-gay @coolleviauchihadreamerlove @questioning-sanity @camisascam @bongwaterflavoredgatorade @kakamiissad @jayistrash4 @lifestylesleep @speedymaximoff @sun-shark-tooth @appetiteofapeoplepleaser @lestrangenymph @kinismanditory @dragons-lurk-here @rinzyx05 @the-wandering-pan-ace @angelic-scent @shinipii @dont-hug-me-im-a-fander @izzydimensional @used-avocado @wing-non @lovely-echoo @i-am-scared-and-useless-bisexual @mysteryartisticwriter @momo-has-a-gun @misfortunatem00n @w-0-r-n-n @v-kouya @kusuinko @cheybaee @dulcedippers @jaciahbabes @prlan @hummingbird-lightningstrike @pog-sad-muffin @prickypearpropaganda @thegeekisheere @self-righteous-dumbass @solar-idiot

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #philza x reader #technoblade x reader #wilbur soot x reader #tommyinnit x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #sbi family au #tw: swearing #tw: death #tw: injuries #tw: depersonalization #tw: grief

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aspiring-wildfire · 4 years

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MAG 178

Ooh back in Meatville™️

I am once again asking Basira to be nice to Jon

Martin reminding them to treat all the victims as people!!! Good for u bb I love u

“Why are they queuing?” “It’s a factory of the flesh. Use your imagination.” “...no. No, I don’t think I will” yeah good call babe

“I hate all of these loose ends... we’ll just have to tie them all up in one go, hmm? Around Elias’s neck.” MARTIN KARTIN BLACKWOOD TGE FLIP FROM ABSOLUTE COMPASSION TO MURDEROUS ANTI ELIAS THOUGHTS FUCKING STELLAR ILY BABY

“Tool cupboard. Safe enough place to wait.” “Fine.” *door opens* “Nope.” Martin you’re a fucking gem

“Could be worse, at least they’re clean” Jon you’re my favorite person in the whole wide world you fucking dork

Snarky Jon is my favorite Jon

Oh the concept of your “processing” being inevitable but the fear of it being pointless, of not being useful is rly interesting

The contract thing is very sign your life away I love it when Jonny says “fuck capitalism”

Yknow I wasn’t sure why bureaucracy was part of the flesh but it actually makes a lot of sense- the flesh is all about the fear that you’re just meat, and the uncaring bureaucracy goes a long way towards that depersonalization

Ohhh and that gives the whole “your pain is inevitable but it could be worse- it could be useless, pointless” thing a new level bc that’s what capitalism’s all about- accept your suffering, even be proud of it, bc you’re useful like this

God fuck capitalism man

Oof and the branding Jonny’s rly coming for capitalism’s dehumanizing “eat you up and spit you out” process w no qualifications or anything huh

“At last, the prospect of seeing what might happen if he runs from the line seems worth it to Tyler, but the realization sets in that it is far, far too late for that” god the whole idea of people’s fear of stepping out of line bc what if that’s even worse finally being overcome by the understanding that it couldn’t be worse than this but it’s too late to leave and you’ve missed your chance... shit man

“He could refuse. A final, petty act of rebellion against a system it feels like he has run through a hundred times. But what would be the point of that? It won’t save him. A wasted pile of discarded tissue is all that would be left. Is it not better, at least, to be useful?” God the absolute raw lines in this one fuck man I really get how you can expand very real societal systems into overwhelming cosmic horror through this it’s amazing and also oh my god

Amazing job Jonny

Also alex on the soundscaping! I’m having a Bad Time

Martin defending Jon to Basira!!! I’m soft

Martin continuing to treat the victims as people I love my boy

“Recognize her.” “...no. I don’t think I do” “that wasn’t a question” Jon forcing Basira to confront daisy’s police brutality!! Good job hun!! Acab!!!

“Someone has died! Show some respect! Or don’t you care?” get her Martin

“Daisy’s the only person I could ever rely on, and she... she did things, terrible things, and I... I refused to see it, or, said it was my duty, or whatever. I don’t know.”

THE BREAKDOWN OF THE SEIGE MENTALITY FUCK YEAH DUDE

“I wanted to help people, you know? When I first joined. Protect people. But then I saw what some of those same people were capable of, and... something changed. I wanted to hurt them, the ones that deserved it, and it... it felt good. It felt righteous. I thought I could feel the line though. I really did. Eventually, though, it was too much... I was going to quit. I couldn't take what I saw myself becoming. But... then I got sectioned, and suddenly... suddenly it turned out there were real monsters out there, and, well, that just made the power feel better. So things kept slipping. But Daisy was always there for me.” “All those innocent people...” “Were they? Innocent?” “Some. And if not? What crime warrants what was done to them?” 👏👏👏👏

“She was trying to be better” “she was. But she never asked me to forgive her.” “Forgive her?” “I’ve been scared, terrified for my life so many times these last few years. But I’ve never, not once, felt so horribly, abjectly, powerless as when she took me into that forest to kill me. I’ll never forget it.” Jon having the police brutality he faced as the most traumatic event of his life when he’s been so thoroughly traumatized in so many ways really drives that point home god

“Would you have forgiven her?” “No. But she never asked me. She knew she had no right.”

I’m very torn bc while I do totally get why a lot of people hate daisy and it’s absolutely fair I’m still sad that practically the only person who was really there for Jon in season four isn’t gonna be able to come back. I just want my boy to have a support network man

“No one gets what they deserve. Not in this place. They just get whatever hurts them the most. Even me.” I AM CONCERNED

#im really worried about jon man #jonathan sims defense squad #2k always #tma #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #basira hussein #alice daisy tonner #mag 178

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losingmymindtonight · 6 years

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pete being a huge ass queen fan and feeling so broken because i can’t listen to what used to be one of his favourite hype up songs anymore due to the snap and ptsd

The first time it comes up on his playlist, it’s a Monday. Mondays are weird, because Peter gets to the Tower at 4:00 and Tony doesn’t get out of his weekly meeting with the board of directors until 4:30. That means that he usually spends those 30 minutes sprawled out on the soft couch in the penthouse’s lounge, earbuds in, listening to his music on shuffle until Tony comes to fetch him for the lab.

When the song comes on, Peter tries to listen to it. He really, really does. He doesn’t want Thanos to rule his life, doesn’t want Titan to dictate the music he listens to. This is one of his favorite songs, so he’s going to let a little PTSD make him skip it, for god’s sake.

He does fine through the first verse. There’s nothing all that triggering about it. He’s kind of bopping by the time it gets to chorus.

He even survives most of the chorus. He actually thought that he might be able to do this until that goddamn line.

Hey, I’m gonna get you too...

He has no idea why it’s that line that sends him over the edge. Maybe it’s the fact that it’s directed at him. That up until that point, the song had been talking about other people but with that line, it’s talking about him.

That’s how it had gone on Titan, too. Up until it was his turn, he’d been sort of dissociated from the fear of watching everyone else crumble around him. It had been horrifying, yeah, but it had felt like the kind of horrifying you process later. The kind of horrifying that you can defer, step back from, put in your back pocket for a rainy day.

And then The Snap had come for him, and it had hit him all at once that he’d never see another rainy day.

It’s a little hard to depersonalize yourself from that.

He doesn’t remember throwing his phone across the room without enough force to shatter the screen and crack the drywall. He doesn’t remember scrambling over the side of the couch until his back smacks against the bar. He doesn’t remember sinking to the floor, clawing at him arms, sobbing into an empty room.

He doesn’t remember any of this, but that’s how Tony finds him 15 minutes later.

Peter’s vaguely aware of someone entering the room. Of footsteps, first purposeful, then confused, then panicked. They get closer in a rush, and then they go silent and a voice takes their place.

“Pete? Bud? Hey, hey. Look at me.”

He shakes his head, heart pounding. He can’t open his eyes. He can’t watch himself disintegrate. Not again, not again.

“Okay, okay. No looking, then. That’s alright. How about we just breathe, yeah? We’ll just breathe for now.”

“Can’t. Can’t. I-I can’t.”

“You can. You can breathe. I promise. I know it doesn’t feel like it right now, but you can.”

“No, no. Mister Stark, please. I-I don’t know what’s happening. I don’t know what’s-”

“You’re having a panic attack, Peter. Do you understand?”

He didn’t understand. He didn’t know what was happening. “‘M gonna disappear.”

There’s a hand on his face, rough and warm. “No, you’re not. You’re not on Titan, kiddo. You’re on the floor in my penthouse. In New York. On Earth. You’re nice and solid, I checked.” The voice’s breath hitches. “Try to open your eyes.”

He does, slowly. The light hurts, but then the figure kneeling beside him shifts and casts most of him in shadow.

Oh, the figure. That’s… that’s a figure he knows. It’s Tony. He knows Tony. Tony’s good. Tony’s safe.

“Hi, buddy.” Tony uses the hand that isn’t cupping Peter’s face to brush some curls away from his forehead. “Everything’s alright. See? No stupid orange dirt, no homicidal aliens. Just you and me and some carpet.”

The adrenaline is starting to recede. For some reason, his brain feels gross and lethargic without it. “Carpet.”

Tony laughs. “Interesting comment to fixate on, but yeah. You’re sitting on carpet.”

Peter glances down. Yup. Carpet. Huh.

“’S really nice carpet, Mister Stark.”

Tony shakes his head a little. “I mean, I guess. If I’m being honest, I’ve never really studied the carpet in here before. Pepper picked it out, I think.”

“Mm.”

He slouches forward all at once, earning him a surprised yelp from Tony as the man scrambled to stop him from face planting.

“Jesus Christ, kid. If you like that carpet so much, I’ll get you a sample or something. No need to break your nose on it.”

“Sorry.”

Tony tenses against him. “No, nope. Banned word, remember?”

“S-yeah, right. I remember.”

They’re quiet for a moment.

“What triggered that one?”

Peter sighs. Now that the panic had faded, the shame was swelling to take its place. “Song.”

“A song? What song?”

“Another One Bites The, uh, the y’know. By Queen.”

“Oh. Yeah, of course. I can imagine that that one might bring up some unpleasant memories, huh?”

“‘S so stupid. I love Queen.”

Tony adjusts his hold on him and sighs. “I’m well aware. They’ve got lots of other songs, though. Lots of other un-triggery songs. You know, the kind that won’t result with me coming in from a very stressful meeting to find my kid huddled against the bar sobbing his eyes out.”

Peter pulls away in surprise, then winces when the back of his head thrums with pain. “Oh, ouch.”

Tony zeroes in on him with the single-mindedness of a bloodhound. “Ouch? Where ouch?”

“‘S nothing. Just my head. Think I must’ve hit it against the counter.”

“You think?”

“I don’t really remember how I, uh, got over here, to be honest.”

“Oh, I love that.” Tony rolls his eyes. “You feel okay to stand? I wanna get you to the MedBay so F.R.I.D.A.Y. can check you over.”

“Yeah, I’m good.” He lets his mentor help him to his feet and gently guide him towards the elevator. “’M still sad about the song.”

Tony rubs his arm in consolation. “Once F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s given you the all clear, we’ll remind ourselves of everything else Queen has to offer. Good Old-Fashioned Lover Boy is a personal favorite of mine-”

“It would be-”

“Oi, lose the cheek. What about We Will Rock You, huh? That’s a good one…”

#eh i don't know where this came from but enjoy #losingmymindtonight writes #she's not exactly sure why #tw: anxiety #tw: panic attack #tw: ptsd #irondad #spiderson #spiderson is just such a fun tag y'all idk #tony & peter #tony stark #peter parker #post infinity war

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aceyanaheim · 5 years

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Okay let’s try this one more time.

Questions from this thingy that I saw a friendo do last year.

Introduction: Acey. That’s it that’s the introduction.

Diagnosis: I’m working on getting a Diagnosis but Autism and some form of attachment disorder.

As of 2019:

Neurocognitive and Cognitive Disorder due to Seizures

Major Depressive Disorder

General Anxiety Disorder

Social Anxiety Disorder

Personality Change Due to Seizure Disorder ( later confirmed by a second psychiatrist to be Borderline Personality Disorder)

C-PTSD symptoms ( still waiting on final diagnosis but symptons have been confirmed and disorder is very likely.)

Autism more or less confirmed by multiple professionals but still waiting to be able to afford testing.

Symptoms:

Autism/ASD : Can’t read tone. Hard time with social interaction. Sensory issues. Adherence to routine. Stimming. Scripting. Childish behaviour. Meltdowns. Hyperfixation.

Attachment Issues: I tend to attach/get attached to people really fast. At the same time I push them away or tell myself I don’t matter to them. I also have a hard time getting attached to people. It’s either super quick or like pulling teeth. I want to be with people all the time. Codependence I guess is the word I’m looking for.

Social Anxiety: I’m...basically always scared when I’m talking to people? I’m scared I’ll say the wrong thing. I have my answers and messages rehearsed and proofread and sometimes vetted by someone else ( unless it’s sensitive info) and I still feel like something comes across in a negative way. ( like This is too cheerful, That’s too morbid, does that sound dismissive? If I say This I fuck up in this way but if I say THAT I fuck up in another) It couples with my autism since that...actually makes me say awkward/wrong shit all the time.

Has come down since starting Lexapro but still present.

Emotional Flashbacks: Feelings that were there while you were experiencing the traumatic event. Happen at random triggers. Incredibly strong. To the point that they don’t correspond to the stimuli and feel freshly felt. ( tied to C-PTSD)

Hyper-vigilance ( tied to C-PTSD)

Anxiety attacks

Panic Attacks

Don’t act as mature as other people my age/more at home with younger people.

Hypersensitive to any perceived rejection.

Brain fixates on bad memories and repeats them : C-PTSD

Constant fear of it happening again: C-PTSD

Black or White thinking: I’ll think someone’s sick of me or can’t stand me at stuff like being left on read while also deciding I love them and they’re the best person ever when they do something nice to me. Intense but have some modicum of self awareness. ( i know on some level people dont dislike or hate me, i still spiral though)

“Duckling Syndrome” ( is what i call it) : I’ll see someone be nice to me and all I can think of is how much I want them to adopt me, to take me home, to make me part of their family. It’s too strong to be anything but disordered. It hurts. ( possibly part of bpd)

Has in the past put self in bad situations to not be alone ( connected to bpd/attachment disorder)

Other Stuff I either need to mention to my shrink and/or hasn’t been tied down to any of my dx disorders:

I want things to be Just So. Like I want a certain kinda paper for certain kinds of mediums in art. I want my food in a certain order. I eat it in A Certain Order I get really uncomfortable otherwise.

I think I’ve depersonalized or dissociated at least five times..but..only when things get REALLY bad...like when I spiral. I still get those two confused even after reading the definitions but it’s like….I don’t feel anything? But I’m weirdly aware that I’m supposed to? Like I flipped a switch. Also mixed with this weird its not real feeling. I hasn’t happened in roughly a year tho so I dunno if it counts? Its been happening again this year. Still unsure if disordered or stress reaction.

I tend to struggle with depressive episodes from time to time. Like I’ll just lay on the bed and not wanna do anything. I have games to play, I have hobbies I could indulge in but I just..don’t want to. Don’t see the point.

Have thought that I’d be better off not existing. ( AKA suicidal ideation) Currently under control.

I’ve developed these like...weird paranoia spells? Like this one time a cop yelled at me ( to mess with me) and I was suddenly terrified of him following me and hurting me and my dad ( which yes can be attributed to the amount of police brutality you hear about, especially to people who don’t speak english fluently but like I saw it in my mind’s eye and it would not stop and the dude left and I was still seeing in my head him like following me home and hurting us) or like just recently some man asked about my dog and how much she was worth and this weird ass alarm went off in my head to get the hell away from him and what if he follows me home? What if he takes my dog? What if he follows me home AND takes my dog? They’re pretty sporadic ( though not as much as I want them to be) but they’re also really intense. Have stopped since I started Lexapro.

Physical Self Harm in the past to ground, to punish myself, in times of high emotion. All of the above. ( has stopped as of last year. Even intrusive thoughts about it are at a minimum.)

Obsession with being “good”: If I ever do something I think is a mistake I all but turn on myself. I beat myself up. I think of myself as a bad person ( there’s only Good and Bad for me..but only in regards to myself) I have to be nice. I have to be kind. I have to be good in a way that’s disordered. ( this compounds with my social anxiety and bpd to bind me into being a “good person” ( someone who never gets mad never talks back never does anything but niceness irregardless of the fact that..it’s impossible) I tend to think if I’m “bad” that people need to punish me, yell at me, or hurt me. That I need to Atone) ( could be part of CPTSD due to past abuse. Answer pending)

Intrusive thoughts: mostly about self harm but also about “learning my place” and...calling myself things I’d rather not say. I’ve so far at least managed to recognize they’re intrusive ( might be related to any of the disorders listed above but also with past abuse but unsure at the moment. Shrink thinks its tied to bpd. Could be tied to past abuse I haven’t discussed in therapy yet.)

Disordered Eating of sorts: due to my mother being paranoid about unhealthy food I’ve gone days where I can’t bring myself to eat something because I’m scared it’ll hurt me. There’s times where I’ve needed my friend to tell me to eat. There’s times where I feel like if I eat I have to exercise it off. It’s about control, it’s about fear, it’s….about everything but weight. Hella strong last year. More or less brought under control as of this year. But remain as intrusive thoughts and pop up as intrusive thoughts from time to time.

