#then lashing out and publicly shaming people in that community

[troonwolf]

it does genuinely annoy me tbh that everytime someone wants to vague nonsense about me to discredit me or make me seem bad, they have to leave out and make up random stuff which always reveals their ableism and queerphobia

eg. this person just doesn’t like what I have to say about syscourse on my blog, so they blocked me and made a big self-righteous post about how having reclaimed slurs on my blog makes me a “fucking weirdo”

then when they receive pushback for this they switch it up to “omg he has a MANIFESTO on his pinned about a topic I disagree with”, revealing what the actual problem was to begin with. the slurs were literally not the problem and were used as an excuse to paint me as scary and violent.

but presenting it as “this mentally ill cult survivor has a syscourse post as their pinned so they don’t have to keep talking about it, and is also a trans man who reclaims slurs for himself” would be a lot different from “this FUCKING WEIRDO wrote A MANIFESTO about SYSCOURSE. WHY would they even care omg they must be a violent scary person!”

but as a person with DID who is a cult survivor it’s very obvious why I would “care that much about it.”, especially if you bothered to read the posts and not just see that a person with DID is talking about something you disagree with, so now you have to turn the ableism up on them

you can obviously disagree with me but this isn’t how you go about it lol. you could have blocked me and just put “people who use slurs dni” without any explanation or statement made about it instead of trying to make me seem like a violent crazy person for not living up to your standard of survivor/queer.

also to make things clear: literally all I did was reblog a post on my dash about a cool dragon competition, from an OP who had no dni and still doesn’t, and they vagued me by calling me a “fucking weirdo” and likening my actions to that of a school shooters. (”manifesto” is a very loaded term to be using against a trans person right now but ok.)

[latin-dr-robotnik]

So, there's this blogger lady who used to be a pretty major voice in the Spanish SonAmy community for at least a decade, and yesterday she posted a new entry about Kishimoto's tweet on SonAmy and the fandom reaction it attracted.

Content warning: I'm gonna discuss some very archaic, homophobic things said in that article.

And so far so good but I started noticing she was getting a bit too aggressive with some tweets and taking Sonic Twitter's daily rancid takes way too seriously, as if it was her first interaction with that part of the fandom. She went out of her way to grab some tweets, debunk them and publicly shame haters. Ok, I guess.

And then, out of nowhere, she went into a tangent about Sonic's canon sexuality and... like... she starts saying a bunch of biphobic shit??? Like, of all things to get mad about Sonic Twitter, she decided to lash out against fans writing about Sonic being bisexual, and she gets very defensive saying "Sonic has been canonically straight since the beginning" and some wacky shit like "if you think Sonic and Knuckles were flirting in Frontiers you should go to therapy because that's a very toxic relationship, and if that's what homosexual love language looks like, then I'm happy to be straight". I'm not fucking kidding you.

And I'm sitting here legit confused because I didn't know where the fuck that came from? Or the fact it was very unnecessary and homophobic on her part to say all of that? Like, what the actual fuck?

The article ends with her writing about Western canon fucking everything up and SonAmy's current canonical status, which is fine but nothing we haven't discussed in the past in the SonAmy fandom. And the whole point of the article was to discuss SonAmy as a canon thing, not to go after bisexual Sonic headcanons! That tangent was fucking horrible.

Tbh I used to look up to that woman because back in the day her blog used to be a shining beacon of light in the Spanish fandom, but man, this was a very rude awakening. I stopped reading her years ago when I began writing my own articles and researching the dynamic on my own terms, and to see her not only repeat points we discussed 5 years ago, but to also fully display her bigotry in this way... damn, what a letdown.

I love SonAmy, it's been my OTP for almost 20 years. I love SonAmy in every way, regardless of canon, gender or sexuality they may be represented. Fuck bigots, homophobes and transphobes in our community. I won't tolerate this shit even if we share a common ship. It is not the way to discuss SonAmy, and that article will certainly not help us at all in the fandom.

Also, as a bisexual myself, the fact I'm the one being told to "go to therapy" for engaging in some fun lighthearted SonKnux shipping stuff instead of the adult woman making a whole scene out of people shipping whatever the fuck they want and rambling about how proud she is to be heterosexual is very amusing to me.

If the thing that triggered this fandom figure so much was people sharing bi!Sonic fanart and headcanons on Twitter, instead of the fact some fans weaponize other ships to constantly attack, harass and "debunk" SonAmy fans, I think the one who has a big problem here is her.

Don't even tell her about transfem!Sonic fanart and mods, she might have a meltdown.

[katyspersonal]

Hooooo boy...

"I am sorry I did a bad thing but you see where I am coming from right??? I only wanted to be left alone so of course I picked a side. But I didn't really PICK a side, you know? Also I DIDN'T just imply that I think there's something wrong with you just a moment earlier. K sorry hope you can get closure" *blocks me before I can even say my own piece*

The way some people are allergic to normal human emotions and experiences is killing me. Imagine thinking your apology was worth a darn thing when you are not even letting the person to react to it. A, I think you are not even really sorry, and you only "apologised" because you gave up trying to rope my friends by your side, seeing that they are more than happy to interact with me.

Your "evidences" for why I am a bad person are 1) six years old super toxic friendship with Kitty (regretted, healed from, improved on from) 2) Tricksterfairy aka Mello lashing at Kitty for lowkey sabotaging my recovery, which Kitty mistook for me and it was debunked (something Lostmarbles conveniently left out) 3) me being angry at Spade for forging friendship and affection "way too fast, way too much" as you've put it only to block me without telling why 4) my friend being angry at N who ditched me over narrative of a hostile person, before having even half of the context 5) me telling Lostmarbles she was a bitch for publicly shaming and hating Mico and that I hated such behaviour.

And.... Of course, 6) me snapping at you when you seemingly defended a person that harassed me and one of the "lovely people" as you called them for a long while.

Six years span.

With so much context, so much nuance, so much explanation for how and why it doesn't make me a "bad person", but only makes me a person that will get hurt when they ARE getting hurt, and will own up to honest misdeeds.

Yet you are so unspeakably allergic to emotions it is absurd, further proven by you not even letting me say my piece. Do you Americans simply never have people who are hot-headed and can say things they regret later? You never have hot-tempered moms? You never have that anger management issues guy that can be too rude but only in words? You never have simply hurt and vulnerable people? There doesn't have to be complex, elaborate backstory of a trauma for a person to justify why they can be angry or rude sometimes - it happens with plenty of neurotypical people, ffs! So, you think all of them are a problem and a "danger"? So, you think all of them deserve to be thrown to ableists that advocate for starving them off of human interaction, do not believe in forgiveness, change and repentment, and were not taught what 'nuance' was in their woke American colleges? So, you think people like me can simply shrug it off, when I have nowhere to go but a fandom, when I can NOT connect with irl normies whose only interests are to pay children and birth taxes, when I cannot even make an eye contact?

No fucking way. You are just allergic to emotions, to normal human flaws, and never knew a person in your life that could have made a mistake or been at the bad place mentally. Yes, I do notice this particularly in Americans. Other cultures and nations that I communicate with are very accepting of emotions, conflict, troubles, flaws, and even [gasp] the fact that some people are JUST incompatible. Your ableist idol Lostmarbles thinks that me not getting along (for the lack of better term) with some people automatically meant that me getting along with other people was nothing. One without a single person to have a conflict with may cast the- ehhhh, whatever, whatever.

______________________

Believe it or not, but just a night ago, I had a dream that someone ratted out my vent post about you to you, and you resorted to unblocking me and speaking up. Not the first time I have had a prophetic dream... But even in my dream, you allowed me to speak BACK. So I am just left with screaming into emptiness.

In the end, I do believe that you are sorry. ....sorry for the likeable mutuals you have lost as they thought you were in the wrong. Don't get me wrong, facing the consequences of your actions is the most primitive, yet the most human form to learn a darn thing. I know it well myself. People always shoot for some transcendental, selfless ideas, but in the end... no. It is being punched in your face with the consequences how you truly learn. It is not "selfish", it is human. So yeah, on my own end, I hope that the sour experience you carried will be a pointer for you on how to act better.

But people not having their best behaviour when being harassed and mistreated and dehumanised is a normal thing. And them resorting to old bad habits when mistreated so is not "evidence they've never changed", either. 'Change' is climbing the rock that may betray you any moment by becoming perfectly smooth and bending by 90° - there is always a risk of being in a situation where you can do nothing but wish to be good.

[words-and-threads]

I'd like to point out that the idea that men and boys are barely controlled animals is not specifically a leftist idea, although some people with supposedly progressive views seem happy enough to accept it. It's a pervasive, mainstream belief supported by school boards, churches, and governments. Also one that many feminists/leftists have fought and are fighting very publicly.

Nor, by the way, are the people who take advantage of vulnerable men necessarily good for their self-esteem. They're just as likely to insult and abuse their followers, reinforcing one's worst insecurities and, oh yeah, spreading the idea that feminists hate men and that you, cishet white guy, could never be accepted by leftists so you need me. Which would be news to all the lefty politically and socially active cishet white guys I've met.

I'm not saying gender essentialism isn't a systemic problem among leftists. It's fucking everywhere, as is the danger of deciding that since you're one of the Good people you don't have to examine or question your beliefs. Let's give this issue its due: feminists are in fact sometimes unfairly shitty to men, maybe because of their own baggage or out of spite or by accident or to control someone or...lots of possible reasons. Sometimes they just do not have the patience today to answer entry level questions. Sometimes they're hurt by a well-meaning comment or a legitimately cruel joke and lash out. Yknow, people being people for better and worse. Honestly it's unrealistic to expect everyone associated with a large political movement to be cool, but it's also worth pushing back against bad ideas/behavior in your own community. That's just part of the work of being in a community.

