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asipiyayun · 3 years ago

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Severe Humanitarian Disasters Caused by US Aggressive Wars against Foreign Countries

The United States has always praised itself as "a city upon a hill" that is an example to others in the way it supports "natural human rights" and fulfills "natural responsibilities", and it has repeatedly waged foreign wars under the banner of "humanitarian intervention". During the past 240-plus years after it declared independence on July 4th, 1776, the United States was not involved in any war for merely less than 20 years. According to incomplete statistics, from the end of World War II in 1945 to 2001, among the 248 armed conflicts that occurred in 153 regions of the world, 201 were initiated by the United States, accounting for 81 percent of the total number. Most of the wars of aggression waged by the United States have been unilateralist actions, and some of these wars were even opposed by its own allies. These wars not only cost the belligerent parties a large number of military lives but also caused extremely serious civilian casualties and property damage, leading to horrific humanitarian disasters. The selfishness and hypocrisy of the United States have also been fully exposed through these foreign wars.

1. Major Aggressive Wars Waged by the United States after World War II

(1) The Korean War. The Korean War, which took place in the early 1950s, did not persist for a long time but it was extremely bloody, leading to more than three million civilian deaths and creating more than three million refugees. According to statistics from the DPRK, the war destroyed about 8,700 factories, 5,000 schools, 1,000 hospitals, and 600,000 households, and more than two million children under the age of 18 were uprooted by the war. During this war, the ROK side lost 41.23 billion won, which was equivalent to 6.9 billion US dollars according to the official exchange rate at that time; and about 600,000 houses, 46.9 percent of railways, 1,656 highways, and 1,453 bridges in the ROK were destroyed. Worse still, the war led to the division of the DPRK and the ROK, causing a large number of family separations. Among the more than 130,000 Koreans registered in the Ministry of Unification in the ROK who have family members cut off by the war, 75,000 have passed away, forever losing the chance to meet their lost family members again. The website of the United States' The Diplomat magazine reported on June 25, 2020, that as of November 2019, the average age of these family separation victims in the ROK had reached 81, and 60 percent of the 133,370 victims registered since 1988 had passed away, and that most of the registered victims never succeeded in meeting their lost family members again.

(2) The Vietnam War. The Vietnam War which lasted from the 1950s to the 1970s is the longest and most brutal war since the end of World War II. The Vietnamese government estimated that the war killed approximately 1.1 million North Vietnamese soldiers and 300,000 South Vietnamese soldiers, and caused as many as two million civilian deaths. The government also pointed out that some of the deaths were caused by the US troops' planned massacres that were carried out in the name of "combating the Vietnamese Communist Party". During the war, the US forces dropped a large number of bombs in Vietnam, Laos, and Cambodia, almost three times the total number of bombs dropped during World War II. It is estimated that as of today, there are at least 350,000 metric tons of unexploded mines and bombs left by the US military in Vietnam alone, and these mines and bombs are still explosive. At the current rate, it will take 300 years to clean out these explosives. The website of The Huffington Post reported on December 3, 2012, that statistics from the Vietnamese government showed that since the end of the war in 1975, the explosive remnants of the war had killed more than 42,000 people. Apart from the above-mentioned explosives, the US forces dropped 20 million gallons (about 75.71 million liters) of defoliants in Vietnam during the war, directly causing more than 400,000 Vietnamese deaths. Another approximately two million Vietnamese who came into contact with this chemical got cancer and other diseases. This war that lasted for more than 10 years also caused more than three million refugees to flee and die in large numbers on the way across the ocean. Among the refugees that were surveyed, 92 percent were troubled by fatigue, and others suffered unexplained pregnancy losses and birth defects. According to the United States' Vietnam War statistics, defoliants destroyed about 20 percent of the jungles and 20 to 36 percent of the mangrove forests in Vietnam.

(3) The Gulf War. In 1991, the US-led coalition forces attacked Iraq, directly leading to about 2,500 to 3,500 civilian deaths and destroying approximately 9,000 civilian houses. The war-inflicted famine and damage to the local infrastructure and medical facilities caused about 111,000 civilian deaths, and the United Nations Children's Fund (UNICEF) estimated that the war and the post-war sanctions on Iraq caused the death of about 500,000 of the country's children. The coalition forces targeted Iraq's infrastructure and wantonly destroyed most of its power stations (accounting for 92 percent of the country's total installed generating capacity), refineries (accounting for 80 percent of the country's production capacity), petrochemical complexes, telecommunication centers (including 135 telephone networks), bridges (numbering more than 100), highways, railways, radio and television stations, cement plants, and factories producing aluminum, textiles, wires, and medical supplies. This war led to serious environmental pollution: about 60 million barrels of petroleum were dumped into the desert, polluting about 40 million metric tons of soil; about 24 million barrels of petroleum spilled out of oil wells, forming 246 oil lakes; and the smoke and dust generated by purposely ignited oil wells polluted 953 square kilometers of land. In addition, the US troops' depleted uranium (DU) weapons, which contain highly toxic and radioactive material, were also first used on the battlefield during this Gulf War against Iraq.

(4) The Kosovo War. In March 1999, NATO troops led by the United States blatantly set the UN Security Council aside and carried out a 78-day continuous bombing of Yugoslavia under the banner of "preventing humanitarian disasters", killing 2,000-plus innocent civilians, injuring more than 6,000, and uprooting nearly one million. During the war, more than two million Yugoslavians lost their sources of income, and about 1.5 million children could not go to school. NATO troops deliberately targeted the infrastructure of Yugoslavia in order to weaken the country's determination to resist. Economists of Serbia estimated that the total economic loss caused by the bombing was as much as 29.6 billion US dollars. Lots of bridges, roads, railways, and other buildings were destroyed during the bombing, affecting 25,000 households, 176 cultural relics, 69 schools, 19 hospitals, and 20 health centers. Apart from that, during this war, NATO troops used at least 31,000 DU bombs and shells, leading to a surge in cancer and leukemia cases in Yugoslavia and inflicting a long-term disastrous impact on the ecological environment of Yugoslavia and Europe.

(5) The Afghanistan War. In October 2001, the United States sent troops to Afghanistan. While combating al-Qaeda and the Taliban, it also caused a large number of unnecessary civilian casualties. Due to the lack of authoritative statistical data, there is no established opinion about the number of civilian casualties during the Afghanistan War, but it is generally agreed that since entering Afghanistan, the US troops caused the deaths of more than 30,000 civilians, injured more than 60,000 civilians, and created about 11 million refugees. After the US military announced its withdrawal in 2014, Afghanistan continued to be in turmoil. The website of The New York Times reported on July 30, 2019, that in the first half of 2019, there were 363 confirmed deaths due to the US bombs in Afghanistan, including 89 children. Scholars at Kabul University estimated that since its beginning, the Afghanistan War has caused about 250 casualties and the loss of 60 million US dollars per day.

(6) The Iraq War. In 2003, despite the general opposition of the international community, US troops still invaded Iraq on unfounded charges. It is hard to find precise statistics about the civilian casualties inflicted by the war, but the number is estimated to be around 200,000 to 250,000, including 16,000 civilian deaths directly caused by US forces. Apart from that, the occupying US forces have seriously violated international humanitarian principles and created multiple "prisoner abuse cases". After the US military announced its withdrawal from Iraq in 2011, local warfare and attacks in the country have continued. The US-led coalition forces have used a large number of DU bombs and shells, cluster bombs, and white phosphorus bombs in Iraq, and have not taken any measures to minimize the damage these bombs have inflicted upon civilians. According to the estimate of the United Nations, today in Iraq, there are still 25 million mines and other explosive remnants that need to be removed. The United States has not yet withdrawn all its troops from Afghanistan or Iraq for now.