React badly to being alone, especially at home and not getting social interaction. Depression kicks up, sometimes depersonalization ( might have ties to childhood epilepsy -having to be on lock-down and kept indoors a lot due to my own risk of being hurt via seizure- but combines with bpd/attachment disorders)

Have Shown Signs/Moments of Age Regression ( more often than not with the emotional flashbacks but not always)

Literally all the symptoms act up at night/around bedtime. Mostly anxiety but some others that have now been associated with bpd. Causes sleeping problems ( I hesitate to call it insomnia because I do sleep but it can get as bad as 3 hours a night until i just conk out at the end of the week -or 2 weeks- out of sheer exhaustion. Has been present since I was a teenager.)

In The Past: Recklessness and disregard for personal safety and care.

Sometimes get this physical feeling like my brain is overloaded. Often with hypervigilance or spirals where my mind races.

Stigma:

“I’m autistic” “I’m so sorry”

“I’m autistic” “And you’re sure you wanna go for that major?”

“I’m autistic” “But not that kind of autistic right?”

“I mean if you need accommodations to take a test then are you really cut out to have that kinda job?”

I consider myself a very patient person.

“She doesn’t know any better. You know she’s special” ( I was standing right there)

“I guess you don’t love anyone huh?” ( I was uh..I was nine years old)

“You’re codependent as fuck” ( that one my abuser said to me...after...making me codependent on her..yeah)

“You talk like a robot. It’s like you don’t feel anything.” ( eeemotianl detachment due to CPTSD in my teenage years)

“You’re choosing not to grow up” ( when expressing fears of develomental problems/disordered behaviour that could cause lack of maturity. I was asking for help)

“You’re a lot”

“People with your disorder tend to be a problem for other people”

“You need therapy” “I am in therapy” “Then why are you still acting like this.”

“You’re just making excuses.”

“It’s like you like to cause trouble.” ( circa 2013)

“You just wanna hurt people that’s why you’re doing this.” ( circa...most of the 2000s)

Multiple people in my family constantly make it a point ( or have in the past like..for most of my life) to tell me no one’s wanna live with someone like me ( I’m forgetful and before I figured out some ways to help it and the depression was bad uber messy)

Multiple people in my family try to discourage me from trying things because “you know you have that...thing”

And I mean..the usual constant bombardment of Autism being something you have to Fix. Of it causing people you love pain, and them never being happy because of it, of it being a defect.

People around me use autistic as an insult.

General comments about how horrible living with my mentally ill family must be ( ignoring that I’m mentally ill as well) and how my parents probably wish we weren’t disordered ( ignoring that they are also disordered) and how basically there’s no way for us to be happy.

I think at one point someone actually said to me something along the lines of “I bet your parents wish you and your siblings were born differently”

“I’m so proud you can do this incredibly easy thing that I think is all you can really do and I’m gonna talk to you in the most condescending tone about it like who’s a good lil autistic person look at you, talkin and solving basic problems and everything.” ( obvs paraphrased but thats...usually the gist)

Define Your Disorders

Autism: a developmental disorder that affects communication and behavior.

Attachment Disorder: the condition in which individuals have difficulty forming lasting relationships ( it was the only one I can find that doesn’t talk about RAD as I don’t have the criteria for that. This one’s tricky cause I don’t have the proper diagnosis for it yet, for all I know it could be part of a bigger disorder)

BPD:a mental health disorder that impacts the way you think and feel about yourself and others, causing problems functioning in everyday life. It includes a pattern of unstable intense relationships, distorted self-image, extreme emotions and impulsiveness. Symptoms include emotional instability, feelings of worthlessness, insecurity, impulsivity, and impaired social relationships.

Major Depression Disorder: Depression is a mood disorder that causes a persistent feeling of sadness and loss of interest. Also called major depressive disorder or clinical depression, it affects how you feel, think and behave and can lead to a variety of emotional and physical problems. You may have trouble doing normal day-to-day activities, and sometimes you may feel as if life isn't worth living.

General Anxiety Disorder.: Excessive anxiety and worry (apprehensive expectation), occurring more days than not for at least 6 months, about a number of events or activities (such as work or school performance).

Amnesic Disorder Due To Epilepsy :Inability to remember events for a period of time.

Myth about your disorders and the truth

Autistic people are dangerous

Autistic people are unfeeling

Autistic people are uncaring

Autistic people are all nonverbal

Autistic people are all mentally challenged. ( I ??)

Autistic people ar a burden on their families/a parent who abuse or even kills their autistic child ( which happens so much it’s an acknowledged problem) deserves sympathy.

Autistic people are brainy and mostly male.

Autism is a spectrum disorder. People exhibit different traits and while some hyperfocus on things that help them academically some hyperfocus on things that don’t or that even make their grades suffer like other interest tend to. ( my hyperfocus was fanfiction and I failed like five classes because of it) I have a friend who’s autistic and likes to party and drink and hang out with people. I have another friend who’s autistic who likes to skate and science. I’m autistic and I like neither of those things. We’re all over the place in every way even when we do share some common traits

Literally we all have people and things we care about.

Literally all of us have affectionate moments. I’m fairly physically affectionate if I’m close to/feel safe with someone.

Nonverbal and autism aren’t always correlated. Further, some autistic people go nonverbal for a bit but can speak other times.

Autism looks different in girls/afab people because we’ve been socialized differently.

Parents who kill their autistic kids are just straight up horrible people and I resent having to be told to have sympathy for them while simultaneously wishing I had “autistic” written on my forehead so I could be angry without a guilt trip and also simultaneously hoping to god I never stop passing for neurotypical because apparently the moment you show too many traits no one cares if someone hurts you or worse.

The whole “autistic people are dangerous” thing is mostly people showing videos of meltdowns which only happen under high stress and is something people use to demonize us and make us seem like burdens...and is actually why the whole “sympathy for an abusive/murderer parent of a neuroatypical” thing is fucked ten ways from Sunday. We aren’t dangerous.

I don’t...have a lot for the attachment disorder since I’m still waiting to figure out what that one’s really about and I haven’t really….met anyone else who has anything like it or shares symptoms with me.

I think off the top of my head it’s when people think it’s “cute” that you’re super clingy or go the other way and say people with attachment issues are uncaring. The first one romanticizes a behaviour that you’re trying to work on fixing/curbing and that is honestly hell. The second one is...is just as untrue as saying an autistic person is inherently uncaring ( or any mentally ill person for that matter)

I’ve also seen people say that people with any kind of attachment disorder are broken and that I feel confident enough in saying that they’re not...and I’m not.

I’ve been told people with BPD can’t be aware of their own disorder and have been denied testing due to this.

I’ve seen people say people with BPD are a problem to others.

Anxiety: I’ve seen a lot of people who think it’s fake. And also that the only way you can have anxiety if you’re rocking back and forth gasping for breath.

There’s actually multiple ways to have anxiety attacks.

Tips for those who know/love someone with same disorders/symptoms

Well, starting off with, and keeping in mind that I’m not a proffesional or expert in...literally anything ever like ever ever....

A very dear friend of mine once said “it’s a whole lot easier to be supportive than it is not to be” Let people with disorders tell you what they need, and then respect it. Open communication and making them feel safe is key...to everything. Being informed is important but at the end of the day, different people will experience things differently and what they need is really down to them. Don’t assume that reading about their disorder means you know what they need better than them. Don’t talk about how their disorder affects you. Even if you have good intentions, you’re going to make them feel bad. If you’re a parent, don’t talk to others about your child’s disorder in front of them. And if they don’t like a therapist, listen to them as to why. Don’t assume it’s just because “they’re disordered” that’s lazy parenting.

Take triggers seriously, talk to them about what symptoms they need help with, and which they’d rather process or deal with on their own. Just..show that you have that initiative, that you’re there for them. Listen. Be patient. Establish boundaries gently but firmly. If someone with my attachment disorder is ringing you a lot and you need time to yourself, let them know. Explain. Don’t go radio silent. People with autism can be bad at reading you. Again explain, be patient, but don’t just....leave them there to guess what they did wrong. C-PTSD is traumagenic in nature so I’d add to taking triggers seriously, be ready for Tragic Backstory drop behind disclosing some triggers ( and understand how much they have to trust you to disclose that.) but also be ready for “I just don’t want this in my field of vision and I don’t feel comfortable talking about it just yet.” Don’t push for details. Don’t push period.

And also just....treat em like people you know. Disordered people are still people, let them exist outside their disorders and do the things that people in that relationship that you have with them. ( whatever relationship that is) do.

How your disorder/s affect your relationships

In the past -and before I was a bit more self aware- it’s made me uber clingy. I would call friends constantly, message them a lot. Think someone was my best friend or even closer than they really were because they were nice to me. It scared people off.

On the flip side I would also convince myself people didn’t like me or I was nothing to them the moment I caught myself having strong feelings. ( which as said before would happen mcquicklike)

As one can imagine this would put a lot of pressure on new friendships. Often it would sour them, sometimes it would make people dislike me. Sometimes it’d make them unconfortable. Which as my disorder also affects how I receive rejection...was..really bad.

On the flip side of the flip side I was also incredibly ride or die and it left me open to a lot of manipulation and abuse from friends. I couldn’t be mad at them if they hurt me. I couldn’t say no to anything they said. I needed them.

My anxiety also contributes to this as I would constantly go through a checklist of how many good interactions vs “bad” or awkward interactions I had with people before I let myself feel like I was safe to call people my friends. Or even say I did okay interacting.

I had a lot of nights while I was making friends in college where I just felt like I was nothing to anyone. Like I was messing up. Looking back, it was just standard new friend interactions.

The more people mean to me, the more I’d freak out-I didn’t want to lose them. So it made it hard to even enjoy the friendship milestones I did achieve.

I’m using past tense because it’s gotten a lot better as situations that were making this 10 times worse have alleviated somewhat but there’s still seeds of it and sometimes it flares up. I’m just aware enough I can sometimes if not stop it identify it as my disorder talking. I don’t keep lists anymore but sometimes the thought pops up.

Facts About Your Disorder You Wish People Knew

I wish people knew what scripting and autistic burnout was. And that adults can have autism. And that vaccines don’t cause autism so stupid ass people didn’t risk their kid getting sick because they’re scared of my neurology.

I wish the only thing when I search about

I wish people took triggers seriously.

I wish more people knew about attachment disorders period.

I wish people knew how hard it all is sometimes.

Favorite healthy coping techniques

Plushies, pillows. Physical grounding techniques that include physical stimming. I’m very tactile when it comes to my autism and stimming so grounding techniques were Good Textures are involved help double.

For attachment disorder spirals: Watching YT animators or vloggers. Like a lot. It recently chased off my sleeping problems.

Playing with my dog.

Walking outside.

Going to the beach.

Looking at buildings. ( I don’t..I don’t know why?? It’s like a visual stim I guess? Like buildings that stand out to me due to their shape or being different than I usually see)

Basically going outside. ( to look at buildings, to look at nature, to the dog park, out in the grass in front of my building just..Outside Good, Inside Bad)

Sending fun stuff to friends/doing things for them.

I tend to get a good happy chemical surge from helping people/doing nice things for people so that’s something I really like using to my advantage. I’m looking at volunteer options.

Also cartoons and Disney Channel shows I watch a lot of those.

Cooking. I can’t understand this one either but cooking and baking sometimes even gives me more energy.

Current biggest struggles with your disorder/s

Being at home tanks my mental health. I don’t drive. So I’m home a lot.

Seeing families be happy hurts sometimes. And that’s my main confort narrative.

Seeing my friends with their families hurts sometimes. All I can think of is how much I wish I was a part of that. So I have to...not spend time with my friends.

I’m afraid to live alone.

I can’t get anything done sometimes. My train of thought has been crashing to the point that I completely lose it and I miss goals and deadlines almost every month. I need to get assignments done, build a portfolio, at least keep shrink dates, its all a hurdle lately. Even before that it’s hard for me to get stuff done when I’m home on my own ( aka when I’m supposed to be doing things) because all my brain can think is “we’re alone we’re alone we’re alone. It’s too quiet. We need to talk to someone.” According to my shrink DBT will help with this. I can’t wait.

It’s hard to see a myself having a good future sometimes. Because of how many hangups I have and how late I am in addressing them ( I’m 28) and how much there is to do.

What not to say to a person with similar/same disorder/s

“You’re making it all up”

“You should just get over it, it happened so long ago”

“You’re bringing me down stop talking about this”

“Its all in your head”

“Every one feels that way really”

Anything dismissive.

Anything from the stigma answer.

Literally any kind of pity (granted thats more a me thing due to childhood epilepsy meaning i had to deal with a lot of that. But honestly I’ll stand by it bc I’m not sure anyone really ...likes pity. )

Ways in which your disorder/s affect your daily life

I deal with executive dysfunction which makes it hard to get anything done. I feel like I’m starting over constantly. I feel like my age doesn’t match my brain. All of this augments my depression. I have to take days off in the middle of the week to just do nothing or catch up to all the stuff I haven’t done. I miss deadlines or just barely make them. I’m also a budding workaholic which I used to do to avoid dwelling on all these feelings so having to take breaks isn’t….something I’m used to or really like. I at one point handled school, work, and 2 editing jobs. I used to do martial arts, I like running, I like swimming. I’m the kind of person that needs to be on the move and lately that’s hard because spoons and energy.

Also a lot of basic self care is hard to get done because of the dysfunction mentioned above.

Things that give you hope

The fact that I’m finally getting therapy.

I guess having people I can talk to about it.

My family isn’t as bad as it was back in 2014.

I guess I know that even if I feel like I’m at a dead end, I’ll figure something out. That’s what I do. I mean that’s life, you think things are never getting better or that something’s the end of the world but really time marches onwards and so do you and you figure it out. Things fall into place. I believe life has a funny way of working out. If anything because it kinda has to, it can’t stand still yknow. I have moments of clarity where I just kinda remember that ( its not my first rodeo.in regards to hard times or Things That Happen..its not even my hardest rodeo so..if I got through that..you kinda figure you can muddle through this and see what comes next yknow) I’m oddly hopeful for the first time in a long time so, it’s p cool.

Treatment types and personal choices

I spent most of my childhood, and teenage years...and early 20s dodging therapy and help due to it being controlled by my mother and having really bad experiences with it in the past.I do regret it sometimes but I comfort myself with the fact that it was what seemed like the best decision and i didn’t have the information I now have about keeping her out of things.

After finding better insurance and getting into university I found a way to get myself a psychiatrist and am working on finding talk therapy. For the most part I tended to patch myself up a lot by finding ways to quiet the thoughts I had ( saving text messages to remind myself people dont hate me. Talking myself down. Joining social activities. That sorta home brew stuff. I’ve been soloing a lot of shit I probably shouldn’t have been until recently but hey live and learn. Also I didn’t have insurance.) As of recently I’m on an antidepresant and hopefully going into DBT. That reminds me I have to call them.

Your support system

I’ve found some really nice friends like they’ve kinda just collectively adopted me and when your disorder stems from losing family that..that’s been incredibly helpful. All my close friends are long distance but they help me. My younger sister is also there although i try to limit how much she’s privy to as she just turned 18. My brother and I tend to spend limited time together due to him having his own stuff goin on but I’d also put him there. My parents sorta count as....one supportive unit? ( they try with the best of intentions but it uh..thats..thats really all I can say about them)

Reactions from those who learn about your disorder/s

I get told I can’t possibly have them because i “look too successful” or whatever ableist rethoric they got going. When I talk about C-PTSD symptons I get side eye for “trivializing” it as they don’t believe I can have it and think I’m exaggerating anxiety symptons. When I talk about Attachment Disorders…..I often don’t because people always say something along the lines of “people with that are often too damaged and you don’t fit the bill” which..ouch.

Mostly it goes from “you don’t look like a damaged and/or psychopath crazy person” to “oh...I guess you are one” with a bit of “okay thats fine” but still anger and impatience when I show symptoms.

I don’t talk about my disorders a lot.

Future hopes and dreams

I’d like to get my attachment disorder under control as it’s the main life wrecking thing I have. After that or along with that I’d like to live somewhere where I get the social interaction I kinda need.

I wanna be happy with whatever profession I have and just..my life in general.

I hope DBT helps. Whatever it is It’s my first time even trying it.

I have a couple of personal creative goals but I don’t wanna jinx them by disclosing them ( I did mention I had anxiety)

Interactions with other people with the same disorders

I follow some peeps with BPD and also folks on the spectrum on tumblr. I don’t really have a lot of analog interaction. ( again no driving + suburbia = being cooped up A Lot) My sister and I share some disordered traits so we talk about them often and that helps a lot.

Things you want to work on/improve

The whole black and white thinking and maybe getting things done on time. I’d like to get the spirals under control too.

Work/school experience with disorder/s

Shit’s hard.

Often I don’t get the help I need and have learned to overcompensate/regulate so I can still get things done. I pretty much need to work since i don’t believe I’d qualify for disability. I get in trouble a lot for spacing out ( dissociating) and forgetting things at work. Work friendships are also slow burn if not just nonexistent due to my autism and people..not really knowing what to make of it. I’ll probably have to quit working while I study since I can’t really split focus enough to do both lately. Further, a lot of my energy needs to go into school things staying afloat and that tends to mean I can’t do things that contribute to my mental health ( i.e spending time with friends, going out, sometimes even therapy, taking breaks) as I’ve found out that sends me way back in recovery.

Free space!

Here’s a picture of my cat. She’s a demon. What it said Free Space.

Family history of mental disorders?