In any case, I get concerned when people start talking about how we can't get men on side because there is no place for them in leftist spaces. Because there absolutely is. Has been for decades. No, we can't offer a frictionless social climate where nobody is ever mean to them because that's absurd. But neither can the right wing. Have you seen how Andrew Tate treats his followers? The shit incels say to each other? The abuse alt right foot soldiers are expected to take just so they can bring about a miserable dystopia where their lives will suck even more?

I really don't think the left is uniquely or especially hostile or harmful to men more than any part of our shame-soaked jittery capitalist hellscape. I do think that it's very convenient for the right for men to believe it is.

[little-witchys-garden]

Story time: she bragged about smacking a disabled child and taking his service dog.

Tw: ableism + ageism + child harming { she smacked him which is assult I'm pretty sure }

This is a story I still think about sometimes because it left a mark on me mentally as a disabled kid.

There was a young woman that was rather

" popular " in the child free community simply because she was mean towards children and loved bragging about being a jerk towards kids mostly kids in her own family. It was her whole personality..

{ Now I'm not saying the whole child free community is bad but this was in 2016.. When people thought being a jerk was a personality }

So the story went that she was at a dog park that she goes to every Saturday even though she doesn't own a dog because she likes playing with other peoples dogs.

There was

A man { the dad }

The 7 year old boy { the disabled child }

Their house dog and his service dog.

The little boy was apparently semi-verbal and seemingly neurodiverse and maybe even physically disabled??

But dad was chatting with friends, house dog was laying in the shade and service dog that had on a vest was cuddling with the little boy.

This mean lady sees the service dog a lovely Australian Shepard + Labrador mix.

So she goes walking over and the little boy saw her and curled into his dog more hiding his face which she found " so rude "

Even though this child like most kids probs got freaked out by a stranger.

She goes to pet his dog and he holds up his hand and says

" no touch "

Then she smacked his hand saying

" I CAN PET THE DOG, DON'T BE RUDE!"

Then according to her she then TAKES THE LEASH OF HIS SERVICE DOG AND START WALKING AWAY WITH THE SERVICE DOG to " teach him a lesson about sharing and respecting adults "

The poor kid curled into a ball and just sobbed making " weird hand signs " which were most likely sign language.

She claimed he was " being a dramatic brat " and " it was only a few feet away "

The dad ran over snatched the dog back and went off on her, understandably.

At the end of it well she was banned from the dog park and she was publicly shaming the dog park for banning her.

She boasted about what she did to that child EVERYWHERE and people praised her for what she did to that poor child.

A comment I still remember was

Quote on qoute " good on you for teaching that { R-slur } brat a well needed lesson "

And people being unbelievably ableist and saying children shouldn't be allowed service dogs..

I remember seeing the post cause it was goung viral on Instagram. This woman had lots of post and vids and stories of her being just mean towards kids { mostly kids in her own family }

Normally her other posts got back lash but that one really didn't.. So many people tried blaming this poor disabled child..

When it's a not disabled kid then it's how this horrble woman was wrong but when it came to a disabled child...

People blamed the child and praised her for what she did.

She not only harmed a child but took away a service dog. Something so many people need to live and people praised her..

I went off on her because she broke a child's boundaries, assault a child and took away a service animal from it's person.

I got harassed a LOT for being a " bleeding heart " and " overly-senstive "

I still think of it sometimes..

People ask why those with service animals are so " untrusting " and " paranoid "of strangers and that story always rings in my head as the reason why..

[generalcaronobi]

So you’re starting to think your fandom is toxic, what are you gonna do?

1. Find the source of the poison. Is it the other fans? Is it the author/creator? Is it the source material? Listen to communities that are telling you they are being harmed for any reason, and look for the roots and fruits of that harm.

2. Stop the bleeding. How is your participation causing harm to someone? Can you find a direct or indirect effect from your own actions? Stop it now.

3. If it’s other fans, how can you disengage with harmful conversations and engage in those that encourage healing and learning, and stand up for those that need your advocacy? Can you share information that might help others understand the effect their conversations and fan participation have?

4. If you find that it’s the creator themselves, try engaging with fan-made works and secondhand merch before deciding if the image of the fandom is one you want to publicly support. (* cough JK Rowling cough *)

5. If it’s the source material, first deal with the shame that you missed any warning signs. You don’t get to lash out from that shame at the communities you hurt either directly or indirectly by your participation. Then, evaluate what it is that you connect with in the source material and start looking for a non-problematic replacement. (Look for a similar story written by a BIPOC author for a start, because while white people don’t all create toxic fandoms, let’s be honest, the vast majority of them are ours).

Don’t be afraid to publicly disengage from things you once claimed to love forever, and remember that your dollar is your voice in the entertainment marketplace. It’s not a personal flaw to enjoy something, it /is/ a problem to know that it’s causing harm and to do nothing about it.

[beguiledcon]

Corrections and Statement in Response to the issues with MindQuake

We, the Beguiled Conference Committee, are writing this public statement as we feel it is important to provide correction to misinformation posted by the MindQuake Conference Committee.

When Beguiled began in 2019 we were able to get assistance in vetting and sorting through previous Midwest and other conference bans and warnings. One person that has been on our radar since the beginning was Mr. Taqtiks. He had made public statements that put him on the list of people we wouldn't want presenting for us. He had a list of complaints from both other leadership teams and a few individual community members. It was not until this year’s 2021 Beguiled Conline that he had ever attempted to attend or present with us. So no official statements were ever needed. 

The Mindquake staff claimed that Mr. Taqtiks never got his presentation statuses. His presentations were rejected through the PreTalx system, like every other applicant. He at no point reached out to state that he was having an issue with the system or seeing his status and message. 

The MindQuake Team has also responded to public notice that based on his clear further violations of community decency and, more enforceably, Beguiled Conference policies, Mr. Taqtiks is indeed banned from Beguiled.  Their response was that they don’t recognize it because the ban was not delivered via their preferred method of communication.

Let us be perfectly clear, harassment, retaliation and outing are all explicitly stated as against Beguiled's policies. Even without previous red flag behaviors, these actions are sufficient for a permanent ban. When a person publicly and via direct messages, lashes out against the people he believes has reported him, that is retaliation and harassment. When he then goes a step further and obtains a confidential report and outs the contents of said report in a public call with 40+ witnesses, there is no investigation needed. These acts were all done in public and acknowledged by both Mr Taqtiks and the rest of the MQ Team. 

MindQuake's ConCom is free to run their event as they see fit and have whomever on leadership. However we, the Beguiled ConCom, want to create a community where people are accountable and feel comfortable. Beguiled ConCom will not willfully ignore the very real harms that have happened and been excused and defended by MindQuake's Team. Those who have been harmed get priority. We find it to be inappropriate to ignore such clear violations. 

Mr. Taqtiks is banned from Beguiled. 

Other members of their teams have also had issues and official warnings. It is not generally our policy to share these statuses publicly, but MQ has forced our hand.

We hope this is the last statement we need to make in regards to these issues. 

Sincerely, 

Beguiled Conference Committee. 

P.s. Beguiled also completely denounces the most recent racist victim shaming statements made on Fetlife by the MindQuake Team. All involved in that public statement should be ashamed and should do the right thing by apologizing and stepping down. 

[im-thinking-arson]

Hi wow depression is a hell of a thing.

I'm sorry for the relative silence here, considering everything that has been going on in the last (roughly) year and a half it has been really hard to focus on any creative outlets. Everything has felt pretty heavy as I have been piecing together what exactly happened to myself and the people I used to share a community with.

Although my former FC is basically non-existent at this point, I feel it is appropriate to say that I no longer associate with its' leader @morganaux (sernoudenet on Twitter and formerly here) and to clarify why.

I have been struggling with what to even say about the situation. There are so many layers that I don't honestly know if any single cross-section could explain all there is to unpack. When it takes multiple people six months to explore everything they know as fact... I think that shows its not so much of a 'he said, they said' scenario as the few people who still support Morgy have tried to claim.

I feel guilty not speaking up sooner, considering this person is a member of the FFXIV community who I'm fairly sure some of my mutuals follow. Its so hard to speak out when he publicly acts innocent, like he has quietly moved on and refuses to acknowledge what he's done.

The reality feels so cold in contrast, with the knowledge I have- that he has done this multiple times before, burning down or wearing down those he has hurt with false sincerity; claiming innocence, claiming people misunderstand the significance of the intentions behind the knives in their backs, claiming he is the truest victim of the mess wrought of his own actions.

He quietly retweets fan art, cute animals, head canons, and all kinds of fandom things- but also others' tweets to identify with their own traumas- the same traumatic thoughts and feelings he incites in others through a mixture of gaslighting, lashing out, and playing the victim. He tweets passive aggressively about people he feels the victim of, (justified or not) even amid posts about his dearly beloved OC.

At this point I should just block him and try to scrape all memory of what I went through from my mind, but un-fucking-fortunately I know him too well to believe it's over when it's over. He still makes passive aggressive tweets about people he hasn't talked to in one, two, ?? years, a person who was a good friend to him for 10 years before he scapegoated them to maintain his own sense of righteousness.

Seeing as I witnessed him maintain not one, not two, not three- FOUR venting channels in his own discord, including at one point one specifically made for sh*tting on a single person, defending it's use and encouraging others to participate saying 'this is how victims cope'...

I know it's not over, and if he had a single shred of...anything... He could leverage against me he would have already tried to 'cancel' me. I'm not turning my back again to see if he decides to throw another knife.

For a long time I wanted to believe I had simply misunderstood the situation, that his intentions weren't so self-serving. The more I saw, the more I heard testimony from others that matched my own, the more I began to un-repress and process my own memories and connect the dots... And the less sense his own account made.