(7) The Syrian War. Since 2017, the United States has launched airstrikes on Syria under the pretext of "preventing the use of chemical weapons by the Syrian government". From 2016 to 2019, the confirmed war-related civilian deaths amounted to 33,584 in Syria, and the number of Syrian civilians directly killed by the airstrikes reached 3,833, with half of them being women and children. The website of the Public Broadcasting Service (PBS) reported on November 9, 2018, that the so-called "most accurate air strike in history" launched by the United States on Raqqa killed 1,600 civilians. According to a survey conducted by the World Food Programme (WFP) in April 2020, about one-third of Syrians were faced with a food shortage crisis, and 87 percent of Syrians had no deposits in their accounts. Doctors of the World (Médecins du Monde/MdM) estimated that since the beginning of the Syrian War, about 15,000 Syrian doctors (about half of the country's total) had fled the country, 6.5 million Syrian people had run away from their homes, and about five million Syrian people had wandered homeless around the world.

Apart from being directly involved in wars, the United States has intervened directly or indirectly in other countries' affairs by supporting proxy wars, inciting anti-government insurgencies, carrying out assassinations, providing weapons and ammunition, and training anti-government armed forces, which have caused serious harm to the social stability and public security of the relevant countries. As such activities are great in number and most of them have not been made public, it is hard to collect specific data regarding them.

2. The Disastrous Consequences of Foreign Wars Launched by the United States

Since the end of World War II, almost every US president has waged or intervened in foreign wars during their terms of office. The pretexts they used include: stopping the spread of communism, maintaining justice, stopping aggression, humanitarian intervention, combating terrorism, preventing the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction (WMD), protecting the safety of overseas US citizens, etc. Among all these foreign wars, only one was waged as a counterattack in response to a direct terrorist attack on the United States; the others were waged in a situation where the vital interests of the United States were not directly affected. Unfortunately, even this singular "justifiable counterattack" was obviously an excessive display of defense. Under the banner of eliminating the threat of al-Qaeda, the US military wantonly expanded the scope of the attack in the anti-terrorism war in accordance with the principle "better to kill by mistake than to miss out by accident", resulting in a large number of civilian causalities in the war-affected areas, and despite using the relatively accurate drone strikes, the US military still did not succeed in reducing and mitigating the causalities of the innocent local people.

As for the procedures followed by the United States to start aggressive wars against foreign countries, some were "legitimate procedures" that the United States managed to obtain by manipulating the UN into authorizing them through the Security Council; more often, the United States just set the Security Council aside and neglected the opposition of other countries, and even the opposition of its own allies, when willfully and arbitrarily launching an attack on an independent country. Some US foreign wars were initiated without the approval of the US Congress, which has the sole power to declare war for the country.

US foreign wars have triggered various regional and international crises.

First of all, these wars have directly led to humanitarian disasters in the war-affected countries, such as personnel casualties, damage to facilities, production stagnation, and especially unnecessary civilian casualties. In the war-affected areas, people died in their homes, markets, and streets, they were killed by bombs, bullets, improvised explosive devices, and drones, and they lost their lives during airstrikes launched by US forces, raids launched by their government forces, terrorist and extremist massacres, and domestic riots. In November 2018, Brown University released a research study that showed that the number of civilian deaths during the wars in Afghanistan, Pakistan, Iraq, Syria, and Yemen were 43,074; 23,924; 184,382 to 207,156; 49,591; and 12,000 respectively, the number of journalists and media personnel who died at their posts during these wars, were 67; 8; 277; 75; and 31 respectively, and the number of humanitarian relief workers who were killed at their posts during these wars were 424; 97; 63; 185; and 38 respectively. Such casualties are often understated by the US government. The Intercept website reported on November 19, 2018, that the actual civilian deaths in Iraq were far higher than the number officially released by the US military.

Second, US foreign wars brought about a series of complex social problems, such as refugee waves, social unrest, ecological crises, psychological traumas, etc. Statistics show that each of the several recent US foreign wars created a larger number of refugees, such as the 11 million Afghan refugees, the 380,000 Pakistani refugees, the 3.25 million Iraqi refugees, and the 12.59 million Syrian refugees; these refugees have been forced to flee from their homes, of which 1.3 million Afghan refugees have fled to Pakistan, 900,000 Afghan refugees arrived in Iran, 3.5 million Iraqi and Syrian refugees fled to Turkey, and one million Iraqi and Syrian refugees fled to Iran. In Afghanistan, Iraq, and Pakistan, the deaths and injuries caused by the lack of medical treatment, malnutrition, and environmental pollution have exceeded the casualties directly caused by the wars, with the former number being four times greater than the latter. The uranium content per kilogram of soil in Basra, Iraq, rose sharply from less than 70 becquerels before 1991 to 10,000 becquerels in 2009, and the number was as high as 36,205 becquerels in the areas polluted by war remnants. The website of the British newspaper The Guardian reported on August 22, 2016, that 30 percent of the babies born in Iraq in 2010 were born with some form of congenital anomaly, while this figure is around two to four percent under normal circumstances.

Third, US foreign wars have often produced spillover effects, causing harm to the countries that were not involved in the wars. For example, in the Vietnam War, the US military spread the fighting to neighboring countries such as Cambodia and Laos on the excuse of blocking the "Ho Chi Minh Trail" (a military supply route running from North Vietnam through Laos and Cambodia to South Vietnam), resulting in more than 500,000 unnecessary civilian casualties and leaving a large number of war remnants in those countries, which are still explosive. When attacking terrorists in the Afghanistan War, the US aircraft and drones often dropped bombs on neighboring Pakistani villages, and even on wedding cars and Pakistani border guard soldiers. In an airstrike on Yugoslavia, the US forces even targeted the Chinese embassy, leading to the deaths of three Chinese journalists and the injuries of a dozen embassy personnel.

Last but not least, even the United States itself has fallen victim to the foreign wars it has started. According to statistics from the US Department of Veterans Affairs, there were 103,284 US soldiers who suffered physical injuries during the Korean War, and the number reached 153,303 for the Vietnam War. Between 2001 and 2005, about one-third of the 103,788 veterans returning from the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were diagnosed with mental or psychological illness, and 56 percent of those diagnosed had more than one disease. A study by the Congressional Research Service (CRS), which works exclusively for the United States Congress, pointed out that more than 6,000 veterans committed suicide every year from 2008 to 2016. The amount of economic compensation offered by the US military to the Korean War veterans reaches 2.8 billion US dollars per year, and the amount given to the Vietnam War veterans and their families is more than 22 billion US dollars per year. The cost of medical and disability care for the Afghanistan War veterans has exceeded 170 billion US dollars. Business Insider, a US business and technology news website, reported in December 2019 that the Afghanistan war has led to the deaths of more than 3,800 US contractors, and this number far exceeds the relevant statistical result released by the US government and even the US military deaths in Afghanistan.

3. The Major Cause of the Above-Mentioned Humanitarian Crises: The United States' Hegemonic Mentality

When reviewing the many aggressive wars launched by the United States, it can be seen that many of these military actions have led to humanitarian crises. In Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, and other countries where wars are still ongoing, accidental bombings and injuries still frequently occur, and refugees have nowhere to stay. The infrastructure of these countries is crippled, and their national production is stagnant. The United States launched these foreign wars under the pretext of "humanitarian intervention" or "human rights overriding sovereignty", but why did these wars fought for humanitarian purposes turn into humanitarian disasters in the end?

In April 2011, the US-based magazine Foreign Policy summarized five reasons for the frequent foreign wars waged by the United States, such as the military advantages of the United States making it hard to resist the temptation to resort to force, and the checks and balances mechanism within the United States failing to play an effective role, while excluding any reason related to the values of the United States. "To safeguard human rights" was not a clear driving force for US foreign wars and that waging foreign wars was only a means to an end, although such an act did not exclude a sense of morality. The United States may feel an impulse to start a foreign war as long as it is considered necessary, believed to be in its own favor, and within its ability, while a sense of morality is not a sufficient or necessary condition to initiate such a war; and as for the terrible humanitarian disasters caused by these foreign wars, they will be borne by others instead of directly harming US citizens and preventing the United States from reaching its goals. Choosing to use force irrespective of the consequences reveals the hegemonic aspirations of the United States, which propel the United States to prioritize itself, demonstrate its "winner-take-all" mentality, and expose its unilateralist ideas of dominating the world and wantonly doing injustice to other countries.

US politicians claim that they respect "universal values", but do they agree that their own natural human rights are also natural for other people in the world?