Mother has Bipolar disorder and depression. Sister has bipolar disorder, anxiety, depression, and eating disorders, Brother has anxiety and shows signs of ADHD, Dad has what we suspect is ADHD and possibly some disorder traits from past trauma. Used to have anger issues.

I uh..I used to call us “The Madhouse” for most of my late teens and early 20s.

Media representation of disorder/s

Attachment disorders: characters who are stalkers and so desperate for love family and acceptance they’ll do anything, even hurt people to feel it. Also often don’t have depression and can do things like learn villain skills.

Autistic traits are often cherry picked and portrayed in an unfavorable light. I think I’ve seen some rare cases of actual representation though.

How do you feel about talking about your mental health?

I don’t...like it as much as talking about mental health in general. Most of my life is...me running away from trauma and trying to reclaim a life outside of it. It’s what I did with my epilepsy of course that one was easier because the seizures went away.

Talking about it feels like going back. I wanna just move on with it. But I’ve reluctantly come around to see that talking about it is a way to move on. And I mean its not like dodging it’s worked out that well for me so.

The true face of mental illness (Selfie if you’re comfortable with it)

Aww yiiss. Selfies.

#mental health #mental illness #mental health awareness #mental health awareness 2018 #mental health awareness 2019 #mha2018 #well..2019 but thats what they said to tag it #depression cw #anxiety cw #self harm cw #suicidal feelings cw #ableism #abuse mention #fillicide mention #uuuh I think that covers it #here goes

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blooblooded · 3 years

Text

Smiles goes to The Void

"You remember too much,

My mother said to me recently.

Why hold onto all that? And I said,

Where can I put it down?"

--Anne Carson, Glass, Irony, and God

For Smiles, life had degraded into a blur of sameness. The days and nights were repetitive, nothingness. Time passed by too quickly for him to hold on to.

He was 27 years old.

“Pop this zit on my back for me.” Pete’s voice jarred him from a state of spaced out contemplation. He was sitting on his bunk in the dorm, staring straight ahead. Smiles passed a hand across his face to bring himself back into the present, to bring himself out of the blankness. He saw that she had approached him and was in the process of pulling her shirt off.

“What?” he asked. His mouth was dry.

“This zit. It’s on my back, I can’t reach it.”

“Urgh.”

His second in command dropped her shirt on the floor and turned around. Smiles had a full second’s view of her tits before she sat down on his bunk with him with her back toward him. “I can’t get it.”

Over the last few weeks, Pete had become increasingly difficult to deal with. Always challenging him. Checking him. Calling him out. It was that time. He knew that she could sense the change within him, the growing weakness. It was only natural. She could smell blood. More importantly, she could sense that he was no longer in control. She wanted to be in his position so that she could do better than he could. The only problem was that he was still around.

Maybe she was right.

Smiles pressed the spot in the middle of her back with two thumbs. “Does that hurt?”

“Yeah. Get it for me.”

He grimaced and pressed hard until it popped, then wiped it on her skin. Her skin was hot to the touch. Pete leaned back against him and Smiles was able to cop a feel. It didn’t bring excitement like it used to. At this point, after what…5 years of working together, he still found her attractive, but too…something. Too familiar.

It wasn’t normal to want to fuck someone who thought you were old and used up, irresponsible.

Two days ago she had told him he needed to file a formal request to step down as Primary agent on the team. He had rejected that. It wasn’t something he was able to do. Until the day he was Retired, until the day his handlers dragged him away and put a bullet in his head, Smiles would remain responsible for Pete, Nickels, and Johnny.

That day was coming soon. He could feel it. He could see it in the way the staff looked at him. He could hear it in the way his own team talked about him.

“Why are you so fuckin’ greasy?” he asked her.

“Like you aren’t covered in backne.” Pete made herself comfortable against him and reached back to press a hand to the crotch of his sweatpants. When nothing happened, she tilted her chin up and her eyes back to look at him. “Your dick still broken, huh?”

Smiles didn’t even try to move her hand from grabbing at him. A few months ago, before he had been electrocuted by the red haired Artificial trying to escape Eden, they had fucked all the time. Now it felt impossible to muster up any interest for anyone, much less the girl who constantly accused him of not caring enough for his team.

He was worried that the problem might be that he cared too much. That he could not separate himself from them.

“Yeah, I found popping a huge pimple on your back so sexy,” he said, attempting to joke. He had to joke. Over the last few months it had felt like a huge scream had been building up inside of him. There was no release for the scream, it felt more real than he did. Nothing he did could bring release.

Pete left his bed and picked her shirt up off the floor. Her skin was covered in a sheen of sweat like it always was, a side effect of a body temperature that ran too high.

Burning. She was always burning. She loved him, she cared about him, but in the end she would burn him up. That was the destructive nature of fire.

Smiles passed his hand across his face again, resisting the urge to hit himself to jar himself out of his state of depersonalization.

This had all started when he had failed to stop the group of extremists from driving through the gate. Nothing had been the same since that day. He had become slower, caught up in his thoughts. Movement and instinct were no longer natural. Smiles found himself thinking about those people more than he thought about himself. Their faces were in his dreams and those dreams bled into his reality. Ever since that day, he had started to screw up.

No. Not just since that day. Ever since he had found the blonde blood magic user’s work ID on the floor of Helen’s temple. Even before he saw the young woman in person, he had dreamed of her with black slime and blood dripping from her mouth and nose and ears. It wasn’t fear or disgust that he felt when he thought about that either. No, it was dread, the same helplessness he felt when he thought about being unable to stop the terrible things happening to his team.

This was what going insane probably felt like. Smiles had lost it. He knew that everyone could see.

It was only a matter of time.

“Nicky should be coming off her shift Upstairs soon, you better be nice to her.” Pete stretched her strong arms up above her head then easily bent to touch her toes before moving down into a plank and beginning a sun salutation. Her physical and mental control, so carefully practiced, were unmatched. They had to be. She wasn’t like Smiles. If Pete lost control, she would burn this whole place down to the ground.

Would that really be so bad?

“When am I ever not nice to her?”

Pete exhaled a small sarcastic breath. She finished her sun salutation and began another one. “Right. Think about why Nickels keeps getting assigned TP work instead of field work with us, or why Johnny snuck out of here this morning before we woke up.”

Bitch. She was such a raging bitch. Smiles rose from his bed to stand next to her. He touched his toes and the knee on his left leg, his bad leg, popped. “Nicky’s on brainwash duty because they can’t get their hands on enough psychics to kidnap, get off my ass, that’s not my fault. If staff wants to assign B-Class telepaths to disintegrate the new kids’ brains, that’s on them. They know what they’re doing.”

It had already occurred to him that the Program was somehow deteriorating. The dorms could house up to 150 secret police agents, but by his count, there were 108 of them left. When he had been Recruited, agents were likely to be terminated for stepping out of line or getting injured. Now? It was like the higher-ups didn’t want to risk it. It was not out of compassion, it was out of not being able to kidnap enough kids to keep the Program running smoothly. Something was happening on the outside. Something was getting in the way of Recruitment.

As busy as he was, he did not have the capacity to figure out the why’s or the how’s of this. All he knew was that now, because of the difficulty of discovering psychics, there were only about 35 of them in the Program, and only half of those were A-Class. So B-Class telepaths like Nicky were stuck on brainwashing and torture duty when they were ill suited for it. In the old days this would have never happened. Smiles was selfishly grateful for it, since it meant he was less likely to get hauled Upstairs to get his mind violated.

He tried to mimic a pose that Pete twisted herself into but was not flexible enough for it. “You seem particularly devious today, Peanut.”

“No reason to be devious. I’m just saying. And you seem particularly spaced out and mean, but hey, what else is new.”

Smiles responded with a short bark of laughter with no real fondness behind it. “You know me.”

“I know you’re getting old.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She fixed him with a look even as she moved through her routine of stretches. In the years that they had worked together, she had grown from a chunky, angry teenager to a strong, composed young woman. She had no issues with calmly starting conflict. “You think any more about filing a formal request to step down?”

“Fuck you,” said Smiles. He stopped mirroring her poses and crossed his arms.

“Yeah? So what happens to us when they put a bullet in your head a month or two from now? They'll split us up. They’ll make Nicky work Upstairs permanently until she starts getting seizures and brain bleeds, then they’ll put her down too. They won’t even bother putting Johnny on a new Squad since he’s C-Class, he’ll just have to be a free floater and work with those kids who treat him like shit. Me, they’ll reassign me to work on an Elite Squad, they’ll make me burn people. They’ll make me really hurt people. Do you want that for us? If you put me in charge then we won’t get split up after you’re dead. I can keep us together. If you really cared about us then you’d step down.”

These thoughts had already occurred to him. They had occurred to him months ago, when he realized that he was starting to get caught up in...whatever was going on in his mind. The...memories, the dreams he was having. It was the obvious choice, the smart choice. But Smiles did not want to accept it.

“Fuck you,” he said again. “Fuck you, Peanut.”

Infuriatingly, Pete smiled at him, then dropped into the splits. “Well you’re definitely not fucking me, or anyone else, Boss.”

He considered throwing a punch at her and starting a tussle, the way that they always used to end arguments. He didn’t.

The temperature in the dorm room rose. Smiles didn’t comment on it.

Soon, Nickels returned to the dorm room after her shift working Upstairs. She looked tired. No, tired was not the right word for it. She looked drained. Her pretty, fat face was greyish colored and a dribble of blood showed in both her ears. Smiles could see that the pupils of her black eyes were hugely dilated. When she saw her teammates, she gave them a vacant, empty smile.

She looked like Lady.

“Dust leaking trees the black pyramid,” said Nickels.

Smiles and Pete looked at eachother, then back to their 20 year old companion.

“What’s that, Nicky?” Smiles asked nervously.

Her eyes were black. Blood trickled out of her ears and down her neck. “All over horses to go to night.” And she wobbled like she was going to fall over.

Instead of standing there like an idiot, staring, Smiles went to her and led her to his bunk so that she could sit down. Sweat had saturated her tank top and there was something else on it too, something that looked like thick mucus. He helped her strip it off, then grabbed a water bottle so that she could drink. “Snap out of it,” he said, trying to hide the fear from his voice. “It’s not real.”

The blood in her ears worried him. The word salad worried him more. There was a reason that psychics did not last long in the Program, especially low level ones.The human brain could not tolerate being overused like that, and it was not natural for someone to go into another person’s mind for extended periods of time.

Nickels took a sip of water. Some of it dribbled out of her mouth. She looked at Smiles and he rubbed the soft stubble on her head.

This was the part he hated most. It was not so bad when he was suffering, he knew that he could handle it. Smiles could power through, he could put the soft, scared parts of himself away in a box somewhere. It was this. Being forced to watch, to see the suffering of others and being unable to do a single thing about it.

If anything happened to Nickels, he did not think he would be able to stand it. It was no secret that she was his favorite-- how could you not have a favorite? Even though she was part of a group of people he despised, he couldn’t help but love her. Pete could be bossy, pushy. Johnny could be clingy, annoying. But Nicky? She was special to him, a sister.

“Fuck those fuckers,” said Pete a little choked up, standing there, unmoving. “Why are they doing this to all of us?”

They -- whoever ‘they’ were, in his 7 years in the Program, Smiles had never been able to find out -- were doing this because they could. Because they wanted to. Because they didn’t care. To them, the minds and bodies of over a hundred young people were nothing more than commodities to be used up.

“Snap out of it,” he said again, more to himself than to his teammate.

And after 10 minutes, she did snap out of it. Nickels’s pupils returned to their normal size and some color returned to her face. “I think I’m gonna throw up,” she said. “Sorry. They had me working on some guy all morning.”

“If you puke, don’t do it on my bed,” said Smiles, unbearably relieved that she was speaking in full sentences again. “Fuck me, Nick, I thought you were permanently disabled or some shit.”

She noticed that her shirt was off and crossed her arms to cover her bra and the rolls on her stomach.. Out of the 4 of them, Nickels was the one with the greatest sense of modesty. “It was fucked. They never have me work on civies but Lady is sick so they put me on rotation. Dunno what they were thinking, I’m just a telep.”

“They had a civilian Upstairs?”

“Some guy, he has dreams R&D wants to get into or something. They got pissed because I can’t see images, only words. I kept trying to explain but they wouldn’t listen.”

Smiles didn’t know why the scientists in R&D would drag a civilian Upstairs to their creepy labs. He didn’t care much either. Better an adult man get tortured and have his brain invaded than some scared 13 year old kid. He rubbed Nicky’s head again, knowing that it brought both of them comfort.

Of course, Pete had a healthier sense of curiosity. She sat down next to Nickels as well. Nickels flushed. “What do you mean dreams they want to get into?”

“I dunno. Dreams. It’s not like I could see anything. They need someone like Lady or Wicker for that.”

“But the guy was thinking?”

“Not lucidly. There was something wrong with him, it was like trying to read a crawler. Scrambled and shit.” Nickels touched her ears and winced. She brought her hands away to look at the blood. “Some of his thoughts were pretty clear though, not like that was useful to me. Like, ‘It wasn’t me!’ and ‘Talk to me, Marty,'' blah blah blah, over and over again. Useless shit. That’s when it started hurting me. I tried to tell that Handler cunt Alaska I wasn’t getting anything but she just smacked me until I kept going.”

Pete made a low sound of frustration. She got up from the bed and moved back into her series of sun salutations.

On the other hand, Smiles felt like he was the one who had been smacked. Something about the name Marty made him feel bad inside. Presumably it had been the name of someone he had known in his life before, and it had not been the first time he had heard it lately. The extremists in the truck, the ones who had escaped Eden those months before, had said that name, and he had felt the same horrible unease. Presumably this was unrelated. Marty was not an uncommon name.

Still, it made him feel sick to hear it. It made him sicker to hear about his subordinate’s abilities being misused. He rubbed Nickels’s head one last time, then stood up.

“You good, Nicky?” he asked her, fear and dread growing inside of him. At the rate that they were forcing her to use her abilities, she would die of an aneurysm before he even got Retired. “You feel OK now?”

Maybe Pete was right. Maybe he needed to step down.

His little psychic looked up at him, completely trusting and loyal. She was still pale and he could see the dark circles under her eyes. How could anyone hurt her? How could anyone make her hurt other people? The scream that had been building inside of Smiles threatened to come out.

“I’m all good now,” she said. “I just need a nap.”

Smiles clenched his fists. The dorm room felt way too hot.

He couldn’t fix much, but he could try to fix this.

“You stay here with her,” he told Pete, who was again twisting her body into something painful. Did that really help? Did that really keep the anger, the helplessness at bay? Nothing he tried ever helped. Exercise didn’t help. Breathing didn’t help. Nothing fucking helped, he was just stuck with his negative feelings unless he put it away in a little box, pushed it away inside. And that didn’t address the source of the problem, now did it? “I’m gonna go talk to staff and ask them to take her off Upstairs duty.”

Did Pete’s careful breathing sound angry? What was she keeping deep down inside? What was trying to get out of her? Smiles wondered if there was a scream building in her stomach as well. She didn’t even look at him. “Fine,” she said. “Go pull Johnny out of wherever he’s hiding while you’re at it.”

How could she say that that easily? The prospect of finding their youngest teammate and the trouble he got himself into was never a pleasant one. And she always pushed it off onto him because she couldn’t stand to deal with it. The last time Pete had attempted to deal with Johnny’s behavioral problems herself, she had sent Coop, a 16 year old neuro-path with repulsive proclivities, to the Infirmary with 3rd degree burns. Staff had locked her in solitary for a week after that.

Smiles looked back at Nickels, who had laid down on his bed. She had curled her arms up like she was comforting herself. His stomach flipped.

“I’ll fix this,” he said, but the girls weren’t listening to him. And he left.

He stomped down the dorm hallway. Only a bunch of C-Class 13 year olds were up and about, they scattered when they saw him. Even though they had no reason to be scared of Smiles, word spread. He did not have a reputation for being friendly. That was fine. That was just fine. He didn’t want to interact with the majority of the little monsters in here anyway.

This place was killing him. The dormitory walls were all painted a light green so that they did not appear so institutional. Some stupid posters, the kind with cute animals and therapy-speak phrases like “Pause and Reflect” and “Think before you Speak” hung at different points in the hall. They hung right alongside notices that all behavior was being observed by staff and violations of policy would be addressed immediately with appropriate consequences.

He walked past dorm rooms, many of them empty. The lounge was empty as well. Best not to think of that, best not to think about their dwindling numbers. Or why they were dwindling.

The main office was located above the dormitory floor, on the same level that the training rooms were located. Smiles took the stairs instead of the elevator. There were no cameras in the stairwells, but there was one mounted in the elevator. He took the stairs 2 at a time and spent a moment at the top to prepare himself before he pushed through the door.

He walked into the office. It was never locked, no, staff tried to encourage agents to come to them whenever needed. Not that anybody ever did. It didn’t take long for newbies to realize that the Handlers and dorm staff were worse than anyone on the inside, and had more power. If another agent beat the shit out of you or molested you, at least you could fight back. Maybe even report it if you caught one of the more sympathetic staff members. If a Handler had it out for you, you just had to take it.

Over the years, Smiles had learned one thing for sure: all the freshly graduated Artificials that got hired on as staff had to come from some repressed, unpleasant homes. Maybe they were all like...that. So far, he had not come across a single one in his life that did not have severe emotional issues.

The office was painted the same green as the dorms were and it had the same stupid posters on the wall. There was a big desk that held a monitor with a bunch of camera screens on it. There was a couch in front of that desk, presumably to encourage dumb newbies to sit down and spill their guts. The entire place would have made for a believable high school guidance counselor’s office, and Smiles hated it.