While I tried to maintain my friendship with him I ignored all the red flags, my own rise in anxiety, the isolation I felt. I felt so much pressure to fit into his equation, to be a supportive friend, to keep track of how he was feeling that I stopped taking care of my own mental health.

All the while he got angry for people not checking on him when he asked for space, threw a fit when anyone failed to accommodate his whims, and even accused his three closest friends of purposefully excluding him by taking screenshots without him in them or even hanging out together when he was offline..

And he would have people believe that most of the issues he was involved in centered on his friends not communicating with him. But in my case at least, nothing could be further from the truth.

I told him I felt uncomfortable with the fact his (at the time) friend had publicly lashed out at me in his discord server for stating my opinion. He suggested I work harder to befriend this person, that he couldn't and wouldn't approach his friend about it because he wasn't a FC member and only there as a friend of himself and his two closest friends.

He lashed out at a former friend (and FC mate) of mine -on my behalf- because they wouldn't stop messaging me while I was at work... And when this person subsequently put me on blast thinking I had put him up to it I mentioned considering posting my side of the story- to initially be shamed (by the person mentioned above) for suggesting I protect myself, stating it could make things worse for the people who had already publicly attacked this person...

I approached him about another former friend of his angrily ranting about a character I had though at the time they knew I was planning to RP (I had spoken about it both in-game and in a discord we all shared) because I didn't know them well enough to feel comfortable saying that made me feel uncomfortable and unwelcome in the space. I approached my former friend because I knew from experience he took things like this seriously and he was the one who had invited this character TO role play in the first place.

He reacted by telling this person he had no idea why I was upset, asked them to address an issue they had no context for - prompting them to write an apology, and then reinforced their worry that I hated them by saying I "probably disliked them since [I] hadn't written them an apology" in return. I had thought they both wanted to drop the subject because he stopped responding about the situation.

He decided the situation was resolved and kept inviting us around one another for at least four months while keeping up the illusion that I disliked this person despite me trying to remain friendly- and said nothing about the situation until AFTER he had nuked his FC and almost everyone was done with his bullshit. I had asked him to be honest about the situation and finally got "[name] thinks you dislike him" ???

(I might add more details about these situations because it's honestly much more of a mess than it might seem, but I'd probably have to write a fucking book to explain everything well in-sequence of events.)

But those examples aside, I told him up front that the favoritism he showed and my concerns being glossed over was messing with my head, that I didn't know if I felt safe in his FC, that the whole situation was making me feel like I was losing my grip on reality, that at one point feeling like I was being discouraged from defending myself was beginning to make me feel su*cidal. These are things he knew.

He reacted to this ignoring both cause and effect, ignoring me unless I reached out first or it concerned RP, continually inviting me to hang out with people he knew I felt uncomfortable with (or vice versa) and normally turning down anything I invited him to do otherwise- including several times that I offered to help him with Eden or dungeons he wanted to farm when he previously said he was free to do so. A couple of times he declined saying he was waiting to see if he could convince another friend... and then threw a fit about 'no one wanting to help him' despite declining my offer and not reaching out to me after his other friend declined (I was still online but he decided to vent on discord instead).

Behind my back he talked shit about me, enough that someone who had known him 10 years and was familiar with his behavioral patterns qualified it 'constant' bashing, whenever I came up in conversation. And even included confronting me about the three situations I mentioned above in a plan he was working on to 'fix' his FC, as if he thought I was reaching out to him to stir up drama.

Eventually it came out that the friend I mentioned in the first example was emotionally abusing his friends (and I found out later told him two of them were talking shit about him- prompting HIM to lash out at them). One of them mentioned that person had still been talking shit about me 6 months later on a private account and when I got upset that THREE people I had thought were my friends didn't tell me, I made a few jokes in poor taste (that I do now regret) about the situation to try and prevent myself from having a mental break down.

The person he led to believe I hated left the discord server at that point and he decided to divert some of the blame for (in his words) 'being worried for this person's life' -whom he had attacked over the situation- to me... blaming them leaving and him having trouble contacting them on me.

I told him if this former friend was indeed attacking people and he was so worried we needed to talk about the situation, since in other situations his response was to ignore the hurt caused. He blew up about me messaging him at work, he blamed me for every situation I had brought to his attention. He went to his mods to rant about me and sent one of them to scope out the situation in hopes they could shut me up.

This is the friend of 10 years, who quickly became concerned and not for the reasons he had hoped. They shared a few screenshots of things said to gaslight me behind my back as the conversation progressed. Eventually the other mod jumped in and, knowingly or not proceeded to gaslight me FOR him, based on what they were told. By him.

They reinforced everything he was saying in guise of a neutral perspective and my efforts to prevent a full-scale breakdown failed. I lost all grip on reality for several days- in which at some point I wrote an apology to him for accusing him of several things that were later proven true- and one thing he, himself, proved he'd lied about to the other person involved.

I spent almost two weeks in a self-imposed social break to sort everything out and attempt to cope with what I was told was reality. I fell into the deepest depression I've been in since I had to run away from home, and honestly if it wasn't for my wonderful SO and our house mates, I might have really hurt myself.

It turns out another situation had been brewing parallel to my own. People had been coming to the social mod, the friend of 10 years, with their own worries about him. Almost every. Single. Member. Including at least four people who came forward with fears that if they did a single thing that he interpreted as an insult or threat they would find themselves exiled, called out, and ranted about in a jumbled mix of truth and fictional-malice until their own friends turned on them to support his victim complex.

These four people came forward on the condition that their names be kept anonymous to protect their identity. He didn't take kindly to this, quickly demanding names so they (his mod team) could handle the situation. The mod refused, knowing he has a history of lashing out at any criticism against him and to protect those who were already afraid of bringing the problems up to Morgy.

He reacted by lashing out at this person, claiming they ruined his life, and attempting to weed out those who had spoken out against him by kicking anyone he didn't feel 'safe' being around from his FC. He posted a message in his FC discord about resuming his 'reign of terror'... Which, even if it was a joke, was in in poor taste after pruning his FC of anyone he didn't think could be convinced of his 'good intentions.'

I missed this first culling of his FC members, I assume, because I had apologized and at the time submitted to his version of events. He approached me soon after I noticed the changes in the discord and FC roster; claiming he really wanted to work things out and remain friends- going as far as to say he was so nervous about my reaction that he was shaking.

I wanted to take him at face value despite everything that happened because yeah, I did want to believe he was sincere, that he was a good friend, and that all of it had been an unfortunate misunderstanding. And at first I did until I started talking to other people who knew him and getting their side of the story. Nothing he said added up. Between first-hand testimony and over a hundred screenshots from multiple people the ONLY things that were clear and consistent were that he lied and fit his narrative to whatever he wanted to achieve.

He tried to reduce conflict by omitting information, he controlled people's perception of one another by how he spoke about them and how close he let them to himself and others, he built a support group by polarizing his friends against his 'enemies' and if anyone had a problem with him... They were wrong, and got added to the pile of 'aggressors' he had accumulated over the years, to be bashed and spit on for years to come.

He may have sensed my change in opinion when I directly asked him to help me reach out to the person who thought I disliked them-  managed to come to an understanding and we mutually apologized for the situation... Without his meddling. Or maybe when he realized I was still on talking terms with the people he had lashed out at and directly asked him why he had kicked people who did absolutely nothing to him... Or it could be that I kept in contact with the person who 'ruined his life' by trying to protect his friends from him. I don't know.

While we were still talking he tried to identify with me and bond over the feeling of loosing the FC, a group of people that despite the anxiety, and pain I had felt in the environment he'd built I did deeply respect and care about... Despite the dissolution of that group and the abuse I suffered being -at the core- his own fault. He even went as far as to say my description of the PTSD and fear I was experiencing described exactly how he was feeling, too.

As our conversations further weighed on my mental health I had to take a break from interacting with him. I was honest again, with what I was told, what I knew, and asked him for honesty about the situation... What he had said about me behind my back and why because I wanted to hear it from him. I wanted to see if he would acknowledge the harm he caused both to me and the rest of the (former) FC.

He never did, and probably won't. He asked for some time to tend to his own stress levels and mental health and then blocked me on all social media and discord, and kicked me from his FC without ever making an effort to reach out.

Of the few people who are still close to him, one of them suggested that "maybe he just decided he didn't want to be friends anymore." But after him begging to have a conversation to iron out all the facts, claiming to be so anxious about such a conversation going well that he was 'shaking', admitting that what he did hurt people and that my being wary of him was understandable, asking me -directly- to let him know if he did anything 'shady', and stressing he REALLY wanted this conversation to take place when we were both able to handle it because of how important he felt it was...

I feel like its fair to say that him suddenly cutting off all contact isn't quite so simple. He could have done that at any point. Before pointedly ignoring my concerns, before gaslighting me, before blaming me for the results of his own actions, before accepting an apology for accusing him of things he did legitimately do, and certainly before directly telling me had no real problems with me, that he it was super important to him that we remain friends, and that I deserved his honesty.

I'm not going to try and tell anyone who they should be friends with or not. Frankly, people can change and in a lot of cases experiences with individuals will be different.

But on that same note, if I had known then what I know now I might have saved myself from roughly two years of anxiety and avoided the state of dissonance I now find myself in. I still have moments where I want to doubt the things I experienced first hand. My mind is still trying to repress my own memories to cope.

A part of me still cares about him despite everything because as far as I knew, he was my friend and I am still trying to reconcile what I found to be true.

At this point I feel like I should say please don't harass Morgy if you read this, but honestly? If you have any reason to hold him accountable go for it. He needs it. And if you have any gut feelings about him or anyone in his circle please listen to it. The few supporters he still has are willing to ignore anything he has done previous to the fall of his FC and have shown they are willing to debate and accuse people who speak out about legitimate concerns involving him.