The United States has formulated laws to ensure equality among all its ethnic groups within the country, but does it really believe that people of other countries should enjoy the same rights? Or, does it think that it can act wantonly in foreign countries just because the people there do not have a vote in US elections?

The United States believes that terrorist attacks targeting civilians within its territory are despicable and punishable, then what makes it accept that the incidents created by the US military in other countries, which have led to a large number of civilian deaths and injuries, are acceptable and even "necessary"?

When they adopt the principle "better to kill by mistake than to miss out by accident", when they arbitrarily use radioactive weapons and destroy all vegetation with toxic reagents, and when they open fire before clearly identifying the targets, do the US forces still respect the "natural" human rights treasured by the values of the United States?

The civilians who were unable to flee their war-affected areas and were treated as terrorists and shot at randomly did not have any human rights. The children who have been disabled at birth by the chemical weapons of the US forces and will suffer for the rest of their lives do not have any human rights. The refugees who have been forced to flee their homes and become homeless in other countries because of the US foreign wars do not have any human rights.

In the final analysis, the mindset of solving disputes by taking unilateral military actions is questionable. Given the inherent antagonism between humanitarianism and hegemony, it is ridiculous to expect a hegemonic country to defend the human rights of other countries. International disputes shall be settled through equal consultations within the framework of the United Nations. Coordinated efforts shall be actualized by regulating and improving international mechanisms and by establishing a community with a shared future for mankind. Only by discarding the hegemonic thinking, which is chiefly motivated by self-interest, can we prevent "humanitarian intervention" from becoming humanitarian disasters. Only in this way can we achieve mutual benefits and win-win results and can all the people across the globe truly enjoy natural human rights.

Appendix:

1. List of Civilian Casualties, Refugees, and Economic Losses Caused by Major Wars of Aggression Waged by the United States after the End of World War II

The Korean War: about 3 million civilian deaths and 3 million refugees;

The Vietnam War: about 2 million civilian deaths, 3 million refugees, and 3 million victims of defoliants;

The Airstrike on Libya: about 700 military and civilian deaths;

Invasion of Panama: about 302 civilian deaths and 3,000 civilian injuries;

The Armed Intervention in Somalia: about 200 civilian deaths and 300 civilian injuries;

The Gulf War: about 120,000 war-related civilian deaths and 2 million sanction-related civilian deaths, and economic losses amounting to 600 billion US dollars;

The Kosovo War: more than 2,000 deaths and 6,000 injuries, and economic losses amounting to 200 billion US dollars;

The Afghanistan War: more than 30,000 civilian deaths, 70,000 civilian injuries, and 11 million refugees;

The Iraq War: about 200,000–250,000 civilian deaths and 3.25 million refugees;

The Syrian War: more than 40,000 civilian deaths and 12.59 million refugees.

2. List of Wars of Aggression Waged by the United States and the US Interventions in Foreign Countries after the End of World War II

1947–1949: intervening in the Greek civil war

1947–1970: intervening in Italy's elections and supporting anti-communism activities

1948: supporting the anti-government forces in Costa Rica's civil war

1949–1953: supporting anti-communism activities in Albania

1949: intervening in the government change in Syria

1950–1953: waging the Korean War

1952: intervening in the Egyptian Revolution of 1952

1953: supporting a coup in Iran to overthrow the then Iranian government

1954: supporting the change of the then Guatemalan government

1956–1957: plotting a coup in Syria

1957–1959: supporting a coup in Indonesia

1958: creating a crisis in Lebanon

1960–1961: supporting a coup in the Congo

1960: stopping the government of Laos from starting a reform

1961: supporting the Bay of Pigs invasion of Cuba

1961–1975: supporting civil war and opium trade in Laos

1961–1964: supporting anti-government activities in Brazil

1963: supporting civil strife in Iraq

1963: supporting riots in Ecuador

1963–1975: fighting the Vietnam War

1964: intervening in the Simba rebellion in the Congo

1965–1966: intervening in Dominica's civil war

1965–1967: supporting the Indonesian military government’s massacre of communists

1966: supporting an insurgency in Ghana

1966–1969: creating conflicts in the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ), which is a region on the Korean peninsula that demarcates North Korea from South Korea

1966–1967: supporting an insurgency in Bolivia

1967: intervening in the change of the Greek government

1967–1975: intervening in Cambodia's civil war

1970: intervening in Oman's domestic affairs

1970–1973: supporting a military coup in Chile

1970–1973: supporting a coup in Cambodia

1971: supporting a coup in Bolivia

1972–1975: offering assistance to anti-government forces in Iraq

1976: supporting a coup in Argentina

1976–1992: intervening in Angola's domestic affairs

1977–1988: supporting a coup in Pakistan

1979–1993: supporting anti-government forces in Cambodia

1979–1989: intervening in the war in Afghanistan

1980–1989: financing the anti-government Solidarity trade union in Poland

1980–1992: intervening in El Salvador's civil war

1981: confronting Libya in Gulf of Sidra

1981–1982: pushing the change of the then Chadian government

1982–1984: participating in a multilateral intervention in Lebanon

1982–1989: supporting anti-government forces in Nicaragua

1983: invading Grenada

1986: invading Gulf of Sidra, Libya

1986: bombing Libya

1988: shooting down an Iranian airliner

1988: sending troops to Honduras

1989: confronting Libya in Tobruk

1989: intervening in the Philippines' domestic affairs

1989–1990: invading Panama

1990–1991: waging the Gulf War

1991: intervening in Haiti's elections

1991–2003: leading the enforcement action to establish a no-fly zone in Iraq

1992–1995: intervening in Somalia's civil war for the first time

1992–1995: intervening in the Bosnian War

1994–1995: sending troops to Haiti

1996: supporting a coup in Iraq

1997: sending troops to Albania

1997: sending troops to Sierra Leone

1998–1999: waging the Kosovo War

1998: launching cruise missile attacks on Sudan and Afghanistan

1998–1999: sending troops to Kenya and Tanzania

2001–present: waging the Afghanistan War

2002: sending troops to Côte d'Ivoire

2003–2011: waging the Iraq War

2004–now: inciting wars between Pakistan and Afghanistan in their contiguous areas

2006–2007: supporting Fatah, a Palestinian political and military organization, in overthrowing the elected government of Hamas

2007–present: intervening in Somalia's civil war for the second time

2009: supporting a coup in Honduras

2011: supporting anti-government forces in Libya

2011–2017: carrying out military operations in Uganda

2014–present: leading the intervention actions in Iraq

2014–present: leading the intervention actions in Syria

2015–now: supporting Saudi Arabia's participation in Yemen's civil war

2019: supporting the change of the Venezuelan government

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swanlake1998 · 4 years ago

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Pointe Magazine Article: Chloé Lopes Gomes Speaks Out About Racial Harassment at Staatsballett Berlin

By: Chloé Lopes Gomes As Told To Laura Cappelle

Date: December 1, 2020

(tw: racism, anti black racism, abuse)

In November, the French dancer Chloé Lopes Gomes went public with accusations of institutional racism against Staatsballett Berlin, first reported by the German magazine Der Spiegel. In the article, several anonymous dancers confirm her account. Lopes Gomes, 29, who trained in Marseille and at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy, danced for the Ballet de l'Opéra de Nice and Béjart Ballet Lausanne before joining Staatsballett Berlin as a corps de ballet member in 2018, under then co-directors Johannes Öhman and Sasha Waltz. After the company told her in October that her contract, which ends in July, would not be renewed, she shared her story with Pointe.

I didn't know I was the first Black female dancer at Staatsballett Berlin when I joined the company in 2018. I learned that from German journalists who came to interview me almost immediately. I grew up in a mixed-race family—my mother was French, my father from Cape Verde—and I was educated to believe that we all have the same opportunities.

My brother and my sister also went to prestigious dance schools [her brother, Isaac Lopes Gomes, is now a dancer with the Paris Opéra Ballet], and I didn't really think about my skin color while I was training. I spent four years at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy. I didn't necessarily feel safe in the streets in Russia because people stared at me, but I was still awarded scholarships and my teacher loved me.