He had hoped that a new or easily manipulated staff member would be on desk duty, but no, no such luck. It was only October. October --Nickels had read his mind once and gleaned that his real name was Henry-- was one of those creepy later stage Artificials, around the same age as Smiles. Some Artificials mostly appeared normal, but some…came out wrong. October was tall and muscular and had an eerie, uncanny valley face that was only made less creepy by a perpetual expression of lazy insolence. When he saw Smiles walk in, he rolled his heavily lidded eyes.

“Whatever it is, I don’t have time for you,” he said. He was watching videos on his tablet.

Smiles could never bring himself to grovel, especially in front of a piece of human garbage like this. He had really been hoping for the Handler named Saturday, since her rapport with the team bordered on sympathetic. “I don’t want my psychic assigned to any non-field-work objectives from now on,” he said. “I’m serious.”

“Ahh’m serious,” mocked October, mimicking Smiles’s flat Lower Levels accent. He put down his tablet and leaned on the desk. What did these people do all day when they were not harassing others? “What are you gonna do, file a complaint?”

Smiles gritted his teeth. “She’s B-Class. She’s just a telepath, and is more useful on the field. You people are gonna liquify her brain, she just got off shift with blood in her ears, talkin’ nonsense. I don’t want her working Upstairs anymore.”

“She’s a psychic. They all have to carry their weight around here, even your fat little telep.”

“Why can’t you just make Lady go on permanent brainwash duty instead?”

October fixed him with a strange look, a weird, tense smile. “Maybe BG doesn’t want his precious psychic’s brain leaking out of her ears either, huh, you ever think of that? Maybe this place doesn’t revolve around you and your people, Smiles. No. Psychics get assigned psychic work. The rest of you get field work. You got a problem with our schedules, take it up with someone else.”

One day, whenever Smiles got dragged upstairs to get a pullet between his eyes, he hoped that October would be working. On that day, he would do whatever it took to take him out with him. There was nothing that would bring him more pleasure than to hurt him as severely as possible.

He shifted his weight slightly. His bad leg was hurting him again.

“What needs to happen to get Nicky off those shifts? What, you people need to Recruit more A-Class psychics? What do I need to do?”

“Nothing. That’s just the way things are. Quit complaining.”

It was useless to appeal to this person’s better nature. This person did not have a better nature. Smiles attempted anyway. “I’m responsible for her.”

That got a reaction. October scratched his eerily perfect nose, then stood up. The uniform that they all wore was black and unremarkable. “Yeah?” he asked, coming around the desk and into Smiles’s personal space. He smelled good, like expensive cologne. “You’re good at being responsible, Smiles? Why can’t you stop your telepath from getting sent Upstairs then? Why do I keep hearing about how guys have been running a train on your Artificial? Why can’t you even take care of yourself, then? The way I see it, the only responsible one on your Squad is the pyrokinetic. What were you saying about responsibility?”

He couldn’t help it. It was a reaction that October wanted, and it was a reaction he received, even if Smiles knew that it was all true. The anger was not something that he could control. His right hand twitched upwards like he was about to strike out.

For a moment, they both looked at each other. Two men of the same age, who under other circumstances, out in the world, might have also worked together or gone to school together. Might have even been friends. There was a world where both their lives had not been irreparably changed by being made to be violent to others.

Lazily, the same way he did everything else, October gave Smiles a little shove backwards. It wasn’t hard, it didn’t hurt him. It was just enough to remind him who was really in charge. Just enough to remind him that no matter what, he couldn’t do shit. Just enough to make him feel small.

“Get out of here,” said Smiles’s Handler. “I don’t want to have to hurt you.”

And Smiles followed orders. Smiles left.

He paused again in the stairwell to collect himself. That could have gone a lot worse. He would try again, he would come to the office when Saturday was working and try to get her to see his point of view. And if that did not work, he would go to someone else, again and again.

It was fruitless, yes. But it was something to do. It was something he could do to stop himself from feeling so helpless.

He wanted to take it out on someone. The best way to stop feeling weak and worthless was to go hurt someone else, go make someone else feel weak. There was no time. Smiles had more important things to do.

After all, he was responsible.

He wandered the hallways of the dormitories for a while. It didn’t take long. As the saying goes, bad pennies always show up. Smiles caught his youngest teammate slinking out of a bathroom and pinned him with a mean look.

To his eyes, Johnny looked bad. There were stains on his t-shirt and he moved in a wincing, cringing dog kind of way. Obviously hurt; either he had been jumped for annoying the wrong person, or he had allowed other kids to mess around with him again. Probably the latter. He had been in bad shape for a while now. Just like the rest of them, he was angry, trapped, lashing out in what small ways he could.

Smiles approached him and Johnny froze like he had been caught doing something wrong. “Hey,” said Smiles. “Where’ve you been hiding, huh? Peanut’s worried sick about your dumb ass.”

Johnny looked at him mistrustfully. Like Smiles, the last 6 months had marked a distinct change in him. Maybe it was because he was 16 now, no longer the playful, loving child he had been when he was Recruited. But Smiles didn’t think that was it. His affect and attitude often changed to reflect those of whoever he spent time with, a weird and chameleon-like emotional ability. 6 months ago he had behaved more like...well, more like Smiles. “Why don’t you leave me alone?” he asked.

“OK. After you tell me where you’ve been for the last 3 hours. You want me to write you up? You can’t just fuckin’ disappear like that when the team’s on call.”

“It ain’t my fault, Boss.” As usual, Johnny’s tone pitched to a whine. “I wanted to hang out with Major and his buddy. Well. I only wanted to hang out with Major because he said he’d let me kiss him this time. They didn’t let me leave, the door was locked, you can’t write me up for that, that’s not fair.” He paused. “They didn’t even kiss me.”

Major was a 17 year old C-Class agent who had a sadistic history, a long list of assaults. Smiles took a menacing little step towards Johnny. He already felt the uncontrollable rage rising up from his belly. “Oh yeah? That sounds like gang rape.”

Johnny smiled vacantly and rolled his luminous yellow eyes, but came off as pathetic, a kid trying to act more mature and worldly than he was. “Gang bang, Boss. I’m really good at--”

“--Yeah? They lock the door for that? Lock the door for hours?” He needed emotional help that Smiles could not provide. “Infirmary. Now.”

“I don’t need to go to the Infirmary, I need—“

Tired of this. Smiles was so tired of watching someone he cared about, someone he loved, put himself in these situations over and over again. Self destruction was nothing new in the secret police, there were people who were so hurt or angry that they wanted that same pain to show on the outside. In a way it made sense. How was this any different? Smiles couldn’t even get rid of the problem, couldn’t just go beat the shit out of the little freaks behind this, because they were all the same age, all boys who were 16 or 17.

Well. He could. Could if he wanted to. And he still might. What was it to him if he went and hurt a couple of teenagers? Why did he have some rule in his mind that he wasn’t supposed to target those who were under 18? Teenagers could be just as twisted and nasty.

It made him angry too and it was hard, impossible, not to take out that anger when the source was right in front of him. The desire to protect, masquerading as anger. Smiles grabbed Johnny’s wrist so that he couldn’t get away from him. “Today isn’t the day,” he said, starting to drag him down the hall. “Not the fucking day.”

“Ow! Let me go!”

But Smiles didn’t listen. Smiles dragged him all the way down the hall and all the way to the elevator that led up to the Infirmary. He ignored everything. He ignored the whining, the crying, and did what he needed to do. Smiles always did what he needed to do. That was responsibility. He could be responsible.

In the elevator, Johnny pushed his body up against the wall so that he was as far away from Smiles as possible. “I hate you,” he said.

“Aw, you hate me now?” Smiles pressed the elevator button multiple times as hard as he could, as if that would make the trip up faster. “Fine. I like that just fine.” He was used to the little mood swings, the rapid fluctuations between obsessive admiration to frantic dislike. Doc had told him about it, said it was called splitting. It wasn’t something that could be fixed, just like his own dissociation couldn’t be fixed.

Or maybe it could, out in the real world. In the Program, what was the point of trying to treat mental illness? There wasn’t a point, the only thing that could be done was make the symptoms a little easier.

“Pete says you’re gonna be dead soon. Then you won’t be so mean to me anymore.”

Smiles mashed the elevator button. He wanted to be done. Johnny smelled like piss. “Maybe I will be. You ever think about what’s gonna happen to you once I’m not around to find you? One of these days someone’s gonna keep the door locked.”

“Probably be better off then, Boss.”

What Johnny probably needed was a good hard smack, but Smiles didn’t raise a hand to him. In the long run, corporal punishment wouldn’t do any good. You couldn’t smack the delusions out of a person. Smiles continued mashing the elevator button until the door stopped, dinged and opened.

“Come on.”

“I told you I don’t want to see the doctors. They-- they make fun of me!”

Smiles grabbed his arm again anyway. Johnny dug in his heels and pushed back, for a minute it seemed like he was going to try and hit him, but Smiles easily overpowered him, seizing a handful of his shirt and shoving him out of the elevator. He didn’t want to hurt him. He didn’t want to upset him. Smiles just didn’t know what to do or how to help.

The Infirmary was one of the few places in the Capitol Building that was not dormitory that the accessible elevator led to. As such, it was painted white and had none of the stupid posters. The Infirmary was part of Upstairs-- it was only a few small rooms on a floor dedicated to....Research and Development. Smiles understood not wanting to go there.

He walked up to the front desk, pushing Johnny in front of him. It looked like the only nice nurse-- Doc, a big man with a soft accent-- was not on shift. Doc only worked there part time, 2nd shift a couple of nights a week. Instead, a young woman with cornrows and blue scrubs was on duty.

“You again,” the nurse said flatly.

He showed his teeth with a threatening smile. It was true, Smiles ended up in the Infirmary often due to his rash behavior. Sometimes staff made him go, claiming that he was ‘manic’ and needed to be sedated. “Me again. 3385C here needs medical care.”

“Why?”

“Will you just fuckin’do your job and make sure he’s OK?” Smiles didn’t want to embarrass himself.

The nurse rolled her eyes and got up. “You know the drill,” she said, pointing towards the exam room and walking back without waiting. Johnny followed her, but not before giving Smiles one last yellow look of blame.

The definition of blame is to assign responsibility for wrong-doing. Smiles thought about how he was about to be responsible for kicking the shit out of someone in the near future. The white walls of the Infirmary made him anxious, he had had too many bad experiences there-- and worse ones in the Research and Development rooms that lay beyond. He wasn’t about to wait around for his youngest teammate to get checked out.

Even though it was what Pete would have done.

No. What was he thinking? Pete wasn’t capable of doing anything that wasn’t her precious breathing exercises and yoga. She couldn’t make the hard decisions, not like him. Why was he so focused on her? How had she gotten into his mind so easily?

Something had happened to him. Whether it was the aftereffects of almost getting his guts spilled in Helen Gutierrez’s blood magic temple, or if it was the girl with the curly blonde hair he kept dreaming of, something had made him stupid and weak.

He wasn’t going to be around much longer.

“What’s wrong with you?” A squeaky-toy voice jarred him from his thoughts and made him flinch. Lady. Smiles had forgotten that Nickels had said she was sick.

Lady had come out of another exam room. She appeared...worse than normal. Thinner, if that was even possible. Paler, definitely. When she smiled at him, he could see that her teeth were greyish, translucent. An IV was stuck in her arm, attached to a bag of fluid on a rolling hanger.

Nope.

“Not today, bitch.” Smiles didn’t turn around, didn’t want to take his gaze away from the fragile but terrifying young psychic. He stepped back. “Get away from me.”

How was it possible that this stick insect person had gotten into his brain, his memories, and tortured him so much? He could probably kill her with one good punch to the throat.

The grey pants and shirt she wore were too big for her, but were part of the uniform that top psychics were supposed to wear when they worked Upstairs. Lady blinked slowly, as if even that was difficult for her. “Is your telepath sick yet?” she asked.

“What?”

“Your telepath. Is she sick yet? We’re all getting sick.”

Smiles eyed her. He was afraid of Lady, but she wasn’t known to be a liar. At least, she had always been truthful to him. There was no point in a psychic as powerful as her to lie or be lied to; she could dig the truth out of anyone the same way a bird pulls a snail out of its shell. “The fuck you mean, sick? Sick like a cold?”

“No. Sick like...brain sick.” Lady placed one of her spidery hands on the point where her IV was connected to her arm. “They have us trying to crack this civilian. His mind is...it’s beyond the Rift and they want to see inside. They want to see the black pyramid in the Void. Everyone who looks, something happens.”

Dust leaking trees. The black pyramid.

“Nickels isn’t sick.” He stared at his enemy, at her weakness. If something was happening to her brain because of what she was being forced to die, he hoped that she would die. But Nicky had been forced to do the same things. “She didn’t see anything, she’s just a telep. What the fuck are you talking about, sick?”

He was scared now. You couldn’t catch anything from reading a mind. You could go crazy, yes, Lady was proof enough of that. But you couldn’t get sick. The brain was just wet tissue containing millions of nerves, synapses. There were memories, there was pain and joy, but there was nothing...nothing that could spread.

Lady’s nose began to bleed and she absently watched it drip onto her ill fitting grey shirt. This was a person who had been completely broken by the Program. There was nothing left inside of her except the sadistic desire to inflict pain on others. BG could try to protect her all he wanted to, but it was too late. They had used her up. They had used every part of her up a long time ago.

It was sad, but it was the fate of every psychic. Smiles felt no pity for her. He couldn’t. She had caused him too much pain over the years, even if she had been commanded to do it.

“What do you mean, sick?” he repeated, not wanting to get any closer to her. “What guy? What fucking guy do they have you people working on back there?”

She used the back of her hand to wipe her nose. “I think I’m going to be dead by next year,” she said, sounding strangely contemplative. Some of the blood from her nose got into her mouth and stained her teeth. “I’ve been there the most. My mind, I mean. In the Void.”

There was no Void. It meant nothing to Smiles. More crazy psychic talk.

Smiles couldn’t help it, he stepped towards her, close enough to touch. “Lady,” he said. “What guy? What Void? Nickels was talking about some black pyramid earlier, what is it? What fucking guy?”

She looked up at him. Her black eyes were enormous and the pupils had overtaken the whites. “Nobody. He was nobody, a man named Lee Harlan. One of R&D’s projects, but there’s a lot more of them now. They put crawler blood into his head and now he’s somebody, one of the links between here and, and the other place. They make us see it. They make us look at it.”

For a moment, Smiles was no longer there. He was no longer in the room with her. His mind became peacefully blank, protecting him from the panic that rose from hearing a name he did not recognize but for some reason understood. He dug his own fingernails into his palm to bring himself back and stood there stupidly staring at the sick psychic in front of him. Lee Harlan. Marty. He knew those names, knew them better than he knew his own. His heart pounded in his chest and he could feel his eyes bulging.

Crawler blood. One frenzied thought occurred to him then, as it had before: why did they always collect the slime from the little goo aliens when they were sent out to terminate them?

He was aware that he was shaking and he didn’t know why.

“They make me go into his head and look at that place,” said Lady, and it was like she was not seeing him. Her gaunt face was just big black eyes and a smear of blood. She looked like she was about to break into pieces. “I don’t want to look.”

From far away, Smiles heard his own voice: “Look at what?”

And then, Lady was no longer looking past him. She smiled and held her hand out. “I’ll show you,” she said.

There was no time to move away. Lady pressed her hand to Smiles’s cheek and her skin was as cold as ice. Cold like a corpse’s.

And Smiles looked.

It wasn’t real and he wasn’t there, he knew that much. This was simply Lady’s memory of going into someone else’s memory. This was only images that she was projecting into his mind, images and sound. But it felt real. It felt so real.

Smiles found himself standing alone in a vast desert of white sand and a sky so red that it looked like a sea of blood. The horizon stretched on forever. There were grey rocks all around him, huge monoliths of absurd shapes, twisting themselves into geometry his mind could not comprehend. There was no wind, no living things. No moon or stars or clouds, but fleshy, pulsating orbs hung in the sky like massive egg sacs. And in the distance, rising up at the place where land and sky met, ascended a black pyramid of inconceivable size.

When Smiles tried to suck in a mouthful of air, his lungs would not fill. Looking down, he saw that he was in Lady’s body, of course he was, this was her experience, her memory of a dream. She was the one who had been choking for air in a place where there wasn’t any. Above him, the gelatinous skin-colored sacs wriggled in the red sky as if something wanted to burst out of them, and one of them grew dozens of eyes that rolled around in their sockets.

When he tried to scream, no sound came out. Low buzzing emanated from somewhere, and Smiles knew that it came from the terrible black pyramid. He clapped his hands over his ears (or, in the dream, Lady had clapped her hands over her ears) to drown it out but was unable to, and the fillings in his teeth vibrated, shook like they were going to shatter. Didn’t want to hear it. Didn’t want to see! He wasn’t supposed to see this!

Something terrible lived here, something terrible had once been here. It was unnatural and evil and he didn’t want to see!

From behind him came another sound, a sort of wet, heavy smacking. Smiles turned, his body moving slowly like he was underwater, to see a man crouched less than 3 feet away, over what appeared to be someone else’s prone body, repeatedly smashing one of the misshapen grey rocks into their head. The skull was split open like a broken gourd, brain matter spilling out onto the fine white sand. The other man kept smacking the rock down, over and over again.