If anyone has any questions I am willing to answer them and share the proof I have.

And in the off chance anyone wants to (further) argue with me about my experiences or whether or not I suffered enough to be considered a victim, please Google some images of a hand giving the middle finger. But if after that you still really want to play stupid games? I can find you some stupid prizes.

I don't owe him my silence. Or peace of mind. The only thing I owe him is to be as entirely, brutally, honest as possible given the information I have. I think it's a fair offer considering the mind-numbing volume of honesty he -still- owes all of us.

- - - - -

I may add more onto this. Unfortunately the entire situation is a lot more complex, but I wanted to get the backbone of my own experiences out there and there is so much bullshit it can't all be seen from any one direction. A lot of the circumstantial evidence loops back into other situations and makes it hard to comprehensively represent everything on any sort of singular timeline. As I said in the beginning there is a reason it took a small group 6 months to piece it together.

I am far from the only person hurt, and the entire situation was a mess with people feeling unnerved or pressured into going along with his agenda. For the most part now that I have more context I don't blame most of the people involved for their own actions. I fully support those who can't or won't come forward about the situation whether they just want out of his drama, or are afraid to come forward.

[tenderpoison]

we’ve come to the end of our time.

to make a long story short, i've been accused of stalking and harassment within the roleplay community. my accuser is an ex-friend, someone who ended our relationship about a year ago for reasons they blocked me before i could fully understand ( but to the extent that i do understand them, i genuinely believe them to have been a matter of miscommunication ). my decision in the last year to keep my roleplaying primarily away from tumblr was a result of this situation combined with my poor health at the time.

the nature of the accusations concerns my repeated viewing of my accuser's blog, an action to which i'm fully willing to own up. my accuser has a history of nasty vagues and namedrops, against me and others. i do not consider it stalking to view what's being said about me in a public space, especially as i have a right to also feel comfortable within that space. in my opinion, if you decide to bully someone openly on your public social media, you can no longer tell them they're not permitted to view your content.

my accuser obviously disagrees with me on this point. after a year of no communication and no interaction with their posts ( in excess of the two messages i sent them, spaced months apart, to let them know i was still confused, hurt and seeking closure over what happened ), they came into my private messages with this conversation, which i really think speaks for itself. since then, the situation has become untenable.

the clinching factor for me in deciding to leave was some days later, after more vagues, when i snapped and sent an anon out of anger. it wasn't nasty, but it did express my feelings, and i knew they would know it was me. part of me knew i was burning a bridge; part of me wanted to offer one last chance to show some kind of mercy or understanding. that didn't happen, obviously.

i knew sending the anon was wrong, but i really did feel backed into a corner. i don't like feeling that way, so i'm stopping. moreover, somebody needs to show some empathy in this situation, and my accuser has been open about the fact that my presence is a legitimate trigger for them. i don't want to be stuck in a place where i feel provoked into lashing out and triggering people on purpose---that's a horrible thing to go through for both parties.

i also can't feel safe in a public space where people are allowed to talk as much shit as they want about me without anybody pointing out that it's kind of fucked up, or allowed to make spaces where they can talk shit about me and i'm not permitted to see what was said ( let alone defend myself ).

this is farewell, but i'm open to private conversations with anyone who needs anything clarified or who would like to exchange contact info. i continue to exist in various forms, as does plumeria.

last words: live by your values and question the compassion of your actions. there's nothing shameful about being human, remember that.

addendum: the original draft of this post was written before my accuser posted a callout about me, which you can find here if you're interested in the details of the above situation. it is presented from my accuser's perspective.

the thing about this callout is that i could methodically go through it and argue how each instance my accuser cites occurred within context that's not accurately presented here, including many opportunities i gave them for communication over the course of our relationship. i thought about doing that, but i changed my mind because i decided that the only people who really need that context either already have it or can ask for it in private, without an argument on the dash. i'm comfortable with facing the consequences of my actions, even if that means some people will read what i said and judge me harshly for it.

frankly, my accuser is allowed to talk about their experience openly and publicly within their own community, and it's the community's responsibility to handle the situation with respect. they are entitled to support and to be heard, even if they express themself poorly or harshly. i worry when i see receipts presented out of context that the person posting them may feel they need to distort what really happened to them in order to feel justified in what they're doing. but that's not true; the only reason someone needs to end a relationship or reach out for support ( even in a way some might not agree with ) is that they felt uncomfortable or hurt.

in a way i'm thankful to my accuser for the callout as it gives me some much-needed closure about the actual reasoning behind our friendship ending. that's actually information i can use going forward and i can't help but regret not having it before.

at any rate, everything i said above still holds. love one another. be at peace. hit up my discord if you want to. don't go chasing waterfalls, stick to the rivers and the lakes that you're used to.

[lost-in-zembla]

On Metamodernism

It’s tough to grasp metamodernism as an artistic movement but most of us live lives strongly affected by the concepts of metamodernism every day. You’re having a serious conversation with your friend about her mental health; simultaneously, you and your friend are part of a groupchat where you are currently making fun of the very friend you are supporting. This isn’t necessarily disingenuous; you are witnessing two different instances of a person and those two instantiations of you happen to be different depending on context and medium. In part, metamodernism is a kind of acceptance of our multiple selves, our tendency to oscillate between states or even inhabit both in a sort of human superposition.

I taught my friends about metamodernism in our groupchat as my friend Jarett consoled me via one-on-one text after the sudden implosion of my five-year long relationship and the fact that my life is generally unbearable—a fact that is more embarrassing when one considers how easy I have it. It’s sort of a shame feedback loop. 

As I was explaining metamodernism for my own satisfaction, I thought that I might actually make an okay professor. I could teach American literature. Maybe. 

So I get a job teaching at the local community college and my life slowly comes back together like a cut that heals. I am relatively respected by my students and I have some abstract sense purpose, the cracks in the surface of which are only visible if one spends a long, existential period of time contemplating the practical or, god-forbid, spiritual uses of an education in American literature what with the reality of a global climate catastrophe and the approaching drumbeats of right-wing strongmen leaders reaching positions of power all around the world.

But things are pretty good.

I get a parking space. I get an apartment that looks bad, then looks better. I start to open the curtains. I don’t want to hide so much. A year or two down the line I lease a practical car and people treat me with a bit more respect when they see me step out of it. I smile at people in the grocery store. At this point I can see peoples’ mouths when I go outside. When I see their mouths, they’re smiling. They can see my mouth. I’m smiling.

I get to know people and people think I’m lovely. The faculty all look up to me. How young and handsome and intelligent he is! He’ll sure go places, they say. And I do. I quickly earn a raise and then I’m head of the department. And so young! When I’m not inspiring awe I inspire smoldering jealousy. Women? Naturally. And I treat each of them with utmost respect. I value these women for more than the thousands of hours of hot naked ecstasy they provide me. I buy more fresh produce. I throw none of it out.

I single-handedly save the English department at the community college. Funding comes pouring in. Eventually, it becomes one of the premier colleges for literary studies in the Midwest. They rename a building after me. I just turned thirty. Before long, I’m offered a job at the prestigious private university in town, with nods toward a proverbial shoe in the door when it comes to tenure. Unheard of! But he’s just that good. My wrists and forearms become perceptibly thicker. People cross the street in front of traffic to shake my hand. I learn what the fuck “ketosis” is.

Then there I am one day in my cushy office. Rows of leather-bound books fill the shelves around the ample perimeter of the room. I’ve read them all, naturally. My hair has started to grey in places but damn if it’s not as thick and lush as the heart of the Amazon. A knock on the door. My office hours ended at one. I answer and it’s, oh, Claire from this semester’s modern American literature course. Of course I’ve noticed her in class. How could I not? But I’d always maintained a professional and appropriately avuncular demeanor in front of her. She’s twenty-eight, French, gorgeous. Naturally.

We discuss her essay on Light in August and I say to her, you know, Claire, it was the French who were among the first to notice Faulkner’s genius. She puts her hand on my thigh. In her accent that itself somehow resembles a beautiful naked body she says, The French notice lots of things. I slide my attractively thick forearm over the crowded desk space and knock the books and pens and everything onto the floor and—well, let’s just say that my life of success and talent has enhanced me in other ways. And it’s hot and insane and weird and papers fly everywhere. And it sort of just goes on like that for weeks and then months—the relationship, not that particular sexual event. At my age, after all the sex and drugs and joy and tragedy, sometimes I think that it’s the clandestine nature of the thing that really gets me off. Like I need more and more secret or shameful shit to fire off those tired old neurons. I start to become cavalier in front of the students. I begin to, perhaps, show my hand. 

I get another knock on my office, sometime in the Spring. Bill, I say. Come in. He sits down and we engage in a tense discussion where every syllable is laced with a double entendre because he can’t just say it out loud, for Christ’s sake. That’s just not how these things are done. He’s old school, but firm, Bill. She’s graduating anyway, and something tells me when we can finally be together publicly then the thrill will already be gone. 

The students already know. I’ve seen the screenshots. I’ve been memed. Things are tense in class and they can tell that I’ve given up. The fire in my eye that led to my meteoric rise has dimmed to a pathetic ember. Sometimes I take my Audi out on a dark highway outside of town and I press on the accelerator until I can’t go any faster. I have to stop myself from shutting my eyes.

One day in class, I look up from my papers and all the students are out of their desks, standing over me. They’re holding pencils and yardsticks that have been modified into edged weapons. What’s the meaning of this? They use my Tom Ford tie to tie my arms behind me and to my chair. They put me in the center of the room. I knew they would betray me. I’d always known. For years this notion has haunted the deepest recesses of my mind: these people, these kids, are going to be the ones to put this old dog down. Is this because of Claire, I ask. They laugh. They laugh because they think I’m an old fool. I am an old fool.