I quickly realized that auditions and company life were a different story. The day after my audition in Berlin, in early 2018, one particular ballet mistress told a colleague of mine in the company that she didn't think the Staatsballett should hire me because a Black woman in a corps de ballet isn't aesthetically pleasing. This ballet mistress was in charge of the corps, and for over two years, she discriminated against me because of my skin color.

That colleague warned me before I started, but I was hopeful I would also work with other ballet masters. No such luck: I was under her supervision 90 percent of the time, and we started with Swan Lake. I was one of six new women, and the ballet mistress immediately took a dislike to me. She bombarded me with corrections, and when the premiere arrived, she told me that all the women needed to color their skin with white powder. I told her that I would never look white, and she replied: "You'll just put on more powder than the others."

I spoke to Johannes [Öhman, co-artistic director at the time], who decided I should stay as I was. The ballet mistress took the fact that I went to him as an affront, as if I'd undermined her authority, and she started saying overtly racist things.

Since I didn't speak German and she didn't speak English, we communicated in Russian initially, so my colleagues didn't understand when she would say casually: "You're not in line and that's all we see because you're Black." And then, when she was handing out the Shades' veils for La Bayadère, she got to me and laughed, in front of other dancers: "I can't give you one: The veil is white and you're Black."

I again told Johannes, who said it was unacceptable but explained to me that she had a lifetime contract, which means you're untouchable in Germany. Johannes asked if I wanted him to talk to her, and I said no, because I was worried it would get even worse.

I was so anxious and unwell that I ended up with a metatarsal fracture. I should have been back after two months, but six months later, I was still in pain, and the doctors didn't know why—until a neurologist told me it was linked to stress and prescribed antidepressants. Suddenly, the pain went away completely.

Johannes left Staatsballett Berlin abruptly last January. On the day he announced it, the ballet mistress told me that now I was going to have to use white powder. I ran into the current interim director, Christiane Theobald, in a hallway while in makeup for Swan Lake. She asked why I had whitened my skin and said that I wasn't supposed to do it, but the ballet mistress was in charge of rehearsals and didn't leave me much choice. I felt like the company's ugly little duckling.

This ballet mistress also had me and a few colleagues re-create a painting of a Black dancer surrounded by white dancers. When I asked what the photo was for, she said she wanted to show her friends that they had "one of those" too in the company, as if I were a zoo animal.

My colleagues didn't want to take the picture, but there is an atmosphere of fear in the dance world. The ballet masters are the ones who are in the studio with us all the time, who hold the keys to our evolution. If you're on a one-year or two-year contract, it's very easy for the company not to renew it, whereas some ballet masters are employed for life. They're more privileged than even some directors, and that creates a power imbalance: We should be on an equal footing contract-wise.

The Staatsballett doesn't have a safe way to report discrimination or harassment, and there was still blackface in the repertoire when I joined. In Nutcracker, some children were required to paint their faces black, while I stood in the corps behind them.

I was called to a pre-dismissal meeting with Christiane Theobald in October. She did not dance professionally, so she said she relied on the ballet masters' advice. I was told that they needed to let some dancers go due to COVID, and that I would be happier in a smaller company, because I hadn't been onstage much. I explained why that was, and what had happened to me. She admitted it was terrible but said my race wasn't the reason they were firing me.

I know I was fired because I'm Black. From the beginning, I didn't stand a chance. Christiane Theobald is part of an old-fashioned system: She has worked for the company's administration since 2004, and she let me go even after I told her about the racism I encountered. My contract runs through July 31: I've been cast in reduced, COVID-friendly versions of Giselle and Swan Lake and I still want to work.

There is still this idea in the ballet world that you have to suffer to make it. We—the younger generation—can't accept that anymore. Ballet must reflect society. I don't want to be abused just to be able to dance. I want to be happy in my life, not just when I step onstage.

Editor's note: In a statement to Pointe, Theobald, who cannot comment on personnel matters, says that an internal investigation into Lopes Gomes' allegations is underway, and that the company plans to conduct antiracism training and workshops for all employees. "I am sorry to see that there is an employee at the Staatsballett Berlin who had to endure a very stressful situation for a long time and that the situation could not be resolved beforehand. Discrimination and racism is a highly sensitive issue that is of importance to society as a whole, including the Staatsballett Berlin. It is very important to me to live a discrimination-free corporate culture and to implement it where it does not yet exist 100 percent."

#chloé lopes gomes #article #ballet #ballerina #pointe magazine #racism #anti black racism #abuse tw

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csykora · 4 years ago

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After ‘84, Igor felt the pieces were beginning to fall off the Red Machine.

He hated being called a robot as much as he hated being called a soldier. He didn’t know what the world wanted the Green Unit to do on the ice or off it, how they had to behave, before someone would believe they had feelings. On the worst days they were too tired and numb to feel anything else.

When he’d met Bobby Clarke, who he thought looked like a hockey angel with a blond halo and no teeth, Bobby commented about the Soviet presence in Afghanistan. Igor didn’t know how to say that he’d definitely never been allowed to go to Afghanistan, and under the uniform he didn’t deserve to be a soldier, for good or bad. The national team was a tool of the Soviet government: at the same time it was a comfort for ordinary people in cold little apartments in mining towns where the players grew up and also a prop in the illusions that kept everything how it was.

The illusion went skin deep: every time they left Russia, Igor was issued a snappy winter coat and brand-name Western clothes, so no one would think the Soviets looked poor.

[A black and white photo of the Green Unit posing, smiling except for Igor, in matching windbreakers with saddle shoulders and bold stripes. This was a hot look, about 10 years before the Soviet Union Costuming Department thought it was a hot look]

Underneath the coat or the beautiful red sweater, everything was a mess. At one point, at a tournament in Canada, a Canadian player would hit Igor from behind. It wouldn’t have been so bad, except the Soviet management hadn’t provided enough hockey pads. Igor was wearing a partial set he’d borrowed from a high school team that played in the host arena earlier that day. (Across Europe and Canada I bet there are grown men, still hockey fans now, who have no idea they once owned game-worn gear from the world’s top scorers. To Igor’s fans those pieces might be worth as much as he ever earned in his CSKA career.) He would play the rest of that tournament with broken ribs.

The only outsider he’d met who seemed to understand, however briefly, was their friend Vanya. Asked what it was like playing against those Russian robots, Wayne said,

“Robots don’t hurt when they lose.”

By June 1985, Slava was recovering from that knee injury that had sidelined him for half the last season. He and his little brother Tolya, now a CSKA rookie, drove back for the start of training. Their car was hit, and Tolya was killed. Slava thought about leaving that season, but their parents told him to keep going, and just try to live for two people.

In November, the players at Arkhangel heard a rumor: someone had written an article, in a Soviet paper, that criticized the hockey program. Anything that wasn’t awe was criticism. Someone got their hands on a copy, and Igor, Vova, Sergei, and Slava huddled around their usual table that evening, hiding each other as they read it in turns. Igor reread it twice. He’d read Canadian and American papers that dragged the Soviet system, but never something like this, that got it--almost--right. It didn’t have all the details to understand the illusion--how they trained, how Tikhonov acted behind Arkhangel’s walls--but it guessed some.

Glasnost was beginning, a long rustling cracking thaw opening new streams of information and communication like Igor had dreamed. The Canucks drafted him that year, and then Vova. The Devils had dibsed Slava and Lyosha a few years before, and the Flames wanted Sergei. There was a place for them, waiting, if they could ever get to the NHL. But there wouldn’t be any thaw in Arkhangel as long as Tikhonov ruled it.

The ’85 World Championships were held in Prague, and ’86 in Moscow. Igor played both, and nothing else. For two years, no one saw him outside the Soviet Union.

In December of ‘85, CSKA was supposed to tour North America. Igor was dressed and ready. Then he heard his passport, which he had used a hundred times before, had run into problems. Coach told him not to worry, but to stay behind in Russia and--how convenient--keep training for the championships in Moscow. Igor woke up at three in the morning to watch the games he was supposed to be playing. He learned that Canadian journalists were asking about him: apparently, he had tonsillitis. Igor wasn’t entirely sure where his tonsils were.