“It wasn’t my fault!” The man panted, hysterical. He was either laughing or crying. There wasn’t anything out of the ordinary about his appearance, other than a pale scar curving into his hairline. “Why don’t you believe me?! I’m a good person, I’m a good person, Marty! Why don’t you believe me?!”

Without any evidence, Smiles knew that this was Lee Harlan, whose dreams Lady had forced her presence into. Forced her presence into again and again and again. To find..something…

Smack. Smack. Smack. Smiles was completely and painfully present. Trapped in a memory, in images in his own mind, he was unable to drift away.

Fluid began to leak out of his ears and he could hardly move. All he knew was that he needed to leave this place, leave before the man with the rock saw him. Leave before the grotesque and massive objects in the sky hatched. Or worse, before whatever it was that had once lived here became aware of his presence.

The rock came down again, hard. “Please believe me!” babbled Lee Harlan, who then seized the shoulders of the body laying on the ground, the body with the ruined face, and shook it. A small chunk of skull, hanging with scalp and black hair, broke off and fell to the sand.

Impossibly, completely impossibly due to the smashed jaw and broken teeth, the body spoke. A child’s voice. “This is all your fault, you fucking degenerate.”

Lee laughed. Or maybe he sobbed.

This wasn’t happening.

Smiles found his voice in that airless place. “Lady!” he screamed. Finally. The scream inside him came out. The pain in his head and body were too much for him to bear, but the fear was worse, much much worse. “Get me out of here! Get me the fuck out of here!”

The noise made Harlan’s head snap up to look at him. He was white, there was blood splattered across his face and the dull light that emitted from the wriggling, unnatural spheres reflected off his glasses. He let go of his grip on the body, let it fall, and slowly rose from his crouch.

In the distance, the black pyramid droned its maddening oscillation.

“Get out of my head,” Harlan said very quietly, advancing a step. Behind him, the body that he had been pounding into jelly stirred.

“Lady!” Oh god, he didn’t want to see! It was all beyond him, beyond any human. Was this the place that they had made Nickels tune into? What mind breaking words had formed in her mind when she had tuned into the pyramid’s hum? What gibbering language could come from the fleshy things hanging in the sky? Every part of the Program was preferable to seeing this! Smiles would take anything, he would rather hurt people, would rather witness assault, would rather be humiliated, would rather drown in his own helplessness-- anything other than this! “Lady, goddammit!”

The things in the bleeding sky thrashed. The small body on the ground thrashed and sat up, and it’s smashed head began to knit together and reform. More fluid leaked from Smiles’s ears. If he stayed here, in this memory of a memory of a dream, he would go insane. Harlan advanced another step towards him, panting and wheezing, and Smiles could not turn around, could not allow himself to face the black pyramid on the horizon.

“Get out of my head!” Harlan said again, louder, his skin waxy and his eyes rolling up under their lids. And somehow, Smiles knew that he knew him, knew that he recognized him. For so many years, he had wished for some memory, some reminder of his life from before the Program. Now, staring a memory in the face, he regretted that wish.

Fate. Fate is the buzzing life-swarm of mankind. The buzzing, the hum, would not stop.

Unmoving, watching Lee Harlan approach him, Smiles wondered what would happen if he-- if he in Lady’s body in this memory-- was touched.

He did not have to wonder.

One moment he was trapped in the terrible white desert of the Void, the next he was standing in the terrible white Infirmary. Lady had pulled her own memory out of his mind.

Smiles bent over and threw up bile. “Oh god,” he said, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “God.”

Before him, Lady was almost a comfort, a familiar presence. All his suffering of the last hour was now a relief, something expected. Something real. His life had been put into perspective by that one small glimpse of an impossible place.

“You see?” asked Lady, and she laughed, girlish and high pitched. “See? They want to know more about that place. You know what I think? I think they want to get in.”

He was going to be sick again and briefly considered slapping her, but knew the consequences of touching her cold skin. Shaking his head, Smiles scrambled back and away from her. Away from the Infirmary. Away.

But the indescribable buzzing did not stop droning in his head until well after he got off the elevator and into the dormitories.

Faces passed him in a blur and Smiles pushed by them, not caring who he shoved. He had left his teammate alone up there, but that was not important, no, the important thing, the only thing that mattered, was that he returned to the safety of his room as quickly as possible. There was too much in his head, too many unavoidable revelations.

He slammed open the door of the dorm, startling both Nickels and Pete. They watched him with wide eyes. Smiles was now drenched with sweat and he pulled his tank top up to mop his face. He felt weak and faint and confused.

“What the fuck,” said Pete. She was back on the bed next to Nickels. “What happened to you? You get strip searched again or something?”

“Don’t start!” Smiles snapped. He was breathing heavily. The white sand. The red sky. The eyes staring down at him from huge globular chunks of flesh. Lee Harlan’s hysterical expression. And the pyramid, the enormous black pyramid.

Something bad was happening, something he did not have the capacity to fully understand. He had always believed that the squints in their labs were researching...normal stuff, normal science stuff. What Lady had made him see in the Void changed all of that. What could R&D hope to learn from a place like that? What possible reason could they have for wanting to know about it, or more unfathomable, what possible reason could make someone want to go there?

It sounded like blood magic to him. Those red eyed cunts worshipped something that they said lived in the Rift. Well, maybe it did, but Smiles had a pretty good feeling that Something had once lived curled inside of that buzzing black pyramid.

Unthinkable. It was all unthinkable.

Now he was sure that he had known Lee Harlan from his life before. But how? He had come into the Program at 18 years old.

He was starting to dissociate again, as the initial shock left him. Smiles rubbed his face and tried to focus on his breath. He had to stay present.

“Nick,” he said, at length.

His chubby teammate blinked at him. In the time that he had left, she had changed into clean clothes. “Yeah?”

“What else did you tune into on your shift this morning? Did you hear anything else, anything that wasn’t the guy’s thoughts?”

Nickels’s mouth tightened. “Why would you ask me that?”

“Did you hear anything else? Shit like humming?”

“Quit bothering her,” said Pete. “And you were supposed to find Johnny, but I don’t see him here.”

Smiles glared at her with such force that she shut up. Again, he mopped the sweat from his face. “Just had a run in with Lady. I heard that shit too. In the Void. I heard it. Did you-- did you hear anything in it? Anything like words?”

The circles under Nickels’s eyes were very dark. Their gazes locked and Smiles could see in her a sort of recognition. The knowledge that the two of them shared was vast and nightmarish. He wished that he could take it away from her in the same way that he wished he could take it away from himself. “There were words. It’s a broadcast. It’s broadcasting to something out here, something that can hear things we can’t.”

“What’s that broadcast, Nicky?” He did not want to know. But he had to. Something in him compelled him, not curiosity, but the unfiltered and raw desire to understand what could not be understood.

In a quiet voice, the quietest that she was capable of, little more than a whisper, Nickels said, “Directions. Directions through the stars. A way back home.” She paused one last time. “A way-- a way back here, too.”

Smiles thought of those wriggling things in the blood red sky of the Void.

And for the first time that day, he had a true understanding of what responsibility meant.

#writing

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goddamned-catnapped · 7 years

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Personal rant-- Long af just ignore this pls

Ok so like i have a highly dysfunctional family-- my dad works out of my country but he never pays anything for us; not even school/college fees for me and my sis and so on. My mother also used to work outside and used to give the whole fam financial support but now she's retired. Mom and Dad haven't talked to each other for over 20 days. Mom has a stress facture in her ankle and has trouble walking. She also once fainted at her workplace but Dad still doesn't care. Dad has never done anything for us yet he says he loves us and so on and moreover he used to ask mom for money now and then. My relatives aren't nice either-- my mom has three sisters out of which she's the eldest one and the second probably doesnt even know we exist and ive never seen her and she's out somewhere in libya and the third is very selfish and has a lot of pride and the last fourth one is a fucking bitch-- always cynical and backbites and shit. My grandmother is also selfish and arrogant and does not let a week pass by without creating problems. I think I have depression-- no i KNOW i have depression and that's not because ive had the symptoms for just a week-- ive been like this for over 3 years or more. Moreover I cut myself first when I was 11 and even now people tend to think we are just following an internet trend. I also know I have depersonalization-derealization disorder because I have the symptoms. I wasnt able to tell my mother that i even had depression so i made my sis tell her (she found out by accident because she saw my scars) and my mother didnt really talk to me about it and instead took my symptoms (headaches & mood swings + hypersomnia; sis didnt go into much detail) as something that was not related to my mental disorder and said "Change yourself". I had stayed away from my family for over two and a half years to study alone with my grandmother and my fourth aunt and they are very toxic kind of people-- they remain nice and suddenly stab you with knives out of nowhere. I've suffered a lot because of them and because of the toxic classmates I had in 10th grade-- I made no friends there. i cant tell my mom because she already worries too much. But she sometimes screams at me if i make a small mistake and cusses and takes out the anger and frustration of other people on me. I always thought that we are a family so who would we scream at if not at each other-- understanding and shit you know. But when I feel suffocated and so fucking horrible inside i dont tell that to anyone so if I get even slightly irritated-- my mom cannot tolerate that either. She's a very meticulous person so I try to live up to her expectations and sometimes I really wish she'd at least say "well done". It really hurts honestly. It hurts a lot. I didnt want to burden her with my problems so I never said anything. She always talks about how she has suffered and what not. If she was bring irritated with me (which is very often), and i told her to not cause too many problems because I already deal with a lot She'd say-- (no she HAS actually already told me)-- What "problems" do you even have huh? Honestly, I try to keep up with this family. But I just really want to die. I dont know why my family has to be like this. I have friends now and I am a senior and all my friends always talk about stories about the funny moments theyve had with their parents and what not while I have none. I always keep a straight face when mom tells me about how awful dad is. It really hurts because our relationships are so strained that it makes me want to cry when I see other people's parents loving their kids and having a happy family overall. I dont even remember the last time we all sat together and laughed. I always help people but even now I dont know how to ask for help. These past years all I have done is cry behind locked doors, put on fake smiles and cut myself almost every single day. When I look at myself in the mirror, I don't recognize myself and I don't feel like I am me or I am my own person. "So this is how I look like to other people" is the first thought that comes to mind. Because I was so alone I made online friends but most of them were toxic too and its amazing how I have not killed myself yet. I dont like how my face looks and maybe I am the only one who is not happy with her skin color. I know it shouldnt bother me but I am slightly chubby, have acne (almost no one in my class has that) and I am brown. I try to think positively but it feels so fake and i get even more frustrated with myself. When i cut myself i (almost never) bleed but it leaves scars that takes months to heal even small scratches but even now my left arm is slightly discolored. My mom wants dad to provide us with financial support and so she tells us to indirectly take out the money from him like some sort of a politician. Why. Is this how the relations in a family work? I have to act like i am not affected by any of this because i dont want to make problems for my mother. But neither does she have time for me nor does she care enough. You know, I would live on streets and have diseases if that meant that I would have someone who would understand me. Even from when I was young, my sister was in another country and mom and dad were almost always out for work and i would be left with my maids. I have never had anyone to emotionally connect with. I really want to help and even though I am so talkative-- the words that are important to say never come out. When I talk to people, I don't recognize my voice and if I do, it feels very fake and i dont even like the words coming out of my mouth. I have become so mentally unstable that I became so hostile to an extent that I was about to attack my mother and thought to just kill her right then and there and the next day while she was talking to me, i just thought "this was the person i wanted to kill huh?" and that really scared me. I have never felt any love from my mom's side and have never emotionally connected with her so at this point I don't know how it feels to have a mother or a father. It's the same as being an orphan for me. Even surrounded by people, I feel alone. I hate that I cant say something simple like "I am in pain and I want you to help me". Whenever I get really angry or frustrated, if I dont cut myself, I either dont eat or I just become very violent with myself. I think maybe I just tend to introspect a lot (if thats what its called). When i finally did tell someone (a net friend) that i had depression, he just said 'you dont have depression' and when i was trying to console his friend and just told him that yanno i had depression but shit happens so you shouldnt feel so down and stuff, he (not his friend) made a group with me and my sister and said that i wanted attention so i keep telling everyone that i had depression. It was a long time ago but i still remember all of it. I remember how my mother slapped me once so hard that my cheek turned blue when it wasnt even my fault. I remember she was hitting me with some pole for something I had not done. Once she even told me "why did i even give birth to you" when she wanted me to just check out a dress and show it to her and dad and i just had a straight face on and that annoyed her cuz it looked gloomy or my annoyed face and shit. It has always been easier for her to tell others she is suffering and to scream at me and call me a bitch and other things whenever she feels like and wants to. She has never said sorry to me and almost all the times i have kept quite and i never told her about how i had felt like shit and wanted to cry and had suicidal thoughts almost all the time. All I have been made to feel is that its my fault and i have even tried to stand up for myself but no one ever listens to me or cares at all. Even now presently i am hiding my tears for some fucking dumbass reason that I dont want my mom to see it because if i tell her to leave me alone she will not listen. When i get like this and feel suffocated, I avoid eye contact because it would feel so intrusive if someone looked at me straight in the eye and found out all my deepest dark secrets. I am not the positive, helpful, happy, funny, talkative friend/person that I show to others because its all just a facade to hide the fact that i am actually a very pessimistic and cold type of person. I know i would have the coldest eyes if I ever showed that self. I envy people who are happy and have happy lives and I despise and hate so much that I want the people who hurt me to suffer so much that theyd want to die. And some times i hate everyone and want them all to die. At this point i dont care if my family dies because it feels as if they are just some people i know. My mother has just become an annoying roommate who demands more respect than is to be given to the average person is all. I dont feel like i have any relation with my father. Me and my sister's relationship is the "so close yet so far away". Yes, I am trash and an overall disgusting person who can never be as good as others nor be able to give others happiness or make things better for anyone and cant do anything except create more problems for everyone and cant help but sometimes be too nice to people so much so that i get hurt and so i become a little too cruel which again fills me with guilt and there is no in-between. I really just want to kill myself because maybe it'll do someone some good and if not.. then its still fine, I wouldnt care because I would be dead by then anyway.

#dysfunctional family #mental instability #mental disorder #sad #personal #family #self harm #suicide #tw suicide #tw self harm #depression #text #text post

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itskindafuckedlol-blog · 5 years

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Day 1

Tuesday, July 9, 2019

Soooooooo I suck at journaling but I know it’s supposed to be one of the secret arts of being a successful human being so lemme try this.

This journal is to help me focus. What I’ve gotta focus on is: awareness and meditation and MINDFULNESS that's the fucking word it took me a minute goddamn I gotta stop taking these pills.

But yeah this time around my depression is hitting me again and I’m not gonna let that shit win. Wow I can really see the dyslexia in my writing sometimes lol. fuck it. whatever.

Anyways, keeping a journal is supposed to be really good for your mental health and I am on that JOURNEY (hahaha see what I did there) to better mine.

It’s been a rough and tbh a pretty fucked up journey so far, hence the super cool blog name: “itskindafuckedlol.”

Basically, I noticed that when me and my siblings actually talked about what used to happen in our childhood, there was an actual realization of - “oh shit, that was actually kinda fucked lol”

Even here I’m using ‘lol’. It’s a coping mechanism. I’ve seen it with them too lmao its kinda fucked like if we talk about anything messed up about our family or lives or even like just terrible things in general, we’ll always giggle or laugh.

It’s bad. lol.

Anywho, I don’t expect any other soul to really look at this page, it’s really more for myself. I mean, it’d be cool if someone came across it and could let me know what they think. LEMME KNOW WHAT U THINK BOUT WHAT I BE WRITING PERSON WHO IS JUST SCROLLING PAST.

I guess I should give some backstory as to who I am.

I am 24. I live in the suburbs, always have, hopefully never will again once I move out. I had kind of a rough childhood. My father was an alcoholic, and my mother wasn’t very present mentally, so it was definitely a tough environment to grow up in I guess. Okay, here I can see that journaling is kinda helping me accept what I went through. Damn my therapist is awesome. But I digress.

I grew up with my father being pretty strict. I'm a minority and my dad always wanted us to like stay in touch with our roots and stuff. Which is fine and great and all. But we had to attend religious schooling, including religious music classes and regional performances and competitions. Ugh. I have absolutely nothing against my religion but I absolutely have trouble with the facade surrounding it. I will probably write more about that later so stay tuned.

I don’t remember much about my mental health and stuff from high school except fighting with my dad almost on the daily. Otherwise, honestly, I don’t think high school was a bad experience for me. When I got to university however, I started having problems with anxiety and it was the end of my first year when I first had a depersonalization episode. I didn’t think anything of it at the time; I had no prior experience with or even proper knowledge of mental health. Over time my condition worsened and eventually I became diagnosed with severe depression and bipolar 2 disorder, and later on, borderline personality disorder and complex PTSD. All this, accompanied by the occasional splash of psychosis, various drug addictions, and some good-old fashioned trauma. It was bad lol. I don’t know how else to look back on it lol I have make it sound trivial and laugh or else I’ll fall into it. But It was bad.

BUT OKAY MOVING ON MIND FUCKING MOVE ON - no. stop. do the fucking awareness exercise: what is going on right now?

Okay well, looking back on the past just made me want to block out all of the memories and bad feelings that just came up Let me think of how far I’ve come from those memories instead - no wait that’s still going to make me dwell over the past. Let me think of what position I’m in right now. So: I’m mentally stronger, I have a good GPA at school, I have a professional job interview coming up, I have loving people in my life, I fucking look better eyyyy, I’m in a position to even do my Masters like fuck I’m killing it.