No, professor, Shellie says. She seems to be the leader. It’s much more serious than that, she says. O life! Everything I’ve ever done. I’ve stomped on people all the way to the top and now it’s all coming back to me, some sort of holdup in the karmic clerical system that led to forty years of consequences all delivered at once. Things were so easy for so long, so fun, that I forgot what it was like to live a life with consequences.

Shut up, she says. You’re here for a reason. What could she know? How did she mobilize all of these students? When did they make the weapons? How many questions could I possibly pose in sequence?

Professor, she says, we have one question for you. Anything, I say. And answer truthfully, she says. And I say of course, of course I’ll be completely honest. Okay, professor, she says, do you consider yourself… a historicist? At this very moment I know it’s over for me. Well, I say, it’s not so simple, Shellie. The mob is in an uproar. A fair bit of verbal sparring ensues. Shellie and the other students in favor of the transcendent nature of literature—whatever that means—and me in favor of a more context-based approach. Sure, if I thought that novels were a good way to learn about history then I’d deserve this. I’d deserve all of this.

How can you read these works outside of their historical context? What about Light in August for God’s sake?  The mob lashes out again—not Faulkner fans, go figure—but Shellie shushes them until the classroom is as silent as the dusty hills of Jerusalem. Literature, she says, is timeless. And this essentially breaks me. I begin weeping openly. You might as well kill me, then, I say. They set upon me like a pack of hyenas. 

A moment or an eternity after my head is pulled off my body like the Bacchae in that Euripides tragedy, I hear waves lap against the rocks. I feel in my face the salty breeze of the ocean. I open my eyes to find a beautiful Mediterranean island. It feels neither hot nor cold. The breeze from the ocean feels perfect, as though there were no storms to be found in any corner of the Earth.

Behind me, inland, I hear the sound of approaching footsteps. I turn around to find Vladimir goddamn Nabokov of all people. It’s perfect. So I tell him the story, how I was murdered by my students over two reductive and non-mutually exclusive schools of thought in literature—two schools of thought that are both perfect lenses through which to view Nabokov’s work. When I tell him he laughs his big Russian laugh and slaps me on the shoulder, and I laugh. Then he hands me a butterfly net and we skip through pleasant hills in that vast and timeless place forever and ever.

No. What’s happening? It’s all slipping away from me now. All the memories, the moments, the time, leaking out of my mind to become something ghostly, an image half-developed, a thought unspoken. I lift my head and look at my hands and there I am, lying on a couch in a high school faculty lounge. My hands are unwrinkled. My body is young. There is no Humanities Wing in my name, no tenure, no Audi. No Claire. Was it all just a dream? Could it all have been just a dream? Is it within the realm of possibility that such an absurdly bad trope could have manifested into my life naturally? Or am I the subject of a cruel and untalented god who simply bats me about and writes hack narratives for me to tumble through like some Sisyphean Rube Goldberg machine? Coffee. Need Coffee.

It’s all silly, anyway. Nabokov and myself cavorting through some weird Elysium? Ridiculous. If that was what the afterlife had in store for me, then Nabokov would probably be hanging out with Pushkin and Tolstoy while maybe Dostoevsky and I build a sandcastle. Maybe. But then, in all likelihood, Nabokov, Pushkin, Tolstoy, Dostoevsky, and the other cool kids would kick sand in my face and walk off with whatever beautiful ladies happen to inhabit this weird Russian-literary Elysium that I’ve somehow ended up in. I haven’t thought this out very well.

What was this all about, again? Metamodernism. Easy. Let’s think.

Okay.

As I write this now, behind my computer, watching Youtube videos about sushi, wondering how the sushi will make its way into my writing through mental osmosis (not subtly, it turns out), I look at these instances of me, with the meteoric success or the banal day-to-day life, and I wonder who exactly I am. I am a thousand selves. I am nothing. I am trying to remember into the future who I am. I am a metamodernist—no, I’m not.

[renascencebent-blog]

==> Tavros: Get Challenged

Warnings:  Gore, violence, death, child death Word count: 1965

He was at his rally, smiling and talking warmly to the familiar reporters he saw every time. They knew him, deep down, and he knew them. They’ve been at this for nine years, they had his numbers, they could get him in ways no others could. His wings shifting idly as he laughs when a child shows him their special toy of him, explaining how the horns were changed to make his own super cool superhero. Hugged the teary eyes of the teenagers who were left without families because of their choices to support him.

This was live. This was given. The world was watching. The world was judging.

The eyes of millions burned into his back, yet he thought nothing of it. Mind silent and drowning out the drabble of the bronzes. Of the meaningless white noise. Tavros has a burning, saddening, skill of easily being able to ignore the woes of others… Yet, here is where he simply walks and offers help, support, love, hugs, a fatherly gesture, sweet forehead kisses… Here is where he let go of being and simply WAS.

He was meant to be here.

As he walked, the start of conversation needing to end to get to the real meat of the rally, his stride had a purpose. He needed to get home, grab his things, head south… Kiss his husband and kids… That meant nothing as his wings flared with pride, head held up, chin out, and smile that of a cunning charmer. He could talk, he could sing, he could act the part of the pied piper leading the mice of these humans and trolls to a future he so wanted. It’s not about him though, it’s about them. So he needed to focus on that. He needed to focus on the others. He needed to lead the people, to support the people, care for the people.

He needed to be a leader he was never meant to be.

Tavros’ voice was loud, certain. If his younger self could see him now, he’d laugh! That couldn’t be Tavros Nitram, up there, making a difference, preaching, teaching, guiding. It just couldn’t be. But here he was. A voice a messenger, hands the speaker. Eyes? Tender embraces.

He was a protector. He was a speaker. He was a fighter.

As he spoke, pride soared through him. A light with his own words as a fire burns his eyes a sizzling amber. Stars forming with each powerful paragraph. Wings unfurling until finally, he was at full size, a looming figurehead above those that followed him, as they cheered and laughed, whooping, hollering, or even booing. But FUCK those booers. The power oozing from him was something he only feels when bringing those around him together. He feels this power only when grounding a small community together.

Pause.

Tavros was stuck. Instincts warning him of a challenger, a threat. He was still on live television, he was still being watched… He was still he was still he was still--

“Hey! Old timer!”

He’s a child.

“You’re time is up, you pathetic excuse of a troll.”

This… Is a child.

Said child? Publicly spat on his face. Bronze oozing down a slowly brimming rage of bronze. His eyes, while to the soul, rang of no emotion. This emptiness something only his dear friends would notice in the shift. Wings flare, spreading and making a show of being BIGGER. Of being BETTER. HE was the hivemind, not this… CHILD. How DARE someone so young DARE challenge him. His smile, friendly as ever, did not falter as the child continued to throw profanities at him. Swearing, threatening, jabbing.

Tavros didn’t even blink.

It was… Funny.

Turning, calmly, Tavros turns to the speaker. Gingerly, ever so carefully, he grabs it. Voice, once of honey, oozed with an unknown venom and salt. “Please… Pardon me, people. I must deal with a challenger to my hivemind. I apologize ahead of time should this result in something gory or dangerous. I advise those in the front to carefully take a step or five back and to be ready for anything.

“To those watching, if you have children, please do not allow them to watch this until I speak to you again. This is not something I take lightly. For those curious, I will answer questions afterwards, but to be brief--” A slash, and he’s in the air, microphone still in his hand as he glared daggers at the child. “--it’s an action trolls take to become the head of their respective… Hues.”

That was all he cared to give. Dropping the microphone into the crowd as anger boiled and hardened his weakened body. He was not ready to fight.

He’s still broken. He’s falling apart. This is the FOURTH ONE.

Yet… He stood, or, well, flew in this case, above the assaulting bronze. Hatred, a vile and all-consuming feeling, surged through him from the lesser bronze. The feeling was almost devastating itself. The tiny troll--no older than 15.--stood before him. Stitched, scarred, ripped, hurt…

Broken.

Blood was splattered.

Tavros would treat this child as he did with the adults. Like threats. His foot shattered this poor younglings face. Sending him spiralling away as he is backlashed with true, uncontrolled, violence. Tavros had the beautiful gift of… Wings. This child still hasn’t pupated into his, yet he truly rang with the potential to have been the next in line for the hive mind… A shame he seems he won’t survive to get there.

‘Why do you hate me?’ ‘You won’t let me defend myself!’ ‘Or are you refusing to meet in the middle?’ ‘It’s suffocating!’ ‘And you think the mind will be better?’

He didn’t answer. A rage filled scream threw him at the much more agile adult. Pity rang from the older trolls pusher at how… Destroyed the little one seemed. A hardened shell that shouldn’t be so empty of hope. Of life. Of the will to live. Yes… Humans did this. Humans hurt him…

Another stab at him, he let it hit. To see if it would bring anything from the boy. To see if perhaps a victory would get him… Living. Breath again… Yet, nothing happened. His eyes rang red, fangs flaring and the itch of murder tainting his actions. He wanted blood. He wanted death.

He wanted to get Tavros’ head. What a shame…

With a sigh, Tavros smiles devilishly. All casualness in his body twisting to take these weak attempts into an actual fight. ‘You could have been great little one… Bow or die.’

He did not bow.

‘Tell me your name.’ A beat. ‘Veitan Faqsir’

A hand lashed out, snagging his wrist. He was good with a knife, he was fast, agile, knew where to aim for a good quick kill. He was aiming for soft, silent, quick. He wanted this fast. He wanted he wanted he wanted….