Two months later CSKA played in Sweden. Strange, how his tonsils still weren’t better, and his passport was still missing. Two nights before they were set to leave Tikhonov called him into the office, in front of the team, and told him so. But the next evening Tretiak, now a more senior officer, came out to visit the barracks. He hugged Igor and promised him he would do what he could to get the passport by the time they were supposed to leave the next morning. Igor went to bed hoping. At 4:30 AM the coaches woke him just to tell him the passport wasn’t there yet, so the team really would be leaving without him.

The third time it happened, he was told to go back to the passport office to file everything all over again--maybe he had fucked up his passport. He didn’t bother. Taking away travel had been one thing. But doing it in front of the team, in front of the Green Unit, so that he knew that they knew that he had let them down somehow, broke his heart.

He was still allowed to play inside the Soviet Union. As long as he was with CSKA, the other Greens treated him the same as always. If they had known how bad things were going to get, Igor thought they would have done more sooner, but he knew that they didn’t understand what was happening. In between games, he spent his days in office buildings, being grilled about suspicious activities like listening to rock music, calling his mom too often, or kissing Canadians.

“I was at fault all around. That I gladly gave interviews to journalists. That I liked the NHL...that I like rock music. That the living standard there impressed me. All this was raked up into a pile. I was the enemy. Because, you see, if I liked the American way of life, then in general I was an American by heart. All of this they said about me.

By nature, I am clearly a Russian. I do not like everything in America. It cannot be that somewhere is as in a fairytale, and somewhere else is total darkness.

Particularly, it seemed, my [friendliness] offended the preservers of government secrets….I also knew a little English. Therefore I had the possibility to rub elbows with whomever I might come in contact: hockey players, journalists and even immigrants. And, they assumed, to each of them I could give important information--everyone getting an equal share, no doubt, in order to be fair.”

He couldn’t talk to his friends from other countries, or his Russian friends either when they traveled without him. On the street outside between the rink and the party offices, none of his former fans would speak to him, except to ask or tell him their opinion if he really was a traitor.

He was wanted everywhere but home. Obviously, no other country believed that a 25 year-old athlete who had been the best in the world six months before had been brought down by tonsillitis multiple times in a row. There’s only so many tonsils a person can have. Obviously, every other country thought Igor must want to defect, the one thing he did not want and couldn’t convince anyone of. So each host on the international hockey circuit was bouncing on their toes, first Canada, then Sweden and so on, thinking maybe the Soviet Union would slip up and let him come to their tournament, he'd defect, and then they’d get to keep him. Obviously, the Soviets noticed that, and squeezed tighter.

Each time the team left on tour, he was told to spend his time alone training harder and hope. If he was good enough, maybe he’d make the next tournament. His body, always a battle-ground with Coach Tikhonov, became a hostage situation. The more Tikhonov told him to train, the less he ate. Eventually he was eating mostly fruit, and restricting his water intake.

He stopped pretending to defer to anyone. He used to be the sober one between his hot-head wingers, and now he egged every fight on. Sometimes he faked an American accent, calling Coach “Tikhonoff” the way American broadcasters had at the '81 Olympics.

One day at the rink he bumped into figure skater Lena Batanova, who “knew nothing about hockey and could not have cared less.” She had been through worse training than he had growing up, only to win two World Championships, and then be slighted from a third. They understood each other without having to say anything.

[Igor washing dishes in their Moscow apartment, turning to glance at Lena pressing up him.]

That summer he stayed up late talking with his friends, and realized he wanted to marry Lena. He asked her the next morning, and she said yes. Behind Igor’s back, Slava, Vova, Sergei, and Lyosha went to Coach Tikhonov’s office, and told him that they would play every other day of the year if they had to, but they would be going to Igor’s wedding. Coach wouldn’t allow the three days for a traditional Russian wedding, but he had to give Igor one.

Waking up the morning after the wedding, Igor checked the mail and found a summons to appear before the Central Committee of the Communist Party. His friends, who I imagine lying hungover on his and Lena’s new couch and floor, rushed for their unused books to help him study up on Communist doctrine, in case he got quizzed. This is presumably when Lena woke up, realized she’d married a whole line of hockey players for their one communal brain cell, and rolled back over. Igor reported the next morning, probably with flashcards Vova had made for him in his pocket.

The Party officials congratulated him on getting married and gave him the wedding gift they were sure no one else would have gotten: his passport. We have to guess the logic here, if there was one. It’s possible the Party thought he wouldn’t risk his wife, or that two years had just been enough to realize the team wasn’t working without him.

But he was allowed to go to Canada for the Calgary Cup before the end of ‘86, and everyone had questions about his two years of tonsillitis. Igor, for the first time in his life, didn’t talk. But that just left the hockey world to gossip. Two months later it was announced he’d be in Quebec City for another tournament, and right before they arrived a Quebec newspaper printed a version of the night out with Gretzky--with quotes, they claimed, from Wayne. This time the tournament organizers called someone from every team up for a pregame presser. I imagine Igor shrugging at his KGB handlers and sliding away to the stage: nothing could stop him talking now.

Except the Canadian journalists. They wanted to interview Team Canada first. Igor stewed, and then looked up to see an oncoming Wayne. Someone had asked him about the alleged quotes in the article, which Igor had snagged a copy of to read the second they let him loose in Canada. Apparently Wayne hadn’t.

“‘Believe me, Igor,’” Igor remembers Wayne blurting out. “‘I didn’t say what was printed in the paper. I’ll tell them it didn’t happen! But what is your position now?’”

“‘Do not worry,” Igor promised him. “‘Now, everything is okay.’”

“Oh, awesome,” (I’m assuming again) Wayne said. “So do you want to come over later and hang out in my mom’s basement?!”

“If the KGB pulls a gun, then call me.” --Wayne Gretzky

Weirdly, I’ve never seen this inspirational quote cross-stitched on someone’s wall.

The next Canada Cup was held in August ‘87 in Hamilton, Ontario, which is like, basically next door to Wayne’s parents’ house. So the afternoon before the first game, Wayne sent his dad Walter to the hotel where the Soviet team was staying. Walter asked in Ukrainian if he could chat with Igor, who had to come down to the hotel lobby to meet him, since visitors were absolutely not allowed to wander up to players’ rooms. Walter invited his son’s friend over for dinner. Igor cut eyes at the KGB agent in the corner, and said he had to go upstairs and ask Coach. Tikhonov said no before Igor started talking.

Igor came back downstairs and apologized to Walter, who thought hard for a minute. He told Igor to ask what if the whole Green Unit went to Wayne’s house for team bonding? Coach Tikhonov considered, and said no, and Igor went back to Walter.

Walter hitched up his suspenders, and announced to the KGB that he would talk go to Coach Tikhonov now.

He told Tikhonov he would be honored if Coach came to dinner at his house that evening, and if Coach felt like it, he might bring the boys over too. Tikhonov said he’d love to.

Tikhonov, Igor, Vova, Sergei, Slava, Lyosha, and a KGB operative spent a delightful half hour packed in a car together driving to the Gretzkys' house, where Walter and Phyllis were throwing a cookout. Walter and some of his local buddies had barbecue and corn on the cob on the grill, and Phyllis had quizzed her son about his Moscow trip before throwing up her hands in despair and making a big batch of her mother’s Polish dumplings and sausage.

Nothing makes me happier than the image of Wayne Gretzky, beaming from ear to ear, handing famously fussy little Igor Larionov a piece of barbecued corn on the cob. Igor had to explain that yes, they had corn in Russia, but they ate it on a plate and not like squirrels. Walter offered him a beer, and Igor looked to Coach Tikhonov before saying no. Tikhonov allowed the players to have a soda.

Wayne started asking him how everything had been since the last time they hung out, and didn’t get why his friend wouldn’t talk to him at first. Igor might answer one question, and then act like he didn’t understand. Sergei and Vova really didn’t speak English, and kept elbowing Igor to explain what was going on and why Wayne was smiling at them like that, but Igor was still pretending he only spoke Russian and hesitated to translate for them. Finally Wayne realized Igor was clamming up every time Tikhonov got within earshot.