Wow okay doing that actually did make me feel better. Anyways, I moved back home, took some time off of school, worked a fucked up job, quit, worked a stressful job, quit, enrolled into school full time, did fucking awful and dropped my courses, enrolled in school again and actually did pretty good,

and now, well, I’m working a normal job and I’m taking summer school.

As you can kinda see, it’s been pretty up and down. But one of the great things my therapist has said to me is, “Mental healing isn’t linear.” It’s going to be harder some days and I just have to be prepared for it.

Recently, though, I feel like I’ve fallen back into my past, in the bad times. It’s been like this for the past 2 months. I’ve lost all motivation and energy, I feel depressed and anxious, and I’ve even felt a microscopic bit suicidal lol its just been messed.

BUT,

this time around, I feel like I am better prepared. It goes to show, huh, that therapy and shit actually works. I wish I could shout out my psychotherapist she is so fucking brilliant. YOU GO GLEN COCO. YOU. FUCKING. GO.

Yeah, if I’m being honest, things are pretty fucked up right now too. But the point is that this time around I am fighting, not surviving.

I really took in everything that my therapist taught me, what I’ve learned from self-reflection, advice from friends, Rupaul’s Drag Race which, let me tell you girl, has fucking changed everything, examinations of my parents lives and just deducing life in general;

I took everything at that moment and made the decision to my situation. And my situation was truthfully, probably, heading towards complete self-destruction. Knowing this outcome subconsciously, my answer was, and still fucking is:

NOT THIS TIME. No sir, no ma’am. Not this fucking time. I have worked too goddamn hard and come too goddamn far to allow ANYTHING truthfully, anything, to bring me down now.

And that means making changes.

Hence, this blog. Ew, lmao I’m a blogger. Omg on god that literally just made me cringe loooool. Okay, well. Until next time.

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btssomnia · 7 years

Text

The Last-Agust D (BTS) Lyric Breakdown

Before you, read this I just want to let you know that I’ve just listened to The Last for the first time after it was release last year. I didn’t really want to listen to this at first because I’ve seen some articles and a few glimpse of what’s this song is all about. Those things aren’t really good for me because it gives me certain thoughts.. But after finally, gathering my thoughts and preparing my mind for what has to come, I finally listened to it and here’s what I’VE UNDERSTAND.

Again, this are MY OWN INTERPRETATION, WHAT I HAVE UNDERSTOOD so there’s A HUGE CHANCE that this’ll be wrong. And obviously, I’m not sure if this is even what he’s saying.

I only posted this for my own satisfaction ‘cause I really want to voice this out and I can’t really find someone who will listen.

So let’s get started!

Warning: Mentions of Depression, OCD, Social phobia, and other mental illness. Read at your own risk.

Source For The English Translation Of The Lyrics: https://muish.wordpress.com/2016/08/16/agust-d-bts-the-last-english-translation-and-ramblings/#comment-5378

On the dark side of a successful idol rapper

My frail self stands, a bit dangerous

Depression, compulsion, at times relapse

Hell no, maybe that’s just my true self

From the first line to the second line, it's quite obvious that he's going to talk about his dark/vulnerable side.

Then, at the third line he said that his mental illness started to worsen.

Lastly, the last line refers to the first and second line. He thinks that maybe that's his actual self not just a part of him.

Compulsion can also be be converted to OCD the here’s a brief aummary:

Obsessive-compulsive disorder (OCD) is an anxiety disorder in which people have unwanted and repeated thoughts, feelings, images, and sensations (obsessions) and engage in behaviors or mental acts in response to these thoughts or obsessions.Often the person carries out the behaviors to reduce the impact or get rid of the obsessive thoughts, but this only brings temporary relief. Not performing the obsessive rituals can cause great anxiety. A person's level of OCD can be anywhere from mild to severe, but if left untreated, it can limit his or her ability to function at work or school or even to lead a comfortable existence at home or around others. (Source: https://www.psychologytoday.com/conditions/obsessive-compulsive-disorder)

Damn, huh. Feeling separated from reality

Conflicts with ideals make my head hurt

Social phobia started around age 18.

Yeah, around that time my mind became more polluted

For the first line to the second line he's talking about how he's over thinking so much. Sometimes he's having second thoughts about what he should do or what he should not do or maybe he's feeling extremely anxious.

But what bothers me about this verse is this line: “Feeling separated from reality“

Is he hinting that he used to have a Depersonalization Disorder?

Brief explanation for Depersonalization Disorder:

Depersonalization disorder (DPD), also known as depersonalization-derealization syndrome, is a mental disorder in which the person has persistent or recurrent feelings of depersonalization and/or derealization. Symptoms can be classified as either depersonalization or derealization. Depersonalization is described as feeling disconnected or estranged from one's self. Individuals experiencing depersonalization may report feeling as if they are an outside observer of their own thoughts or body, and often report feeling a loss of control over their thoughts or actions.[1] In some cases, individuals may be unable to accept their reflection as their own, or they may have out-of-body experiences.[2] (Source: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Depersonalization_disorder)

Does this mean that he can't control his actions and thoughts at that time? As if he was just merely observing himself? That he can’t accept who he is at that time?

Moving on to the the third line and the fourth line, it's safe to say that around that time is where those mental illness started.

So maybe that's about the time where he started audition in BigHit and tried to ask his parents’ permission to be a rapper but unfortunately his parents' didn't seem to agree with him.

Sometimes I’m afraid of myself too,

From the self-disgust and depression coming to play again

Min Yoongi is already dead (I killed him)

It’s been a long time since passion has died and comparing myself to others have become my daily life.

First line to the second line, it's as if he's saying that he hates himself. His depression is taking over again. In some type of occasion when a person has a depression, some people who has may feel utterly useless or they can’t accept who they are, and that causes someone to hate himself.

Third to fourth line. He said that he killed himself (Not literally obviously) but the person who used to be passionate, the person who used to dream and the person that used to hope; is now gone. But instead someone whose mind is clouded by negative thoughts, replaced him. That instead of hoping and dreaming, he just gave up and he just started to compare himself to other people who's probably more successful than him at that time. Which leads him to a probable question 'How come I’m only like this?'

The first day I visited the psychiatry department, my parents came to get counselling with me.

My parents said that they don’t know me well

I don’t know myself well either.

Then who would know? Friends? You? Nobody knows me well.

In this verse. It clearly implies that his parents and him are not that close nor he has opened up to his parents that much. Meaning they don't what kind of person their son's actually is nor what he has been going through. Then to support this conclusion, Yoongi said from the third line to the third line that he doesn't even know himself nor his friends know him that much. So I have concluded that he's also probably suffering from identity crisis at that time.

It's actually quite sad that he can't go to anyone at that time because no one can understand him because they don't know Yoongi that much. So there's a probability that he's been bottling up those feelings and fighting his demons alone.

The doctor asked me

Have you ever.. “beeeeeeep” ?

I said without hesitating, that there were times when I have.

When you go to a psychiatrist for counseling, the first things they'll ask you is the ‘Have you ever’ question.

For example:

'Have you ever harmed yourself or attempted to kill yourself?'

‘Have you ever thought of harming yourself or killing yourself’

And he answered them unhesitatingly that he've done that a few times. So in my opinion, he probably thought of doing it or worse he attempted to do it.

Like a habit, I say “uh, I don’t give a shit, I don’t give a fuck”

All those saying are, uh, trying to hide my weakness

That time I want to erase. Yeah, that day of performance that I can’t even remember,

Myself that looked back at me as I hid in the washroom, afraid of people.

Now, let’s talk about this verse. He really has a habit of saying that he doesn’t care but I have notice even before he released this track that he’s not really honest about his feelings nor what he wants. Even the members claimed that Yoongi’s not really honest with himself and he needs to learn how to be more honest about himself.

He has a tough persona, not only to his fans but to also to the other members and constantly saying that he doesn’t give a shit. But for someone who constantly say this, his actions shows how much he cares for them and what the others think of him.

For instance, There was this one time when Hoseok was alone for christmas since at he was planning on surprising his parents but unfortunately, Hoseok’s family already booked a trip somewhere without telling Hoseok ‘causing him to be alone for Christmas. When Yoongi found out about that he immediately went towards the dorms with fried chicken so he can accompany Hoseok for Christmas. Proving no matter how much he cares for his members without saying it.

Also, around 2015 during their concert in Kobe, Japan, Yoongi and Taehyung wasn’t able to attend due to nausea. Yoongi could’ve just tweeted that he apologizes for not being able to attend but no. After a few days/probably weeks (I’m so sorry I can’t remember) he went back the concert hall just to experience what his fans felt as he reflected on his actions.

Now, to talk about the third line of this verse. He was talking about a certain concert that he wants to erase also stating that he can’t remember that performance. Personally, I think he was talking about the same concert in Kobe, Japan. Perhaps, he wants to erase that memory because he thinks that he’s lacking and because he didn’t fulfil what he needs to do. And maybe, he can’t remember it because he was never there during the second day of their performance.

For the fourth line, I think he was also referring to what happened in Kobe. He tweeted that after the second day he started to lose his confidence to meet people with a clear conscience. And to reflect on his actions, he hid inside the bathroom as he stared at the mirror, most probably cried a lot while doing so.

Yoongi’s tweet:

That time I, that time I..

I thought success will make it all worthwhile

But you know, but you know

It feels like I’m becoming more of a monster as time passes.

Honestly, I’m still not sure about this verse but in my interpretation, he was talking about him being a trainee in the first and second line. In how he thinks that once he debuts he will make everything better. But then again, as time passes, he’s starting to want more than that creating a monster inside of him.

The monster called success that I paid with my youth, wants more wealth

The greed that used to be my tool is now turning to swallow me, ruin me and put a leash around my neck

Some people forcefully cover my mouth and tell me to swallow this forbidden fruit

I don’t want it. They want me to leave this garden

Let’s talk about the first line. Usually, idols train at a young age and Yoongi was no exception considering he trained when he was around 18. Just to achieve his dream to be a successful he had no choice but to train at that age. So instead of like other 18 year olds who can still have fun, Yoongi needed to do tons of part time jobs since his parents doesn’t support his decisions. He needed those jobs to continue being a trainee and support himself.

For the second line, he’s stating that the greed that he’s using to his dream has grown and he can’t control it anymore, instead it’s controlling him. Making him want more and more and just creating a monster called greed.

The third line, Yoongi is implying that some people are telling him to just accept that greed because that will help him be successful. Just like how the serpent tempted Eve to eat the forbidden fruit in exchange for knowledge. It’s as if they’re telling Yoongi to just to let the ‘monster’ take over as he continued to strive for success in his career.

For the last line, you can see Yoongi denying it, that he doesn’t want to leave the garden. Those people wants him to just embrace that greed and leave The Garden Eden but he doesn’t want that. It seems here that despite of wanting to succeed he still wants to keep his conscience clean.

Shit, shit, I get it. Please just stop.

I’m the cause of all these issues anyway, so I’ll stop on my own

If my misfortune is your happiness, I’ll gladly be unfortunate

If your target of hatred is me, I’ll stand on the guillotine for you.

I’m still not sure about this verse though. I’ve struggled with this verse the most but still here’s what I’ve understand:

Personally, in this verse I think his fighting with his parents. In the first line the way he’s saying ‘Shit Shit’ clearly means that he’s struggling and having conflicts with his mind. It’s as if like he's probably thinking some sort of things that his parents might say and he’s just telling them inside his mind to stop in a way as if he was in pain. And not to mention the fact that, his parents used to be against of his decisions of being an idol.

From the third line to the fourth line, it’s as if he keeps on blaming himself. Telling himself that he’s the one at fault and the reason why he’s having mental issues. That he’s only giving them misfortunes them misfortunes and that they probably hate him. And if he’s really the cause for all that then he’s willing to give up or even just die to end it all.

The things I had imagined become reality. The childhood dream is in front of my eyes

The little shit that performed in front of crowd of two, is now heading towards Tokyo dome

There’s only one life, so I’m going to live with more fire than anyone else.. Anyone can just live along haphazardly.

My fan my hommie my fam, don’t worry, I’m really alright now, damn

This verse basically says that the things that he used to just dream about imagine, have now come true. He used to just perform in a few amount of people, now, he’s performing in front of thousands of people.

He’s also saying that you only live once so he will work as hard more than anyone else. That he will be more passionate and live with determination while the others, unlike him, can just live without it.

And from what happened, what he achieved and where he’s standing right now, he can finally say that he’s okay. That he’s alright now.

After having denied what my essence is multiple times

My address is idol, I don’t deny it.

The anguish that dug into my mind many times

The end to wandering. There was no answer.

From the first line to the second line, it seems that he’s saying that he used to deny who he is. That maybe he didn’t really accepted the that title because most underground rappers tend to look down on idols which probably leads him to deny the fact that he’s debuting as an idol. But after experiencing what those idols experienced I think he’s saying that he’s not ashamed of it anymore. That he finally accepts who he is and he understands those idols now.

Now, for the last two lines, He’s saying that he used to strain himself, wondering whether his decision was right or what does he need to do.Then he come up with the conclusion that there’s still no answer but for now he’s just going to keep doing it to finally see the answer.

My pride that I thought I had sold out, has now become my self-respect

My fans, I hope you hold your head up high with pride. Who else would do as much as me? uh.

From Seiko to Rolex, from Ax to Gym

For the first line, he’s stating that he used to think that he sold out his pride because he became an idol but now after finally realizing, that it wasn’t that bad to be an idol, he finally gained respect to himself. Meaning he finally accepts, who he is and what he he has become.

In the second line, he’s clearly saying that he’s talking to us and it’s as if he’s saying that he hopes we’re proud of him and we can hold our heads up high as he’ve done so much as our idols.

Now for the last line, he’s talking about he’s rise for success as Seiko’s average price is $200 while Rolex’s average price is worth $10,000 and AX Korean Facility can accommodate 2000 people while Gym/Olympic Gymnastics Stadium has the capacity of 15 000 people.

The tens of thousands that nod to the gestures from my hands

Show Me the Money. It’s not that I couldn’t do it. I didn’t do it. Shit.

You guys that sold us out, it’s not that you didn’t do it. You couldn’t do it. Shit.

The roots of my creativity has tasted the world’s sweetness, bitterness, to shittiness.

The days of trying to fall asleep on the floor of the bathroom is now bittersweet memory, uh, becomes memories.

I had my debut, while holding onto my shoulder that was injured in an accident during my part-time delivery job.

To whom do you think you’re pretending to have suffered hardship?

The first line basically says the amount of people who are listening to their music, Bangtan’s music.

For the second line, He’s saying that it’s not that he didn’t had the chance for that show, it’s just that he doesn’t want to be a part of that show. Show Me The Money is where some idol-rappers are put into some kind of test to see if they’re qualified as a rapper. And personally, I think Yoongi didn’t want to be in that show because he doesn’t want anyone to judge he’s way for music or music shouldn’t be tested like that.

The third line, he’s referring to those underground rappers that looks down on idol rappers. He’s talking about how underground rappers doesn’t acknowledge how idol rappers works so hard and how difficult it is to be one. I think the term ‘sell-out’ is what the underground rappers tends to use at time. That they think becoming an idol-rapper is way easier than being an underground rapper. After Yoongi auditioned to BigHit, the underground rappers probably called him a sell-out because he gave up on being an underground rapper to achieve his dreams. He’s basically saying that it’s not that the didn’t chose to be an idol-rapper, it’s just they couldn’t do it or they can’t make it as an idol-rapper.

In the fourth line, he’s saying that the reason for all his creations is that he has experienced it all from sweetness to bitterness and even shittiness.

The fifth line, I think he’s implying his past attempt to suicide. That he used to try to ‘fall asleep in the bathroom’ but now it has now turned into just a painful memory. Because think of it, most people who attempts to hurt himself or attempts to kill themselves do it inside the bathroom.

The sixth line basically says that he had suffered so much before debuting. He have worked his ass off to the point where he even injured his shoulders. Yoongi trained without any support from his parents that’s why he had to do tons of part time jobs to support himself.

For the last line, he’s referring to those idols who pretend that they’ve suffere to get their fans’ sympathy. That what they’ve pretending they’ve gone through is nothing compare to what happened to him.

From Seiko to Rolex, from Ax to Gym

The tens of thousands that nod to the gestures from my hands

Watch me, uh. Born out of anguish

You guys that sold us out, it’s not that you didn’t do it. You couldn’t do it. Shit.

Now, for my final conclusion, I think Yoongi’s not just talking about his mental illness here. He’s telling us a story, his journey before he became who he is now. It’s as if like he’s inspiring us to never give up no matter what happens and we should continue living passionately.

That’s about it, that my long ass and not to mention extremely late analysis for Agust D’s The Last.

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hoverbun · 7 years

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fandom: persona 4 character(s): yu narukami, teddie, rise kujikawa, yosuke hanamura synopsis: Something burned in the back of his throat the minute he stepped off the train into Inaba, and breathed that countryside air. When he entered the television, he felt something foul, like this was not supposed to truly exist--as if humans were not meant to walk on these grounds. Yu Narukami sees his fingers move, but does not feel the flesh bend--he sees his friends talk, but he's not sure if they are truly there.He is here, and he is not. warnings: mild violence, dissociation/depersonalization, and manipulation. word count: 7510

It starts early on. Once you press your skull to the glass of your television, and you collapse in a world you don’t know the name of—it begins there. It’s small, but it’s there.