‘A shame you must die…’

Snarling, Tavros bent the wrist back until it snapped. The knife making an almost lullaby of a sound compared to the hushed whispers of the hive. Friendly smiles turn into bared fangs and a hunger for blood. Wings hummed loudly as he quickly turned and flung the young child, hissing and chittering in dominance, hunger for victory as he watched the boy clamber back up. What a weak thing, barely able to--

Bronze oozed from Tavros’ shoulder as a knife found itself embedded in the flesh. This caught him truly by surprise, visible by the tentative touch to the wound. The shock of his overly familiar hue staining his neon red shirt causing a fresh wave of anger flow through. Bronzes in the crowd are heard starting to snarl as well, demanding for the offender to bow before the hive leader. Some of them moving to the front of the hoard of people to get a better look, to reach for their leader…

Only to be silenced with a sweep of his hand.

‘I will beat you clown lover.’ ‘No you won’t. Now bow.’ ‘No.’ His voice was stern. The flicker of the hive changing before it stopped once more on Tavros. ‘It’s the time of change.’

He ran. Almost gliding over the wooden podium beneath the two, another knife making itself home in Tav’s side before he could leave the range. The kid was good for being one handed right now… That was pointless. Tavros was going to win from the start of this. This child was put at a loss as soon as they stood up to challenge before their molt. Against someone who HAS molted. His voice was drowned by the reality. He’d have to kill on live television.

His reputation? Soiled. He’s spent YEARS making it. He’s spent AGES building himself up to be a pacifist. Everything, all his progress, would be lost if this goes out. Aged, tired eyes flick to the camera, flick back to the offender who was burning holes into his chest through absolute spite and anger alone. He wouldn’t stop.

He won’t bow.

Finally, after a long pause, Tavros settles himself down. It’s time to actually be the leader. It was with easy, bated breath, that the elder bronze waited. Wings folded, draping like a cape behind his aching body. Eyes ready, waiting. Would the child fall for it? As he sits there, bleeding and staining his HUSBANDS shirt--Dave is gonna have his head…--would he take the bait? Or would he be smart and choose to wait?

… Why are they never smart?

The little boy rushed him, knife at his gut… Only it never found it’s victim, for Tavros had trained for this on Alternia. He wanted to be a Cavalreaper, this was part of his training until… Vriska ruined that option. His feet made not a sound as his wings gently tapped the little boy's shoulder, eyes like blades as Tavros smirks cockily at his future victim, almost enjoying the sudden wash of fear he felt through the child into the hivemind. The widening of his grey eyes, the shrinking of his pupils in terror… His pusher skipped a beat in true, absolute, uncontainable bliss before he’s behind the child. Hand making itself at home in the raven locks. Another hand locking onto his PATHETIC excuse of horns. A maniacs smile settled on his otherwise calm, but angry, features, a searing bliss ringing as the child once more screamed he would not bow and give in.

The child dared Tavros to kill him. Told him he’s too weak. He’s a pathetic waste. A monster for thinking trolls can change. Yelling about how he’s on the WRONG SIDE--

He screamed.

Tavros removed his horn--with force mind you. The smile now was gone and oozing into something angrier. More twisted. Still, he wouldn’t bow. Hissing, wanting this to end, Tav flew up just enough to raise him from the ground by his hair alone. Tears flew from the boys face. Yet still, he challenged Tavros. Still told him he couldn’t do it.

Fine.

Landing, for fear didn’t work, the elder bronze snarls, but whispers a wish for him to pass on to something beautiful… Before his fist hit the back of the boys head, launching him forward. Without his horn, he stumbled, balance lost, and turned…

And was met with Tavros’ hand through his chest. Well… His brass knuckles to be exact.

Fear… True… Uncontrollable… Fear…

Then? Nothing.

Turning, he grabbed one of the other microphones and smiled. Even as his face and hands were dressed in the blood of his kin. Even as his eyes visible watered, and lips shook, he smiled.

“I’ll be answering what just happened now…”

His words fall like he does… Tears painting the screens as he cries. Why must he have been so young?

[lowellhq]

♦ Stats

» Alberto Rosende » Twenty-One » Scholarship Student » First Year » Submissive » Associates Degree

♦ Connection(s):

     Grayson Crane was assigned as Camilo's pen pal upon receiving his admissions packet in the mail from Lowell. This was an option for Scholarship students to be able to have at least one friend ahead of arrival. The two began exchanging letters and getting to know one another before they even arrived on campus. They're now roommates in Duval House.

† Biography

    Camilo Morales was born to a middle class family that was hard working, dignified, and proud. Camilo grew up with a quiet sensibility although that was tested by having two older Dominant brothers and a Switch sister. Camilo was the baby of the family and all that did was make convince him that he needed to work harder to find his place among those in his family.  

    Those in his immediate and extended family took care of Camilo but they didn’t coddle him. The Morales family believed strongly in not testing their children at birth and instead opting to leave that information blank on his birth records. It was an odd move to most. The people that didn’t get like to reveal classification at a young age were sometimes treated as though they were putting their child at a disadvantage or even at risk. 

    Because Camilo’s brothers turned out to be Dominants it was the expectation of many that he would be one as well. Camilo even sometimes believed this foregone assumption to be the case and did his best to learn what he could about the classification. He studied his older brothers, sometimes tried to emulate them, but his voice was never quite commanding enough nor his demeanor all that domineering.  

    Camilo devoured books from a young age to try to learn what he could about the world around him. Literature, lore, popular fiction. He consumed it all. Romance novels taught him what a Dominant and submissive should be. They idealized the Dominant dynamic into something that too often wasn't true to the real world.

    His passions outside of literature were for comic books and for drawing. He spent hours trying to copy from his comic books as a kid. In that world, anyone could be a hero, no matter their classification. In fact, some comic books emphasized the strength of each in their unique characters, inspiring Camilo to think he could be strong too. Camilo never expected the pursuit to go anywhere. He never forsook his academics for the leisurely pursuit of drawing. His parents wanted to ensure that he was fully able to function in whatever role he was given in the world.  

    When he was nearing the end of puberty it was revealed that Camilo was a submissive. Secretly he was overjoyed. He would often look at the Dominants at school and feel overwhelmed. Switches were another matter entirely. Camilo would’ve seen it as some kind of super power to be a Switch. They could do anything.  

    Yet, in the Morales family, submissives were often put into claims arranged between the elders of families. This wasn’t a broader tradition but there were some others in Camilo’s community who did this. They wanted to ensure their children were put in with good families who would build upon the future of the family and give honor to their respective names.  

    Camilo’s future was decided in the form of a Dominant named Anton Martinez. The Martinez family was closer to the next highest tax bracket than the Morales family. Their son was older by the time Camilo was ready for college. Anton was outwardly pleasant and well mannered but whenever they were alone he got too pushy with Camilo and would treat his drawings like the demented dream of a delusional submissive. It always put Camilo in a great place of shame. He was not comfortable with the arrangement but he had nothing to prove that Anton wasn’t who he appeared to be.  

    Camilo had a scholarship opportunity for a good college. He hadn’t yet chosen a major but he was thinking of putting in for an arts degree. Anton made it very clear that school was not in his future. Keeping a home and being of service was going to be his priority.  

    It was Camilo's understanding that he would still be able to make his own choices until he was claimed; and the submissive wasn't ready to be tied to one person yet. Then one night there was a party for Anton getting on the Dean's list. Anton made a toast and at the end he grabbed Camilo from the crowd and officially announced that Camilo was his submissive. He announced that they would be claimed by the end of the semester.  

    Camilo was blindsided. It was a complete disregard for his own plans for his future and he'd had no idea Anton was going to 'propose' as if he'd already said yes. Camilo pushed Anton away and blurted out that he didn't know what Anton was talking about. He said Anton had it wrong.  

    Anton was a proud man, much like the Martinez patriarch, and cared very much about his image. He fumed at Camilo's public rejection and demanded that he be able to punish Camilo publicly in their community. To Camilo's horror his family did not disagree. While they understood Camilo's surprise, they had already discussed the arranged claim, and they felt that some form of remedy must be applied to the wrong Camilo had done. A public insult warranted a public punishment. It was, they thought, also good for the order of the community.  

    The day was set. Camilo had only one choice. Either accept the punishment or find an escape. He applied to Lowell late after their scholarship program had been announced. He was torn between his own plans for his future and the path his parents would force him to stay on if he stayed. They would surely, as Camilo's legal guardians, make him enter into the claim with Anton despite his not wanting to. They still didn't understand the nature of his resistance to the man they didn't truly know. It would be hard for Camilo to support himself as a single submissive just getting out into the world with no degree and little work experience.  

    Camilo begged and pleaded for Anton not to punish him but Anton used the lash anyway. He'd only gotten started when Camilo safeworded out and even then Anton didn't stop. Camilo's parents stepped in when Anton didn't stop. They took him home, unsure of what to do.  

    As fate would have it...Camilo got accepted to Lowell Academy. The family, after much argument, agreed that it would be best for Camilo to learn more about being a submissive before entering into a claim. They decided time away from their community would help things smoothe over with the Martinez family. So they drove Camilo to the airport and they watched him go off to another world.  

    Camilo is often overwhelmed by the world of Lowell but he didn't come to the Academy to be second best. This is especially true since he went against his family's plans for him and only barely got to come to Lowell after numerous back-and-forth debates. He often puts his heart into his learning, hoping that will continue to give him the edge up on the other students, and in his free time he still doodles the various dreams that come into his head.  

    He hopes that maybe one day he can be the hero of his own story; even if only by simply being himself.