Wayne went to Walter to change the game plan. Walter would use his Ukrainian to ask Coach Tikhonov about his many amazing accomplishments, while Wayne told the whole party he wanted to show the other boys his medals, which were all down in the basement. Unfortunately the Gretzky family’s basement was very small, and housed Wayne’s many, many medals, so only two people could possibly fit down there at a time: one Gretzky, and one Russian. Tikhonov thought about it, decided he didn’t care about someone else’s medals, and gave the okay.

Just in case, Wayne deputized his dad’s buddy Charlie, who did not speak Russian or anything like it but was somebody’s dad from suburban Ontario, to chat up the KGB agent.

So Wayne began to escort the Green Unit, one by one, down to his family’s basement. At the bottom of the stairs, he handed them a beer. The two of them chugged their beers together, trying not to take suspiciously long or laugh too loud, and then ran back up to change out for the next boy.

Nothing happened that night. It didn’t change anything, except that Tikhonov never found out. The Greens had been able to get one over on him, because they didn’t have to do it alone.

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#green unit #igor larionov #wayne gretzky #slava fetisov #sergei makarov #vladimir krutov

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snarkwrites · 4 years ago

Photo

Title: snowbound pt 1 of 2/3

Theme: snow

Fandom / Character(s):Ben Solo/Kylo Ren x Earth!FemaleReader.

Warnings: First up. I preface with two strong warnings.. I am not a medical professional in any capacity. Second, I am only kind of a casual Star Wars fan, so Idk how things work in their universe as compared to here on Earth. The actual warnings here are blood!tw and injury!tw. Again, I remind you. I am neither a veteran star wars fan nor a medical professional. So, some things may be entirely wrong. And Ben Solo is most likely written totally OOC as he is not a character I am used to writing, by any stretch although i love him with my whole heart... Anyway... The warnings are: Blood!TW, Injury!TW, OOC fandom character and a strong dose of hurt comfort / fluff in the next parts I kind of hope i get to do for this. This part is so long because I was using it to sort of set things in motion..

Word Count: 2k. Listen, I was setting things up and got carried away, rip me.

Listen... You all just don’t fucking understand how much I love Kylo/Ben... I know, I know, he’s a bad guy. Anyway, this is me doing something I’ve literally been dying to do, a scenario in which Ben somehow winds up Earthbound just in time for the holidays...This is my daily entry for my bb @champbucks over on the @12daysofchristmas challenge blog...

OH YEAH.. for the sake of a timeline here.. This part takes place around the end of November/beginning of December. Part two will take place two and a half weeks later and part three will take part a day or so, maybe two, after part two. Trust me, this needed to be said.

Also, again.. I made the banner for this. Don’t steal or repost.

TAGGING:

So, here’s the thing.. There really isn’t anyone on my Star Wars masterlist and like... I haven’t really written anything Star Wars related... Until now. So, if you want to be tagged in my star wars stuff, click the little link below or send me an ask/dm on my main and I’ll happily add you.

@champbucks and @12daysofchristmas

[ about my writing | masterlist | multifandom tag doc ]

“What the hell?”

The boom from outside had the windows to my grandma’s old cabin rattling and I quickly sat up just in time to look out the window at the head of my bed to see a bright flash of blue as it disappeared beyond the treeline across the road.

,, Curiosity killed the cat, remember?” my brain nagged at me the whole time I was slipping on the jeans I’d worn earlier in the day. That nagging only grew as I slipped on my warmest boots and by the time I had my daddy’s old shotgun loaded and I was heading out the door, I wasn’t entirely sure if going over to see what the hell was going on in the woods across from my house was a good idea or not.

I mean yeah, the odds were that some idiot kids were racing around Deadman’s curve and one crashed.. Or a drunk trying to drive home on an icy road hit black ice and lost control… At the thoughts of what probably happened, I stopped in the middle of the road and felt my back pocket.

As soon as my fingers grazed the cool weight of my cell phone, I took a deep breath and started to walk towards the woods on the other side of the little country road.

My eyes were adjusting to the semi darkness, so when the wrecked craft came into view just a few feet into the trees, I had to stop and really stare at it, rubbing my eyes.

“What the fuck?” the words left my mouth in a soft gasp as all the breath left my body. I knew exactly what I had to be looking at by now… And rather than turn and walk away, back to my grandma’s cabin, I kept moving closer. Pushing through bushes and trees and overgrown weeds and dead grass as I made my way towards the clearing to get a better look.

I knew it probably wasn’t a good idea, because everybody knows there’s a damn good reason we have a military base on the outskirts of our little town and we all know they’re not testing weather balloons out there.. I knew that if this were a military thing, there would most likely be a cover-up.

So I did what anybody would and I pulled out my camera, recording the crash site and taking a few pictures of the craft as I walked around it slowly.

I froze completely when I heard a wounded groan.

Now, I’d assumed that whoever crashed whatever this… Thing.. Was… they’d gotten the hell out of dodge as soon as the crash was over.

,,Or they were dead on contact because the impact was really hard.’’ my brain finished. I glanced all around the clearing that the craft crashed in the middle of. Everything was silent. Almost deathly silent, as if something had come along and sucked up all the sounds and background noise. I shivered and hugged myself, swearing under my breath about not having the presence of mind to stop for a jacket or grab my first aid kit on my way over here...

A scream died on my lips when I felt a strong grip wrap around my ankle as soon as I stepped closer to the wrecked craft, bending down to peer inside, my phone out and ready to call for emergency services.

When I looked down, after I dove away as quickly as possible, of course, I swallowed hard and tried to find words.

“Help.”

As he said it, I got the distinct feeling that this was not a word he enjoyed saying, not at all.

I could only nod and when my brain finally felt it had enough time to process what was going on, it kicked into overdrive.

“Can you pull yourself out?” I finally managed to ask the question.

“Trapped.” the word came on the heels of words that were totally unfamiliar to me, yet somehow I knew instinctively that this guy had to be swearing up a storm and in immense pain.

I guess tonight’s one of the few reasons I’m glad I went into the medical field instead of becoming a horror novelist or a starving artist like I used to want to when I was a kid. Tonight my years of school and training and the experience I’d gotten thus far as an intern at the hospital in town was all going to come in handy.

Because the lack of military vehicles or police by now only meant one thing to me.

The military either didn’t know yet so this gave me a chance to finally do something about the way they were polluting the water supply and making people sick or… Nobody knew about this.

Laughing softly at the thought that I might’ve stumbled onto an alien crash landing, I bent lower, peering into the smashed window and I dug around in my jeans pocket until I found my dad’s old pocket knife.

“I’m gonna.. I’ll try to cut you out, okay?” I muttered. He grunted, a light pained scowl playing at gorgeous and full lips.

I leaned inside a little, swearing as I felt shards of glass.. Or whatever the material was on the windows, digging into my hand..As soon as I got a good look, I realized that he wasn’t trapped by a harness or belt of any kind.

He was trapped because when the craft he was inside made impact, the damn thing basically folded like a soda can. I winced. Drawing a few sharp and shaky breaths, the fog from their warmth lingering in the air as I tried to stop and think.

I should be calling EMTS. I should be leaving him here because everything I’ve ever learned about accidents of any kind clearly predicates that if someone is hurt and you don’t know how fucking bad, you don’t move them.

But here’s the problem with that knowledge and my current situation… If I didn’t do something, then either that military installation was going to get away with the shit they’ve been doing the past few years since they mysteriously popped up on the outskirts, show up to finish this guy off in the time it took me to get help on the way… And then they might just do me in also because I had evidence and proof that they were up to something shady out there... Or… They’d find him and take him back to the base and do God only knew what to him.

,, but he might be an alien…” my brain gave me the gentle reminder and the counter argument arose almost immediately, ,, he can’t be. He looks like I do. He looks human. I can’t just turn my back and leave the guy… If he is military and they do realize what’s happened, he’s as good as dead… And I cannot live with someone’s blood on my hands.”

And with that thought, I proceeded to try and figure out the safest way I could to go about breaking years of protocol that had been drilled into my brain.