You’re with Yosuke and Chie, and you find a room where someone may have ended their life—and then you find a walking animal, and the air you were breathing hardened your stomach like firm caramels, but the creature makes you want to throw up. Anxiety creeps up on you at times you’d rather it not—but, but, the thing calls itself ‘Teddie’ and it’s friendly enough to push you out.

That was the first time. The first time you felt that. “That” is the thing you feel when reality melts, like wax down the length of itself—the sweat down your brow and the blood off your first injury sustained in the television. You’re not sure what that is, what it could be. Because the world isn’t fiction, it can’t do this. You’re a superstitious person at times, but you know the worst comes in dreams and not reality.

But the feeling passes, for the moment. It drifts down the river, getting caught on a stone. You learn how to use a sword, you find out Yosuke took a knife throwing class once, and Chie should go into judo, professionally. The television keeps hardening your stomach, you can’t look Teddie in the eye, but when you put a blade through that prince’s throat and pull Yukiko off the ground, you have enough time to forget about your insecurities, the improbabilities. You learn how to stop chewing on your cheek and finally swallow the terror, and the next time you go in to show Yukiko the ropes, your insides don’t tie up.

When practise isn’t going on, and you don’t have music that day, you go into the television. Even with Yosuke thrusting ‘leadership’ on you, you take the reins and never let go. So, when June rolls around, Kanji feels like routine. You sweat when you go into the bath house and it’s hard to drag Kanji out, but you’re alive, most of all, and for once passing through the threshold of foggy wasteland and real life feels exhilarating. When Yosuke parts way to walk Kanji home, Yukiko asks how you feel. You look her in the eye and you say you’ve never felt more alive.

The square shaped hypnosis trance burns into your eyes. You hear music, and your friends sound quiet. Their mouths move, but music drowns them out. You figure it’s the television suffocating them, drowning out human voices, some manic repetition roaring in your ears. You start to show Kanji what fighting means and what it does, how it lifts the atmosphere and makes your shoulders relax more. He decapitates one of the Shadows with a single sweep of his folding desk. You all cheer for him.

Yosuke grins at you the next time you crack the mask of one of those smaller creatures. Let’s go, partner!

But when it becomes late June, and you come back from your school trip, your stomach begins to harden once more. You wake up, and get dressed.

( you don’t remember standing up or getting out of bed, you don’t remember the calm lull of reality from sleep, you just found yourself standing in uniform, hand in pocket, looking out the window )

You’re at the flood plain, and you’re walking to school. The sun is swallowed whole by the clouds, but the summer wild flowers nod in the surprisingly pleasant breeze. Students walk behind you.

( it’s cloudy because the news cast said so, but you don’t remember watching television, you never watch it except when it’s sunday, and last time you did you felt strange, because you were putting on the president tanaka show and you know you didn’t leave the channel on it last time )

Yosuke calls for you. He greets you, casually.

( no, you’re still thinking about that—how did you know it was going to be cloudy? you think about your dreams, and you remember a number, a giant 06, and a slider, and you assume that was cotton clouds confined in a small box )

Classes have ended for today. It’s a Monday.

It’s Monday, June 20th, and you stand in your classroom for a period of time. You stare at the wall behind you, and your hands are locked in your pockets, and you don’t know why you can’t move until you suddenly lurch forward—your legs aren’t your own, you walk with a mission in mind—but you don’t know the mission, you storm up to the roof and Chie is there, she’s always there—

Why can’t you remember what you learned today? Mr. Morooka asked a question, you know this, but other than that, what did you see, what was whispered to you, Naoki Konishi looked at you in the hallway during lunch but that’s it—

( schedules. you are plagued by schedules. that’s all. )

When June 24th rolls around, Rise Kujikawa goes missing. When Teddie picks up her presence, you enter a club, music pulsating, getting into your bones and shifting through your veins. You don’t know if the pounding in your ears is the music or blood, because it lingers even after Yukiko picks you up with a Diarama spell—you strike twice as hard the next swing and the two interlocked dancers are split in two..

You feel something building in you. It’s not in your stomach—it’s spilling over your stomach now. You feel acid burn your insides, and it builds, and builds. Your lungs sear with each gasp in. Chie says they should go back, because that big one back there took a lot out of her and Yosuke—but Kanji is yelling they’re almost there, and Teddie nervously nods, saying that Rise is but a floor away. You swallow your vomit and you walk towards the steps.

It’s a parasite. You feel like it’s spreading through your nerves, weaving through the bars of your ribcage, and pulls down on you. It’s like a tight jacket, or a full body uniform too small—you’re cringing as you open the doors to Rise. Yosuke thinks you’re sickened by the naked creature on the stage, spreading its legs and grinning a soulless smile in a crude, sexual desperation. He wouldn’t be wrong, but you’re not plagued by Rise’s horrors.

Until Teddie gives his vessel for them, and she says five words that break him.

“There is no real me!”

( quietly, quietly, without anyone else hearing, because the shrill tone of the bear overlaps your own voice, you mutter, because you feel your insides go hollow, your bones empty out and your blood go cold, the colour leaving your face and something dropping in your stomach, )

no real me.

“Ted,” Yosuke tries to laugh, his handsome laugh that he puts on to diffuse Chie’s temper or his father’s exasperated rants, holding up a hand as his others clutch both kunai, “C’mon—don’t freak out, alright? We’ll figure out who you are—”

“There’s no real me?”

“That’s not true,” it’s Yukiko’s turn, and she’s kneeling down to give her maternal smile unto the soft boy, ragged and filthy and comically ruined, and she realizes how pathetic he looks, and how pathetic he feels. “No… Teddie, look, Rise-chan didn’t mean you weren’t anything!”

“I… I should have… realized…”

Chie looks to Rise, who stands foolishly in her storefront uniform, and doesn’t realize the magnitude of her words.

Teddie begins to scream. Out comes a beast none of you have ever seen before, cracked like porcelain and filthy like a corpse. It has claws that have cut the flesh of its paws, and it boasts of the pointlessness of the world, the void that exists beneath all matters of flesh and bone. How your existence is provided by organs and nothing else, and how life… life is but a pathway to nothing. There is a cliff, and you leap off.

You can’t move. Kanji makes the first strike, and his skull cracks against the wall, wrapped in an indigo felt that does not cushion his fall. Yukiko runs to his side to scream for him to stand, and Chie has to scream your name to get you to move. Yosuke’s voice joins the choir.

( there is no me there is no me i do not exist )

You still can’t move. Yosuke screams something, and you don’t hear what he says, because it sounds—it sounds like nothing human. It is the sound of metal crunching beneath steel plated, the language of radio static, white noise from a broken television. He is music corrupted and emergency broadcast systems, screeching across television sets when the next earthquake is striking the country. The club’s music distorts in those seconds, too, and your heart nearly bursts before Rise touches your shoulders. You can finally hear again—and she’s begging you to help your friends. They need you, senpai.

So you think about what you hold. You look to Tomoe burst from behind Chie, and violently slash into the monstrosity, fur and flesh tearing to reveal soft pink and red that does not bleed. You hear that charming voice, Chariot, and you could pass out.

You give these—these people, some support, by lifting your sword and running towards the beast. You call out Izanagi, but you forgot it wasn’t Izanagi at the front of your mind—it was King Frost. The spirit spits lightning at the bear shaped beast, and Kanji, even with a concussion swelling his thoughts, manages to cast Zionga with you. In the same roar, he screams that now’s our chance, and all of you begin your rush. Rise screams praise behind you all, saying it’s time you buried this thing.

( but i’m not real i’m not real who are you )

Burnt fur sticks to your clothing. Yosuke supports you, and tries to assume your behaviour—took a nasty blow back there, huh partner? He tries to laugh but there’s no humour, there’s anguish and there’s pain. He doesn’t know what’s wrong with you, but why would he know? Your breakdown wasn’t a part of the script.

Rise holds Chie’s arm as she walks back home. Yosuke follows you home, instead, keeping you supported against him, and he’s making idle chatter, trying to fill the void, the void around you and the void within you, and he’s got such a nice voice but you think you’re six out of ten interactions done with him at this point, so you want him to be quiet. You’re thinking in numbers. You hear Margaret’s laughter, but maybe it’s the wind chimes.

Yosuke squeezes your shoulder before he starts to walk away. You watch him walk off, and expect him to disappear into smoke, like the characters always do after their cutscenes are done. You assume Nanako is going to be in front of the kotatsu tonight, rather than the side closest to the curtains, and you won’t be able to talk to her.

She’s watching her quiz show. You were right.

You go upstairs and vomit in the bathroom. You don’t remember walking up the stairs, only walking near it, hearing Nanako say ‘welcome home’, and then you were upstairs, with a the toilet seat ring around your face. You swear you hear Nanako call up to you, but your lurching movements and disgusting vomit drowns her out. You aren’t sure what brought it on, but then you laugh, because you know what it is. Nerves, right?

You fall asleep shaking, trembling. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at your television, even if it was tradition to ensure the survival of another. Why do you look there? You know Rise was alive, the only one in there, it’s scheduled into you—no, that makes no sense. It’s scripted into you.

( you dream of a long limousine pulling up to you. you break character and run. The fog is thick and you can hear the engine of a car behind you, but you don’t look back. )

Morooka was not supposed to die. Mitsuo Kubo was not supposed to drive your insecurities home, nor were you supposed see your slowly decomposing husk in his own empty eyes. His eyes remind you of stained glass, windows you can get lost in, windows that tell you a story—but windows you can’t look out of. Trapped within, like a labyrinth beneath a castle.

“I am nothing. I have nothing.”

You repeat those words back, under your breath. Rise is the only one to hear, and she mutters “Senpai?” anxiously.

I art thou, thou art I, thou art foolish in thine belief thou exists beyond numbered days.

You’re growing used to the sound of music. There’s music, and it’s always around you. This time, there weak sounds of radios dying, old notes dug from the graves filled with sand, and the armoured creature reveals its abominable abortion within a steel chest soon enough. It writhes on the ground, and Yosuke, Kanji and Yukiko tell you to stay back because it could be dangerous, but you raise your sword high and plunge it into the soft, meaty flesh, the sobbing of an infant suffocating on blood and dying at your feet.

Mitsuo is laughing when they pull him from the television like a disgusting caesarean. Nobody walks him home, because Kanji is on the phone with the police. You sit next to him, because Yosuke told you that Kanji’s job as muscle was being occupied, so it was up to you. He tries to joke, saying you can match Kubo, with your dead expression you’ve been wearing recently. You offer a haunting, open mouthed smile. You haven’t brushed your teeth today.

When you sit next to Mitsuo he tells you to stay away from him. Because you’re here to tell him he’s wrong, and that he’s a monster for killing those girls, and the teacher. He can’t move far or else Yukiko or someone will notice. So he folds his arms and looks away from you. When you look at him, you see a boy uncomfortable in his skin, who has goose flesh covering him as he curls his shoulders and retreats into his flesh prison. You think he’s pathetic.

"You look like you want to say something," he says.

You ask Kubo, if he knew everything, would he tell everyone about what he knew, or would he take it to the grave?”

"Nobody listens to me," Mitsuo responds, "the best shot I have is talking to the wall. Talking to you, right now."

Then you ask him what it’d be like to die.

He’s probably thankful the police cars roll up outside of Junes and your uncle comes into the electronic department, interrupting your nihilism and despair.

You sit in the car, when you once stood at the corner of a bookstore and began watching the void. You ask Igor if you’re breaking character. He smiles, and says welcome to the Velvet Room.

Everything is so disgustingly in place. Yosuke is on the second floor of the school. Kanji is in the practise building, down the hall from Ayane. Daisuke throws an arm around you and ushers you off to practise.

Fourth time talking to Kanji. Then you go home. Why can’t you manage time better? Why do you stay around Kanji when the conversation is dry and so are his eyes, anguished once more over his mother’s state? Kanji’s voice distorts, and it turns into whines, agonizing groans like failing machines, and them his charming lilt returns once more. You’re growing accustomed to your friends breaking around you. Machines only go for so long. You wonder how many times you must have lived this existence.

You get a part time job at a hospital. You hear a choir of saints as a sweet young nurse opens her mouth and words don’t come out, her introduction muted by the demands for spiritual sacrifice, another mask to wear, another part of your heart to carve into. You’re going to put Sayoko Uehara next to Daisuke Nagase, and you’re going to call her the Devil, because the voice in your head told you to.

"Welcome home!" Nanako says. You don’t remember walking home. You don’t remember walking up the stairs, either. Now you’re in your room, and you look from your wall, to the couch, to the desk.

This is a work desk. You could probably work here… What will you do?

Paper cranes. Envelope making. Translating. All of your talents are filed into separate skills, numbered for convenience and organization. You hear words in your mind, dictating you can’t do that due to a lack of Knowledge, Dilligence, Courage. Courage is what you own, it’s not courage, it’s Courage, a proper noun, proper emphasis, because you at least have enough Knowledge to Understand what that means, because your Knowledge satisfies Margaret so she speaks to you, and you got some Courage the day before when you asked Mitsuo Kubo how he wanted to die.

What determines these points? Why do you earn ‘Courage’ talking to your uncle? ‘Understanding’ when you walk with Naoki Konishi? ‘Diligence’ when you brush your hair? Why do you exist with numbers and scripts? What is determining your ability to do something, your capabilities? Why are you a number? Why are you following their rules? Why, why? Why?

>… >Scream at the wall >>”Am I real?”

You don’t have enough Understanding…

>… >>Scream at the wall >”Am I real?”

You don’t have enough Despair…

>>… >Scream at the wall >”Am I real?”

You can’t answer your own thoughts. You decide to leave it until morning.

Sleep early? >>Yes >No

You have a dream where you are being chased by Yosuke... You reach a cliff, and Yosuke runs into you, pushing you both off.

It was exhilarating, but you feel like you cannot look Yosuke in the eye anymore.

These individuals are not your friends. Your friends do not live in the same designated spot, expressions shifting after seconds of delay. Your friends do not cheer constantly or smile with no laughter.

Teddie walks around Junes as a worker now. He smiles, and you watch him from one table in the food court. You’re trying to remember if you ever interacted with him outside the television. The script says you aren’t supposed to do this, aren’t supposed to see him outside of the televisions in these off-screen moments, because at the Junes food court you’re supposed to be with the group and going into the—

"Sensei? It’s great to see you! What can I do for you?" Teddie’s voice is a sunbeam on a smooth rock. You are one in the same, and the hard layer of rock and fused organs inside you seems to crumble in this off-kilter tone. Teddie is the only one whose voice doesn’t shatter and turn to broken static (you can’t—can’t talk to ebihara anymore. her voice turned into shrapnel scraping down steel and you were afraid of the noises she was making, she wasn’t going back to normal like the rest tend to do, and when you spoke one wrong word a voice told you something was reversed, the cord was snapped and the body was hanging. you went to chagall cafe nearby and threw up once more in their washrooms).

You ask if he’s free right now. Teddie throws blue eyes over his shoulder, and with a pensive pout, he says, “Yosuke isn’t around to yell at me, so it’s A-Okay with me, Sensei!”

When you sit down at the table usually occupied by five other bodies, Teddie drops down across from you. He keeps his smile, those early summer flowers nodding in the abyss that was his thoughts, and you nearly lose it right then and there. How can you be so pleased when you are a cavern of plastic flesh and viscera hanging from the walls?

"What do you want to talk about, Sensei?"

Something is wrong with me, Teddie.

"Something… wrong? Is there anything this bear can do for you, Sensei?!"

He’s in his human form, muted orange and dull brown uniform apron spilling down his front. His hands, short and round with fat little fingers, leap up from his lap and to the table, and even Teddie’s face looks round, ursine—his nose is small and his hair looks it’d feel like pelt. Teddie could make himself. He made himself. You’re about to be sick again.

I can’t… sleep, I can’t talk to people, I…. I talk to Yosuke, but it’s not him…

Teddie looks confused, concerned, perturbed. He stands and rounds the table, dropping to your right side. It’s been a long time since you felt the warmth of another person sitting close to you—when Chie sits next to you on the roof it’s as if she’s not there, and Nanako’s hands feel cold, clammy, dead. Teddie feels…

Teddie feels real.

"Can you see him, Sensei? When you talk to him, can you see him?"

You nod.

"Then… then he’s there, silly, Yosuke is there, and Yosuke is real. He’s as real as Chie-chan, and Yuki-chan, and Kanji and Rise-chan…"

Your fingers curl around your slacks, pressing nails to fabric. You see Teddie lift his hand, but he doesn’t touch you. I don’t… know what’s real anymore, Teddie.

"Are you… not sure if you’re real, either?"

You nod again.

"… Are you like me, Sensei?"

I don’t know.

You keep your head lowered, exhaustion colouring your eyes a thick charcoal, pressed against you like black and blue rings around your eyes. You are ill, physically so, with thin skin and thin hair. Teddie finally touches you, and you want to scream and cry and hit something all at once because Teddie’s hand is the most real thing on your shoulder.

But you swallow vomit and tears and start talking, in your hollowed voice, shelled out long ago. How you think in numbers and choices, how conversations can never grow more, because every little thing feels like it was written in a candied script. How you hear their voices break and how some of them don’t sound human anymore, and—what really is human? Is it being able to change yourself freely? Alter your person? Your Persona?

You turn to look at him, and maybe your eyes are red—but you tell him you see the same being come out of Teddie whenever he uses his Persona, and the same thing from Yukiko, and Yosuke, and even Rise—but they fought something, they acquired something, they weren’t given the opportunity before engaging in a fight. And is Izanagi really you? If you can turn him into Pixie, into Forneus, into Gurr, into so many different creatures and being, all with different meaning—who am I if I can change at the drop of a hat or the swipe of a card?