Secrets and Motives:

secret one: Camilo has been contacted by Anton several times since he left for Lowell. He keeps pushing Camilo to abandon the school...with the ultimatum that he will apply to Lowell himself if Camilo doesn't come back to him. Anton's family knows that Camilo can't leave Lowell without a claim and are in talks with Camilo's family about enrolling Anton into Lowell so both sons may have an education there as a claimed couple.

secret two: Camilo has anxiety about not succeeding at Lowell. He sometimes can't believe he broke away from his family's expectations to come to New York and be claimed by a stranger. He's never done anything this risky before and keeping on top of his studies is sometimes the only measure of control he can feel in a day. He's woken in cold sweats a few times if he thinks he's missed something.

motive one: Camilo's newfound freedom thrills him. He's always been known to be a good boy who rarely misbehaves but Camilo is in charge of his destiny and education in a way he's never been before. When he dreams his biggest dreams, Camilo wonders if he could prove how good he is with his art, so his talent is undeniable and he would be allowed to pursue an education in it.

motive two: As long as Camilo is offered the scholarship at Lowell he doesn't mind waiting for a claim to come around. He has firmly decided he won't settle on just anyone. He has some anxiety around Dominants that he only becomes aware of when faced with public arguments which threaten punishments. This means he's happy to explore his submissive side but keep claims on the backburner for however long it takes for his comfort to come first.

[tcencounter]

Coming to understand ourselves can be challenging. Recently I’ve come to understand my anger, my frustration, my lack of self control, my lashing out, my deep sadness and confusion. I can see now that God works in the world in spite of broken people and in spite of ugly circumstances. I grew up in a toxic church. I will refer to the pastor as the owner for reason you’ll soon understand.  The owner of the church ( let’s call him Bob ) was brash, rude, domineering, controlling, unreasonable, and immature. He spoke about money half time, handed out credit card swipes for us to give on credit, and claimed he spoke “as God” not “for God”.  From the age of 6 to 21 I was mistreated and made to feel ashamed, small, dirty, fearful, and weak. During some Sunday services Bob would ask the annual salary of congregation members, told some who they could and couldn’t marry, ridicule those who quit jobs, or made career decisions he didn’t like, tell some from other countries to go back to where they came from, say “towel heads” should be shot at the airport, and would often physically assault people during altar calls. I have literally seen Bob jump over rows of chairs to “lay hands” on people, tear the neck brace off of a visitor, call a women ugly during a leadership meeting, throw his microphone across the stage in anger, curse during a sermon with children present, and “prophesy” over people with bizarre fortunes while they stood in shock and embarrassment. Yes, it was bad.

One morning I recall Bob speaking of a man who had recently died of cancer and leaving his wife, two kids, and several grandkids in sorrow. This beautiful couple ran a ministry to those in poverty in Mexico and managed to help coordinate a few missions trips for the church. They left the church the year earlier and sadly Bob’s comment on the death was “this is what happens when you leave my church!” Other people were also shamed publicly after dying of cancer because they didn’t have enough faith. Bob, in his narcissism, saw their suffering and death as an inditement of his prosperity filled, overcoming, supernatural doctrine. It is sad to remember all the beautiful people who endured such abuse.

These are just a few examples of the ways that Bob was out of control. I could go on telling you of what I experienced and of the wounds my family and I endured. I’ll spare you. I write this to paint a picture of what those 15 years were like. Most of my formative time as young man was under the influence of this toxic religious environment. Even after leaving the church as an adult I was severely disillusioned, confused, insecure, and afraid. We were taught that to leave Bob’s church was to abandon the “True God”. We were indoctrinated with the belief that all other churches were missing it, they were ”less than” they were not the “true remnant” of believers. This is the nature of a cult. But God is still God.  

Even in the midst of such chaos and pain I remember standing in worship crying my eyes out in love and longing for God. I remember the ways I came to know God as very real, and the times the palpable, tangible, and mystical touch of Christ would overwhelm me.  Even at Bob’s church, God was reaching to bring me closer to Himself. How was this possible? How can God work though such a horrible human? What I have come to understand now is that God can use anyone-we are all broken. While I can see now Bob probably shouldn’t be pastoring at all, somehow ( even in such a mess ) God brought me into his family. One of the greatest lessons I’ve taken away from being raised in such a cult-like and abusive religious environment is that God works in spite of all of us. No one is perfect, no one possesses a perfect understanding of Christ, and we all hurt each other. The church is a messy place, where folks get it wrong all the time. When we worship together we find ourselves in an incredibly vulnerable place.  When we pray together it is about as intimate as people can get. When we seek God as a community we are knit together somehow-we become family.  Through this vulnerability and awarenesses we can help to heal one another.

Sadly, many of the kids I grew up with at Bob’s church will have nothing to do with God. Some died of drug abuse, some became single moms in their teens, others even now are militant atheists. Can you really blame them? Can we in the church not confess our sins? Those who have abandoned the faith are often hurt so deeply by religious people like Bob that they don’t survive christianity at all. I believe this breaks God’s heart - I know it breaks mine. So the next time those of us on the “inside” feel inclined to judge the “bad people”, maybe we can try to empathize, love, understand and dialogue. Maybe we can be different than Bob. We are not at war with the outsiders. Christ taught us that those who seem to be “the worst” are often deeply hurting and thirsty for a drink from the well. If you have survived Christianity, thank God for that, many have not. Let’s be a church that leads with love. Let’s be a church that listens. Let’s be a church that says, “we own the ways that those in our faith have hurt you, we are truly sorry, and we humbly repent”…

[lost-carcosa]

Hires a new communications director called Anthony Scaramucci

Press secretary Sean Spicer quits in protest. Says he's happy but is fulminating

The Mooch (aka Scaramucci) gives obscene interview to New Yorker magazine

Trump fires his chief of staff, the hapless Reince Priebus (abandoned at Andrews air force base)

Hires a new one, Gen Kelly, who was the head of homeland security

On Kelly's first day, the president fires the new communications director - Scaramucci has lasted just 10 days - less time than it takes for a pint of milk to go off

He hires a new comms director, his fourth in seven months

He publicly shames his attorney-general, numerous times, but Jeff Sessions clings on

Loses a healthcare bill

Publicly lashes the three Republicans who voted against it, several times

Bans transgender people from the military, via Twitter, without telling the military

Military chiefs say: "Forget it, we don't take orders from tweets; there's a chain of command"

Makes political speech to Scouts aged between 11-18

Claims Scouts leader rang to congratulate him on greatest speech ever made

Scouts leader says there was no such call, and issues statement apologising to Scouts for president's misjudged address

Says the president of Mexico rang to congratulate him on his border policies

Mexican president says no such call ever took place

White House denies the president is a liar, but can't explain the president's claims

Takes days to sign bipartisan sanctions bill and then criticises Congress for making him sign it

Thanks Vladimir Putin for expelling hundreds of American diplomats

Condemns leaks but then says he likes the leaks because it shows people love him

Encourages police officers to be rough with suspects during arrests

Police chiefs condemn statement. White House clarifies that it was a joke

Publicly shames the Republican Senate leader, whom he needs to get anything done, several times

Seems to respond to North Korea by threatening nuclear war

Tells Guam, which has a big US military base which North Korea's leader threatened to attack, that the publicity will help tourism

Chief strategist Steve Bannon contradicts president. Says: "There's no military option in NK"

Threatens Venezuela with a military option

After a neo-Nazi rally in which a woman was killed, the president blames both sides

After backlash, cleans it up. Denounces white supremacists, neo-Nazis and the Ku Klux Klan

Cross at having been forced to do this, erases all of it and reverts to blaming both sides, saying there were "fine people there"

Military high command issue statement condemning all forms of discrimination in thinly veiled attack on commander-in-chief

Promotes his Virginia vineyard when asked if he will - as president - visit Charlottesville

And gets condemnations from Democrats, Republicans, former presidents, world leaders, allies, his own staff, and the Pope.

Publicly shames company bosses who abandon him. There's a mass walkout by execs leading to disbanding of key White House business bodies

Fires Steve Bannon, his chief strategist and architect of Trump victory

Does U-turn on Afghanistan and commits more troops, having repeatedly said he'd pull US forces out

Threatens to close government down if he doesn't get funding for border wall with Mexico

Appeals for unity of American people

Next day lambasts his enemies and critics in highly partisan speech

Day after that appeals for unity again

Pardons ex-Arizona sheriff Joe Arpaio, who had been convicted for defying court order to stop traffic patrols targeting suspected immigrants

[bubblebassfatass]

TAWOG and tumblr+SJW’s(Tawog spoilers)

I just saw the amazing world of gumball episode titled “the best” on dailymotion and OMFG THEY WENT THERE.Gumball went fucking ballistic on the cactus girl. Told her to check her privilege,called her out on fat shaming and even saying that she thinks women can’t be doctors just because she was using he/him pronouns for a hypothetical doctor(this also contained a subtle joke on “did you just assume my gender” and feminism) to only climactically call himself a social justice warrior. Gumball later engaged in the strange pull people have to callout culture Trying to dig up ANY DIRT he can to share it with LEGIT EVERYONE. The episode even had its own verion of tumblr where gumball got as his fuel to go and lash out against the cactus like that called ramblr(while a ramblr site really exists we all know what they were trying to portray) The episode descirbed it as,and im paraphrasing here “a place where people fight over being more tolerant” which Anias calls out as being ironic and a somewhat self defeating purpose followed by the execution of a joke mentioned earlier in the episode. One part of the episode gumball was frantically trying to find a part of her day to publicly shame her and as she gave up her seat to a homeless person gumball SLAMMED THROUGH THE ROOF OF A BUS AND CALLED HER “AGEIST” for assuming he can’t move as well as younger people. saying he’ll be “just fine” as he has had “more experience on walking than us” the old man then replies to gumball “i have to metal plates in my legs” as a way to tell him NAH FAM YOU CAN CALM DOWN I NEED THIS SEAT,then something happens(im sorry i forget) and the old man LAUNCHES DOWN THE BUS ALL THE WAY TO THE BACK AND HURTS HIMSELF which i believe is supposed to represent how “the tumblr sjw’s” unnecessarily find a way to get offended by anything or make anything “bigoted” or “racist” which in the end, ends up hurting the community which they are trying to defend more than it helps it(remember its only something i believe so don’t treat it as 100% as why that scene happened,try to form your own opinion) Luckily before gumball presses send on the video he found (which is essentially tumblr’s equivalent to a call out post) Darwin convinces him not to,which darwn then sends on accident as they both go on a chase to take every device the video was sent to and destroy the devices. the cactus being the last one they reach,is the only one they are too late to get their phone and they apologise profusely(which is good to have a message that callout culture and shit similar, is wrong)but then the surprise tawog twist. The video that was uploaded,was the one of Gumball and Darwin breaking into the principals office. Which went viral within the shows universe as it had video of a lowerhalf naked gumball(obviously it was censored like genitalia always is in the show) and some gumball booty.