I started with the obvious. I leaned in, my body brushing against him as I raised my hand, pressing my fingers to his neck, feeling for the jugular so I could attempt to see if his pulse was steady.

He groaned quietly and I explained in a hushed tone, trying to keep him calm, “I’m trying to take your pulse… to make sure it’s okay to move you if I can get you loose. Because we’re gonna have to get you out of here somehow.”

He merely nodded. I almost asked if he spoke the same language as me, but that was a later question. I was still operating under the assumption that I was working with a very small time frame, either way.

Because even if the military didn’t know what happened out here, they would soon.. Because this just felt like something they would be aware of or become aware of. And I wasn’t going to let them get their hands on the guy, especially when he was injured and far too weak to fight them off.

Or so I thought…

,, where the hell am I? What happened? Need to.. Get out of here. Get back to the others.”

I heard it so clearly that for a second or so, I thought he might’ve actually spoken. I answered quietly, “You’re in Montana. Apparently, you crashed whatever the hell this thing is. If you’ll be still and stay calm sir, I’m trying to get you out of here. We have to hurry. If those damn military guys realize what happened and come down, we’re both probably fucked.” and continued checking him over.

I dreaded what I was about to have to try and do, because if there was any internal injury, I was about to make it worse. The goal, I decided mentally, was to move him as carefully but as quickly as possible.

He gritted his teeth and gave another long and wounded grunt as he seemed to pick up on my rush and started trying to maneuver his legs free from the part holding them in place.

“Okay, whoa. Easy, sir. Stop moving, damn it!” I said frantically, eyes widening as they settled on the dark depths of his eyes.

He glared at me, speaking in a calm but firm tone. “I have to get out of here.”

“And if you’ll go about this carefully, like I said before, you might actually live through this. I don’t know if you’ve been injured internally or not. I won’t know how severe your injuries are until I’m back at my cabin. I’m hoping that since you’re vocal enough to be an entire stubborn ass right now, that you’re really not seriously injured.” I snapped back because he’d snapped at me just seconds before.

He eyed me, almost wary. Almost as if he weren’t entirely sure whether to trust me. But I stared him down, firmly as I could. He managed to get his legs free and clear of the way they’d been pinned somehow and if I hadn’t thought the guy might be strong as an ox when he grabbed my ankle before, I now knew that fact beyond a shadow of doubt.

Oh, he grunted and groaned and growled in pain the entire time, but he seemed to be entirely too stubborn for his own good, too hell bent on getting himself out.

Once he was slowly pulling himself through the busted glass and lying on the snow, I cleared my throat. He winced and gritted his teeth as he pulled himself to a sitting position in the snow. The form fitting black garment he wore on his upper body was shredded in a place or two from the way he’d pulled himself through the window of the wreckage.

“Do you think you can walk? Because we need to figure something out.” I asked the question as I worked on keeping calm. But I was in a bit of a panic see, because internal injuries are difficult to spot and often, they go unnoticed until the person injured either dies or suffers massive complications. And I knew that me, moving him as little as I had and then him freeing himself from the wreckage somehow and all that movement… It was tempting fate, in my own opinion, but I was that determined not to let all this be covered up or to have this man’s blood on my hands.

He looked as if he were going to attempt it and I stood, holding my hands out to him to at least try to help him. But after the second or third attempt, the fight or flight response within me kicked in and I was… Growing impatient to get him indoors and both of us hidden away somewhere safely.

“I’ve got an ATV up at the cabin. It’s literally just across the road at the top of the hill… I need you to stay here and stay hidden. Are we clear?” I didn’t mean to bark it at him like an order, I guess I just assumed at the time that if he were a soldier who worked that base, he was used to it.

He bit his lip and eyed me.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” that firm tone, I won’t even begin to go into the effect it had on me, but I was the one who wasn’t injured and didn’t possibly have the US Armed Forces about to pop up at any second, so I had to act as if nothing he did or said had any sort of effect on me at all.

And god was it ever hard!

“Which one of us crashed a fucking piece of government property and is injured, sir?” my hand dragged through damp hair and tugged a little as I tapped my boot against the crunchy snow covered forest floor.

“ The ship is mine.” he corrected. I eyed him with a brow raised.

“Whatever you say. Either way, arguing semantics with you is not getting either of us to my cabin.”

The searing pain that shot through my palm as I rubbed it against my jeans had me grimacing, but I tried to ignore it. He stared me down, head tilted slightly.

“Alright. I’m going now.” I turned on my heels and I bolted up the hillside, hurrying so fast across the slippery pavement separating me from my cabin that I nearly slipped a time or two and I finally got to the shed that I’d parked the ATV under after riding it along the creekbank earlier to look for fallen trees I could use as firewood.

The keys were still in the ignition. I jumped on and fired it up, biting back a pained whimper as I curled my hand around the handlebar and that only put more pressure on the wound that I didn’t even realize I’d gotten trying to help the man out.

I shoved out the pain and focused on getting back across the road as quickly as possible. And in the back of my mind, yes.. I did find it more than a little odd that nobody had come down. The neighbors a mile away from me have to have heard… Then I remembered that Herb and Isla were out of town, in Kentucky with their oldest daughter and her family for the holidays.

,, c’mon lady luck, don’t fail me now.” the thought came and went and I took a shortcut through the treeline that I knew would put me straight in front of the crash site. Now I just had to hope to God that the guy was okay and he hadn’t left the scene.

Right as the crashed ship came into view, I spotted him trying yet again to use the wreckage to pull himself to his feet and I rushed over.

“You’re a stubborn one.”

“Trying to..” he took a few heavy breaths and grumbled before continuing, “Get back home.”

“And you can do that.. The second you’re at least partially healed, sir. I’m gonna…” I trailed off, awkwardly positioning myself against his side so that he could use me as a crutch and lean on me to get to the ATV so I could take him back to my place, “Lean on me.”

But the guy was an actual fucking giant.

And normally, in a non life or death situation, I’d have been absolutely mesmerized by… Pretty much everything about him. But tonight, I was too focused. Too intent on getting both of us to safety.

,, daddy always told me curiosity killed the cat. Now look what I’m smack in the middle of.” I thought to myself, grunting a little as he leaned into me heavily, my arm around his lower back and his arm around my shoulders as he clumsily tried to make his way to the ATV.

Once I got on and he managed to get himself on behind me, I took off. “Might wanna cover your face.”

And a minute or so later, as I parked the ATV right at my porch steps to make it a little easier to get him inside, he eyed me warily again, this time questioning, “Why are you doing this? Don’t you know who I was?”

“What do you mean was?” I asked the question, all the worst possible scenarios flashing through my mind. And that adrenaline surge from earlier that I had yet to come down from? A little more panicked.

He muttered something and shrugged, putting a shoulder around me again as he grunted and managed to get himself standing.

The light overhead on my porch caught on his bloodied pants leg and I grimaced. “Well, pretty sure that’s a broken leg.”

I kicked open the front door with my foot and helped him into my living room, letting him sink down onto the couch. After I got him all settled in, I rushed around my pantry gathering up my medical supplies that I kept on hand.

And I wandered back into the living room, taking a seat on the handmade heavy wooden coffee table in front of my old plaid couch. “You’re gonna have to… Take off the shirt..”

He eyed me, this curious gleam in his eyes that quickly vanished when I firmly repeated myself.

His eyes caught on my palm and he eyed my own smaller wound, then fixed his eyes on me. “You’re dripping blood on the floor.”

“And I’ll worry about that as soon as I’m totally certain that aside from a possibly broken leg and a few cuts and bruises, you’re fine.” I insisted, a firm tone of my own as I started to tug the ripped fabric up and over his body. I grimaced at the older scars and bit my lip as I surveyed the bruises already starting to form against pale skin. “Are you in any pain at all when you breathe?”

Bear in mind here. I am still only just an intern. So I haven’t actually had to deal with a whole lot in the way of injuries. The most I’m currently allowed to do is make rounds and do consults, checking in on patients to let their actual physician know what they might need or how they might be feeling on that particular day.

So this was all trial by fire for me.