You grab Teddie’s hand, feeling his bones crunch and shift within his fingers, cartilage cracking, and you ask again—who am I? Who am I?

Teddie wraps his arms around you as you feel yourself begin to cry. He’s warm, he’s real, and you might not sob but you cry silently, hot tears staining your face and Teddie’s apron.

"We’ll figure this out together, Sensei."

While your bond with Teddie was very young, you feel it reborn anew… You feel your relationship with Teddie has changes drastically.

I am thou, and thou are I… Thou hast seen how bonds may change…

The bond that hath changed, it is thy first step in learning the truth…

Thou must bear thine inner power of “The Star” becoming “The World”…

Teddie’s smile is real. If there is one thing you have found to be real, it is the curved slit upon the boy’s face.

You sit in the car with those fake people again and Margaret tells you the newest Persona she wants. You see no dialogue option in your programmed thoughts, but you interrupt her to tell her you feel your thoughts disturbed at the prospect of embracing White Rider.

She smiles, and tells you she expects you, of all people, to be able to show her this power. You see the car is moving slowly—leaping out would not kill you.

Unfortunately.

You meet Naoto Shirogane at the front of your school and he introduces himself with an eldritch roar and a choir of bones breaking. Yosuke grins and hisses broken glass and oil catching fire. You’re learning how to speak their languages—and you go another day retaining no information, hearing a low hum in place of teachers and lessons. You learn one bit of information, brought on by a teacher’s tangent.

You meet Teddie at lunch—you don’t want to see anyone but him anymore. Teddie speaks your words, and you look at the sky together.

"I wonder if we’re in a snow globe," Teddie says, staring at the clouds above you two. The sky is blue and the summer heat lingers. The sky whites out for you, because it doesn’t render. "and we live in this one little world. It makes me wonder what’s out there. The sky can’t really be the limit, can it, Sensei?"

You don’t answer, but you keep your head up. The bell rings in the distance.

You don’t remember anything but this town that you’re sure doesn’t exist. You don’t know anything beyond Inaba anymore. Teddie is of your kin, so it seems, and you suffer with him. He can smile and not dwell on it, but you fester in your anxieties.

Naoto is put into the television and he ██████to *!*$~|] &2██!;8 while ever88ne spe████SPEA██SPEAKS SP█AKS SPEAKS you’re not real you gotta help the kid gotta █████████████████████████partnerareyouthere

You are incapable of killing the mechanical beast, the Shadow a manifest of all the mechanical terror you've felt, the robotic script you've been forced to recite--seeing the world in text boxes, quick answers, void of meaning. Yosuke is trying to lift you up and Yukiko says you’re unconscious. That’s not true—if you know something, you’re awake. You’re awake. You’re awake. You’re not dead yet. The world is breaking around you.

But they can’t lift you up and help you swing a sword, so Yosuke summons the scrapped subplot inside him and yells for Kanji to keep using a charge attack, and Chie, prepare your Bufula skills. Teddie, get into position!

Rise cradles your head. You find out she can still kneel and observe the battle, calling out what Naoto’s Shadow is weak to, what you shouldn’t use. She pets your hair and looks over your numbed body, muttering ‘senpai, senpai’ over and over again, praying you’re still with them. Your eyes are clouded and you stare at the roof of the laboratory, the ceiling covered in pipelines crusted with mould around the seams, and you move your fingers in time with that godforsaken music, to make sure you’re still going, still breathing, still moving. You hear Chie begin to yell, and her words are silenced with a loud gunshot, and Kanji is screaming—you hear metal crunch together, the delicate chime from above—

The world keeps breaking. You see flickers of video tape in your vision, of a broken glass screen. Time seems to pass, because you’re being carried by Yosuke and Kanji out of the dungeon, Chie supporting Naoto. Apparently you won. Yosuke’s face is torn open, from his cheekbone to his chin. You try to say his name, but your words slur and turn to static. You begin to panic, understanding overcoming you, but Teddie repeats something Yosuke says—“Sensei, Yosuke says you have a concussion, don’t talk!”

Teddie is the only one who can break the sound barrier between you and this fake world, translating their corrupted tongues into your common tongue. You don’t want this—you’d rather die in a grave of bolts and broken television antenna.

You went to the hospital for your concussion, and now you're recovering. You've been told to take it easy, and with Naoto out of the television, you've been told there's no reason to go back there for now. Don't worry, partner, Yosuke starts, putting an arm around your shoulders. Leave it to us for a bit. You've been under a ton of stress recently. But in his voice, the rare times you hear anything but the whistling of white noise and the screams of something inhuman, you hear disappointment. Why wouldn't he be disappointed? Naoto's Shadow hit you once and the anxiety and despair spilled out of you like blood--you were out of commission for the entire battle.

You consider telling Yosuke to leave you behind for good. Leave you in the television, let the Shadows swallow you whole. You think you'd feel at peace. Yes--as the Shadows tore into you, lapping up your blood like wine and gnawing on your bones, you'd be at peace. Something, anything, to prove you're alive, that you're real, that something about you is usable. You have no real person, if the Wild Card means anything. If dying meant proving you exist, you would let the next Shadow take your head off.

You finally started to break the system--you spoke to Kanji for the second to last time, telling him that the police are terrible and irredeemable, and before Kanji could say your uncle's name, you say you wouldn't mind of all of them jumped in front of a car, with Dojima and Adachi leading the club. You left Kanji in stunned silence, and it had only been an hour into your time after school. You walk away from Kanji, and hear words carve into your head.

Your Despair level has increased! Your Apathy level has increased! You have now gone from 'Distanced' to 'Isolated' ! Your Self-Destruction level has increased!

You see Teddie outside of Junes, and he smiles at you. The winds are getting colder, and he's wearing a winter coat bought with Nanako in mind. Your delirium briefly makes you believe no cloud of air passes his lips when he calls your name. You feel nothing when you realize you were wrong.

"Sensei! Sensei, Yosuke told me I'm almost on fire! His dad say I'm so fired up, I might no longer have to work at Junes! But then, Yosuke said that was a bad thing when I said I was excited!"

You never understood how Teddie didn't fall with you. You're at Rank Thirteen with him now. You broke the system--everyone else stunted themselves at Rank Ten with you. Why does Naoki smile at you in the halls but stays still when you invite him to walk home? Why won't Daisuke look at you when you say it's time for practise? Ayane blushes and giggles when you offer to walk her to class--and then steps off, carried on her short legs. You don't get it, why interactions seem to go stale with everyone around you.

Except Teddie.

Teddie is real.

Teddie seems to be in high spirits. And with the right amount of Despair, you realize you can crush that. Will you spend the afternoon with Teddie?

Rank Twenty. December is right around the corner. Naoto is in the middle of an investigation with the Phantom Thief, but you stand with Teddie on the roof of the school, disrupting the code of Chie until she's a flicker of shrill noises and decaying light sources and look at him in the eye.

I am a Shadow. I am a Shadow. I am a Shadow.

Teddie has his back to the protective fence that keeps students from standing too close to the edge. He stares at both of your feet, hands behind his back and cheeks rosy from the cold. The world is bending around you. It wasn't scheduled to start snowing until the fifth day of December, after Nanako and Namatame were found in the television, but you're so hollow and you're so cold this snow globe is blossoming from within you.

"Sensei... you shouldn't say that stuff..."

You had stopped Teddie's disappearance. He's slowly becoming the husk you yourself are. During Rank Thirteen, you had screamed at him. At Rank Fifteen, he took you to the hill overlooking town and asked what would happen if you two jumped off. At Rank Seventeen, you watched him beg Yosuke's father to let him keep his job at Junes, coincidentally after you lost your tutoring job. You had maxed out your Apathy, and stood there listening to Teddie cry and Yosuke demand Teddie keep the job. You said "that's how the world works" and earned a Disdain level up, going from Disgusting to Repulsive. You have enough skill to complete the Aiya's Rainy Day Staring Into The Endless Void Challenge.

"You're not a Shadow... and... and neither am I. We're... people."

You want to push Teddie off the roof.

He looks behind him, between the chain link barrier to the ground below. Frost is on the grass--covering patches of green and dying orange in a cyan hue, and it reminds you of Teddie's eyes. At Rank Eighteen, he took you to the hill again, and took out some lighter fluid, a barbecue lighter, and lit his bear suit on fire. You scared him into refusing to ever look at the television again. Not after what happened to Nanako.

Even after all that's happened, all that you two talk about, all that you theorize--he can still hope that he's anything than what he's killed. You gave up a long time ago.

"I--Sensei, listen to me. We're real. You and I are real. We are people, just like Yosuke, Chie-chan, Kanji... and Nana-chan." He looks up, back at you, and you see the sclera is red. "If... If dying means you're alive, doesn't that mean Nana-chan is real?"

It's the first time you have paused, in your mechanical thinking, cogs and gears grinding to a halt. Nanako is real. You share blood--real blood, not the 'kinship' you spoke about between you and Teddie--with Nanako.

"And she... we nearly lost her, S-Sensei... but she came back! Because she's strong, and she's alive! So d-doesn't that mean..." he wears gloves that wrap over his fingers like mittens, but attach blue felt together with velcro. His short fingers grip your coat, and yank on you. "There are people out there who are real?! D-Do we have to let Yosuke and the others end up like Nana-chan for you to believe me?!"

Somewhere, Teddie's words would have moved you. You would have felt magmatic shock course through your veins, breaking the rime over your nerves and brought forth a cherished light to you, volcanic warmth stirring inside and erupting like fireworks overhead. You'd have thrown your arms around him and screamed in his ear that he did it, he did it, oh my God, you did it! You found the loophole and you solved the true mystery! Choirs would chime, and thou would hath established a genuine bond! This genuine bond would have shown you the truth! You would be able to then summon Izanagi-no-Okami, the true form of the World arcana!

But the world does not flourish in epiphanies and moments of thought.

You stay hollow, you stay burnt, you stay drained. You still hold Teddie--you wrap your arms around him, tightly around his arms, and you lean into him, cold face against warm shoulder. Nothing is said, not even the exasperated sigh of 'Sensei'--Teddie stands in your hold, and you think again of going off the roof, wondering if you could apologize before you two hit the ground. But you hold this husk, because in your desperation to find one alike you, you drained Teddie of what made him real, stealing the warmth in him and destroying it--

and you feel nothing at all.

Rank up.

When you all stare down Adachi, you stand just in front of Rise, with Yosuke at the front of the group. Teddie is to the right of the ground, wearing one of Yosuke's old school uniforms, having said his bear suit was 'ill fitting' now, and he--he moved better in human clothes now. He said human strangely, enough for Naoto to watch him for a little longer than necessary, but it doesn't matter. Teddie has joined you as a husk ravaged with despair. The most ursine thing about him is the claw he wears over his hand as a weapon.

You no longer lose consciousness in here. You can stare at the melting figures, the distorted beasts, the apparitions summoned by Adachi, and know that there is no kin here. Adachi's own demons are not yours--these are not wild beasts that you would find roaming the television, the ones you would want to die by. You don't want Adachi to kill you. So you find your strength, and you fight.

Adachi mocks Yosuke the most, shocked that the group took a toll, losing a better leader to some delirium brought on from a few headaches. Yosuke snarls some half-hearted defence in your name, but you feel Rise's eyes bore into you, because everyone knows Yosuke is disappointed in you. You don't care. The code, the numbers, they all say you and Yosuke have forged a genuine bond that cannot be broken, even by cheating and hacking and dissecting it, attempting to bleed Yosuke dry of hope and happiness like you have. Yosuke can lead, if he's so dead set on solving the fucking mystery.

Susano-o doesn't--doesn't look right. None of their beasts look right. Suzuka Gongen's spear is blood red and her armour is broken, torn and bloody and feral. Amaterasu is pure white, not gold, and her face bleeds a cherry red down from where her eyes may have been, with broken wings and a blood-curdling cry. Rise creates Kanzeon, and her face is impaled upon the radio dish, with her face bloody and fingers wrung around the blinders for the young girl, which forms a helmet this time around--and Rise is in physical pain using her Persona. You think it's your influence, corrupting these corruptions even more, making them realize how disgusting they are, how unpleasant they are, how they've betrayed you and how you just want to destroy existence.

And Kamui is a sphere with hypnosis spirals over it, grinning something devious, something vulgar, shark teeth that seeks the jugular of Magatsu Izanagi. It claws down the faces of Shadows, as Teddie himself watches as he manages to carve through the Shadows, carnage disappearing into ash--not a mess left behind. Yosuke points to Kanji and yells for him to use Ziodyne--and for Chie to keep up Suzuka Gongen's charges. You smile, as you slit a humanoid Shadow's throat--at least your cowardice allowed Yosuke to learn about his natural leadership.

Yosuke is thrown to the ground by Magatsu Izanagi, and you respond with the creation of your own beast, some mythological spirit you can't remember the name of (because there's so many, so, so many, and it's always in your thoughts, always writing their names, taking up so much space) taking the hit for Yosuke, impaling the enemy on its sword. You grab Yosuke's hand, and even in your apathetic stupor, you call out let's get going, partner!--Yosuke's spirit returns.

( at least one of you can come back with a few cheerful words. teddie's at rank whatever now, and he can't say his speeches around you anymore. )

They made you help Kanji drag Adachi out of the television, his exhausted half-corpse as you all recover from the spherical beast to spew fog around you and speak of destruction. You recognize its voice as the thing from Teddie that cemented your inhumanity.

Adachi turns his head to you, and tells you that you look like a husk. You reply you want yellow eyes, and he laughs.

Rank infinity.

Teddie sits in your room. Ideally, it was you, him, and Yosuke--but Yosuke called and told you he couldn't make it, because his father needed him for something at the store. You recognized it as Yosuke's "I'd love to hang out with you but you're not the same guy from April, and really I'm scared about what you've done to Ted, so now that the case is over I want nothing to do with you anymore, see ya I guess" voice. Perhaps he's not reawakened by epiphanies either, after all.

Teddie sits on your couch and you stand in front of your futon--and he smiles, and says he's glad the case is over. He looks to you, and asks as well, "We don't have to go back to the TV, do we, Sensei?"

You shake your head. You like how he still calls you 'sensei'--you suppose you taught him a bit about self-depreciation and hating the world. He had to accept his Shadow some way.

Teddie smiles. It's his warm one, from fifteen thousand ranks before, when he could show you human warmth and prove the world wasn't ravaged with too much despair. His voice is not distorted, it's not corrupted like anyone else's, but it's mellowed. It's a tea candle in the winter snow. It refuses to go out, but it won't get any warmer.

"I'm glad, Sensei. I don't like being in there without my bear suit... but it's too late for that now, isn't it?"

He hugs his knees, and stares at your work table. Books are lying out, from the translation job you quit. You used your skills from that to translate a few poems on existence.

"I..." Teddie begins, and sighs. He looks tired, too, almost as much as you. "I don't like that look on your face, Sensei. The one that says you dislike what I'm saying. Believe me--I'm thinking about what you and I truly are, as much as you are.

I don't think about you, Teddie.

"I don't want to admit what I think we are. It means going back, and I never wanna go back. I wanna see Nana-chan get out of the hospital, and see what spring is like... I wanna eat all the ice pops I can this summer..."

Blue eyes are upon you, and Teddie lets go of his legs, sitting straight up. "I don't know what is going to come, now that we have that Adachi in jail... but I do know something, Sensei--you go back in the spring, too, right?"

You nod. He stands. The choir begins early.

"I... am going to be glad that you're gone. I don't ever wanna think about the stuff we talked about ever again."

Thou art I...

"You said a lot of awful things. You made me think about a lot of awful things. I'm going to go ask Yosuke if I can work at Junes again..."

And I am thou...

"... see if Yuki-chan wants to go out on a date..."

These genuine bonds... shall be the bonds that suffocate you.

"... and say goodbye to you when you leave. But after you're gone..." Teddie's head is low, and you hear something in his voice--a choke, a bitter note, as he grips the door handle to open it. "I... don't think anyone will call you."

We bestow upon thee the opportunity to end thy friend's life, the ultimate act of despair in your vicious thoughts.

"I'm sorry, Sensei. I don't wanna lie to you."

END IT. END HIS LIFE. RUN UP TO HIM AND WRAP YOUR HANDS AROUND HIS THROAT. YOU HAVE A TELEVISION IN YOUR ROOM, MAKE THAT HIS GRAVE!

"So... bye."

Teddie steps out of the open door, and closes it behind him. Listening closely, you can hear his footsteps down the steps, and to the door, which opens after a brief period of throwing on winter uniform, and then closes. You walk to the window in your room, pressing your face against the bitterly cold glass. You watch Teddie tread through the snow, head down and watching his feet, winter boots stepping through the thick packing snow. You breathe against the glass, and fog appears against it. With a numb face, you step back within your room, and sit down against the old wooden stand your television and textbooks sit upon.

Those fake people you had to call friends fear you. The only one that was human lost his humanity under your manipulation and volition. You couldn't take a step over the edge, after every opportunity, and see how far the world would go, until you were brought back to a period a week later. You smile, in your corrupt stupor, your hyperaware anguish, because you have enough Understanding to see that the world won't favour broken save points and buried plot lines.

Yu Narukami has forged a bond that can never be broken!!

#persona 4 #yu narukami #teddie

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