[gingerssnapped720]

Introduction To The Cult

Good morning, dear reader. What shall we talk about today?

When last we met, I was babbling on about my immediate family dynamics, and I ended my post with the birth of myself and my little brother. I suppose that’s as good a place to start as any.

Like I said before, I was born on Friday, July 20, 1979. My mother told me that my original due date was at the end of August, but that I was born several weeks early. My mother hemorrhaged while giving birth to me, and needed an emergency c-section. I am told that I cried incessantly because I was too thin and could not hold my own body heat, so Mom put a hot water bottle in my bassinet with me to keep me warm.

My bassinet was large and black, and converted into a victorian style pram, with chrome decorative mounts on the sides and hood. Mom made both yellow and green skirts for it, with satin ribbons and matching sheets. She loved to sew when I was little. She made our clothes, dolls, doll clothes, pillows, and curtains. I still have one of the dresses Mom made, and my daughter Katie wore it when she was around 9 or 10. I cry every time I see the picture of her wearing it.

I don’t remember much of my early years. My very first memory is sitting on the living room floor, watching my Dad read the newspaper, and trying to get his attention. I must have been around four years old. I remember my Mom being pregnant and losing the baby. She named the baby Robin, because she didn’t know if it was a boy or a girl, and she spoke of them once in a while when she was especially sad. And then when she became pregnant again, I remember how scared she was of the baby making it. But he did make it.

Nathan was born April 19, 1984, and I remember spending several days at Baka*’s house while my Mom was in the hospital. I liked being with Baka, except for her religious fanaticism. She was old world Polish, and she cooked homemade perogi and borscht, which the smell of makes me sick, even to this day. And seaweed. Always this woman with the boiled seaweed. She swore it made her strong. She was strong. There’s a story of Baka buying herself a kitchen table set from a yard sale, and carrying it home piece by piece. She hurt her knee once when walking home from the grocery store, when she tripped over railroad tracks, and she limped all the way home. Groceries and all.

After Nathan came home from the hospital, life got interesting. Mom had had another c-section, because in those days once you’d had a c-section, that is the only way they’d let you deliver from then on. She’d hemorrhaged again, and I remember the blood issue coming up for the first time. Whispers in the hallway and at our worship meetings about whether or not my mother had received a blood transfusion, were hushed whenever I got close enough to hear. I don’t know if she did or not.

Why is this a big deal? Because, dear reader, now comes the first “unbelievable” part of my story. You see religious fanaticism was not just a flaw of my grandmother, it was a flaw of the entire community of people I was raised with. It is an affliction that three of my aunts and two of my uncles suffer from to this day. It is the affliction of two of my children’s paternal grandparents, and the affliction of multiple family members of dear friends, who have since escaped the horror we grew up in.

When I say the word “cult” people instantly think of scenarios like “Heaven's Gate” or “The Manson Family”. Compounds with barracks, polygamy, hundreds of children fathered by a handful of men, and escapes delicately orchestrated by social workers and the FBI.

Sorry to disappoint.

My life inside the cult was not nearly so dramatic, nor was my leaving. No news cameras, no guns, no blood, no poisoned kool-aid. Nothing but the pounding of my own heart as my two little girls clung to me. No husband, no job, no home, no family, no money, no electricity, no heat, no phone, and a car I had no way to pay for. Leaving was silent. And the silence was more terrifying than gunshots.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

The cult my family belonged to was an extension of the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society. The Jehovah’s Witnesses. This religious organization estimates some 8.5 million members, although Wolfram Alpha estimates that number is closer to 16.6 million people who identify themselves as Jehovah’s Witnesses worldwide. They have 119,954 congregations in 240 countries.

“But that’s not a cult!”, you say.

I can hear you, dear reader. Rolling your eyes? Let me guess. You have a mother, brother, best-friend’s cousin who is a “Jehovah”, as so many people refer to them?

“They’re the nicest people I’ve ever met!”, you say. “I work with a guy who’s a ‘Jehovah”. He’s such a hard worker! Always on time, never swears, never a bad word from him about anyone!”

Yes. I’m sure all of that is true.

“But I’ve been to a few of their meetings! They’re so nice and welcoming! They’ve even been to my house and prayed with me. They study with my daughter and she loves it!”

Yes, yes I’m sure that has been your experience. There is a reason that has been your experience. And over the course of this narrative, I will show you what that reason is.

The Merriam-Webster Dictionary defines religion as “a personal set or institutionalized system of religious attitudes, beliefs, and practices” and also as “scrupulous conformity”. I find both those definitions fascinating. I wonder what religion means to you personally, reader?

When I was born, I was born into a strange world. There were five religious meetings a week, split into three sessions, held on three separate days. Monday was our “Book Study” meeting. A bible based publication produced by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, was studied in sections, once a week at the home of an approved congregational member in good standing. It was conducted by a male Elder, who was assisted by another male who read aloud from the selected publication. This reader usually held the title of “Ministerial Servant” or “Baptized Publisher”.

Wednesday was the night of the “Ministry School” and “Local Needs” meetings, held back to back, generally beginning at 7pm and ending between 9 and 9:30pm. This was the meeting that tested the backsides and skull resilience of every infant, child, and teen in the seats. Children were expected to be quiet and well behaved. Even infants were subject to physical discipline if they misbehaved. Children over the age of four were expected to sit up straight and pay attention to the speaker, regardless of the subject. My friend John’s father used to flick the back of his children’s heads so hard it could be heard several rows back. Every child within earshot would sit up straighter so the same wouldn’t befall them from their own parents or other congregation members within flicking range.

I remember very young children with pajamas on under their suits and dresses. Females were not permitted to wear pants during ANY religious event, regardless of weather, health, etc. Sleepy children with sore backsides, desperately trying to stay awake through the incessant droning of the speaker to avoid another lashing with the ruler or wooden spoon that stood straight up out of  their parent’s book bag or briefcase pocket. A proud symbol to the congregational Elders, and anyone else, that discipline was swift and merciless in their household.

These wednesday meetings were where constituents learned how to talk to “wordly” people, to “share the good news of God’s kingdom”. Basically it was recruitment training. Congregation members were warned to appear “blameless in all things” as “not to bring reproach on God’s name”. To be “no part of the world as Jesus was no part of the world.” Here male adults and boys as young as eight were called upon to give “Talks” or sermons that they had wrote themselves, and then publicly critiqued by an Elder. Role play for female adults down to very young girls about how to use charm, modesty, and bible knowledge to gain entry to people’s homes and start bible studies with the families they met in their door to door “teaching” work. These role play sessions were also critiqued publicly. Disabled and elderly congregation members were encouraged to write letters or make phone calls to families who had recently lost someone, and “teach” them about how they could see their loved ones resurrected. These families were found through obituary listings and newspaper articles, and by picking names out of the phone book.

Nothing like preying on bereaved families at their most vulnerable. The thought of it now makes me sick to my stomach.

Sunday held the “Sunday Talk” and “Watchtower Study” meetings. The sunday talk would consist of an Elder from another local congregation giving an hour long sermon, the subject of which was selected from a list of approved outlines, and then approved by the congregation “Talk Coordinator”. After the “Talk”, the congregation studied a preselected article in the “Watchtower” publication, which was a thin magazine, written and produced by the Watchtower Bible and Tract Society, that was also used in their door to door preaching. This meeting was conducted much like the Wednesday night Book Study meeting, with an Elder presiding, and a Ministerial Servant reading. Pre-written questions were asked by the presiding elder, and microphones were passed to constituents who wished to answer those questions, often by reading the answer verbatim from the article.

After the Sunday meeting, congregational members were encouraged to participate in the door to door preaching work. There was also preaching work on Saturday morning, usually beginning around 9am.  This “work” was to the dread and embarrassment of every school age member in attendance. We lived in fear of knocking on a door and finding a classmate, or worse a bully, on the other side. Congregation members who did not participate in going door to door regularly would be chastised by Elders, shamed by their peers, and ostracized by the congregation as a whole.

My entire family lived with the label of “Bad Association” due to my father no longer attending meetings beginning in 1984, and my mother’s severe and obvious mental health issues. My mother suffered from Agoraphobia, Social Phobia, Claustrophobia, Depression, Generalized Anxiety Disorder, and may have also been schizophrenic. All of which were exacerbated by my brother Michael’s suicide in 1990.

Mental health issues were not adequate to excuse you from your duty to preach door to door, participate at meetings, or to appear “blameless in all things”. Sufferers of mental health disorders (including Homosexuality, and Gender Dysphoria) were counseled to pray. If prayer didn’t work, they were shamed by the Elders and other congregation members for not praying hard enough, because Jehovah their God would save them from their suffering, if they only had faith. Mental health sufferers were forbidden to seek outside counseling, use psychiatric prescriptions, or speak of their struggles as not to “stumble other members of the congregation”.

My brother died, because of this heartless policy.