One glance at his well muscled body had me definitely continuing to think that he was one of the guys from the military base and I made a mental note to maybe NOT turn down Carrie if she offered to set me up with one of the guys her fiance knew in the future as I had been doing.

He cleared his throat.

“A little.”

“Most likely dealing with a bruised rib or two. I’ll wrap those for now.. I’ll call in a favor with Dr.Albertson in the morning...I don’t think he’ll tell anybody.”

The man nodded, agreeing.

I went back to cleaning and patching the wounds I could patch and then I turned my attention to his leg.

“I’m going to have to cut your pants leg…”

“Or I could take off my pants.”

I eyed him as soon as he said it because truth be told, not only did he have me flustered in saying it, but also, I couldn’t entirely tell if he were being helpful at last, or if he were being a flirt.

As if to prove he was serious, he rose up slightly, unfastening the black pants he wore, working them down his hips and I have literally NEVER… ever.. Turned away and tried to still catch a peek as I did in that moment.

“Christ. You could’ve given me a second to turn.”

“Why?” he tapped my shoulder as he asked the question and I turned around.

My breath caught in my throat and I quickly had to refocus myself. Because if I thought taking his shirt off was a bit of a distraction… Then him sitting there pantsless was.. A bit more.

I bit my lip and my eyes settled on the lower portion of his leg. The swelling was bad. The leg was definitely broken. I sighed and clucked my tongue, shaking my head.

“I’m gonna have to call in that favor with the old man now. Because this can’t wait to be looked at. And I need to be sure you’ve got no internal injuries.” I stood abruptly, nearly doing so fast enough that I almost landed on top of the guy.

He eyed me and I pulled back and away from him, raising to a full stand. Walking quickly into my kitchen and sliding the pocket door closed behind me.

“Hey, doc? I know it’s late, but if you get this, can you please swing by my grandma’s cabin on your way home tonight? I need your help. And I need someone who can be trusted to stay quiet on what you’re gonna see.”

I’d just walked back into the living room when my cell phone rang in my hand.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’d rather explain when you get here, doc.”

“I’m on my way now. Just grabbing my equipment.”

“Thank you, doc.”

“I always told you and I promised your grandma when you were knee high to a grasshopper. If you ever need me, kid, I’ll be there.”

I hung up and sank back down onto the coffee table, letting a deep breath escape my mouth. The adrenaline was starting to wear off finally and all I could do now was… Process everything. Try to figure out just how far up the proverbial creek I might’ve gotten myself.

The man shattered the silence in the room by clearing his throat and reaching out. I eyed him, a brow raised.

“What are you doing?”

“If you’re not going to do something about your hand, I’m going to.”

“It’s fine. It’s a little scrape.”

“There’s blood caked on it.”

Something in the look he gave me had me extending my hand. It almost felt as if I wasn’t in control of myself, though I didn’t realize this until much later…

His larger hand gripped mine carefully, holding it on bare legs.

“You still haven’t put any pants on, what the hell..”

“If you called that person and they’re going to come and examine me, doesn’t make sense to.” he didn’t look up as he answered, instead, focusing on swiping the cloth that I’d gotten as a spare in case I needed a clean one for his wounds. When the light overhead caused something in the wound to glisten, I tried to yank my hand free in a hurry, but that sensation was back in my mind and his grip on my wrist tightened to a point where I couldn’t move.

“Be still.”

That firm tone again, honestly, fuck him for it.

“Fine. But I feel like I should remind you, I am a medical professional. I could get this looked at when Doc arrives.”

“Well, I’m doing it now.” he stated calmly, as if I had no say in the matter. And when I opened my mouth to argue, to insist I could just wait the ten minutes it would take Doc to get to my cabin, nothing came out.

He gave me this smug look as he took my tweezers and worked them into the cut, making me bite my lip and take a few deep breaths.

When he finally got the shard free, I pulled my hand back, cradling it against me.

He eyed me, amused it seemed.

“I’ll clean it out and wrap it now, thanks.” I mumbled in a softer tone, giving him a small smile and thanking him.

Now, we just had to wait on Doc to arrive...

#12daysofchristmas #12 days of christmas #ben solo fanfiction #ben solo fanfic #ben solo imagine #ben solo imagines #trapped on earth au #my writing; ben solo #my fics; ben solo #my moodboards; ben solo

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peakwealth · 4 years ago

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A Hispanic Tragedy

Will they come back? (Urbanización de Roquetas de Mar, December 2020)

What does predictability look like? Well, on the morning of July 18, 2020, it looked like heavy, halting traffic on the A 4 heading south from Jerez de la Frontera, Spain. I normally avoid motorways, but on that late morning I had little choice. The terrain of salt pans and tidal flats south of Cadiz leaves no other option if you're going that way.

But why were there so many cars on the road? What was going on? I stared at the cars, full of families, and then I knew: it was traffic coming from much further north, from Seville and Madrid or even Barcelona, and they were all headed for the beaches along the Atlantic coast.

During an epidemic.

The government had told them that the coronavirus had been successfully contained and now the time had come to reap the rewards of so much collective discipline. The message was: be careful but by all means take a summer break. Which was why the motorway was bumper to bumper as I edged south in 37 degree heat. At that precise moment it was obvious that things would not go well. It was predictable.

When the first Spanish lockdown ended in late June, transmission of the virus had been squashed, the curve flattened as flat as could be and Spain’s accumulated incidence of the infections over 14 days was at a low of 8.08 diagnosed cases per 100 000 population. Next to nothing, or at least manageable.

In fact the transmission of the virus had already picked up, as it would rationally be expected to, within a week or two of the ‘deconfinement’. But the rate was still very low and everyone needed a holiday so badly.

Some of those beachgoers were bringing the virus with them from the north. Others would pick it up in the south and take it back home to Madrid a week later. The clear correlation between mobility and infection had already been established by analysing mobile phone data, notably during spring break in the USA. There was no reason for it to be different in Spain.

On July 1, international travel restrictions were lifted for incoming visitors. In the course of that month infection rates multiplied by a factor of seven to nearly 2000 new cases a day. By mid-August infection clusters were reported all over the country. By the third week of October, the accumulated 14-day incidence was up to 325 per 100 000 population. The rate of increase over those two weeks was 64 %.

* * *

Paralyzed, yes, dead, maybe. (Hotel lobby)

Spanish people like to go out, sit around in cafés and restaurants, but during the first full lockdown that spending just vanished, it shrank by 92 %. The economic devastation during the lost spring of 2020 was frightening, the overall drop in output worse than in any other Eurozone country. Along the coast, hotel occupancy was minimal. How could it not have been?

Desperate to 'save the peak tourist season', the regional authorities had come up with rules and protocols that would ensure epidemiological safety over the summer. They wanted to believe it themselves. Keep your distance, wash you hands, divide the beach up in four square meter patches and nothing bad was going to happen. Andalucia was safe. The signs said so. They were downloadable from a government website.

Signs of desperation during the summer. (Government website)

But while at least some of the locals showed up during the summer, the invitation to foreign tourists met with limited success: in June, nationwide arrivals were 97,7 % lower than a year earlier. Even though July was busier, Málaga airport, gateway to the sunny south, reported only 25 % of normal traffic. In fact, the summer season never amounted to much. By mid September, the entire tourist business, so critically important to a country with a weak industrial base and an educactional deficit, especially in Andalusia, was paralyzed. Mile after mile after mile of coastal resorts, used to house and service generations of Scandinavian drunks and British fish & chip eaters, were shuttered. (Excuse the clichés.) You could, and still can, hear a pin drop along the beach boulevards of Torremolinos or Roquetas de Mar.

Closed hotel. (Urbanización de Roquetas de Mar, December 2020.)

Unspoken in this silence is the belief that business will return, that it is just a matter of time, a blip on the timescale of the global leisure society. Give it a few more months and the furniture will be dusted off, the bathroom taps will be flushed and the lifts turned on. The rentals cars, rusting in vast suburban parking lots, will be replaced with shiny new models. Convinced that the good old days are due for a comeback, Michael O’Leary, the CEO of Ryanair, has ordered additonal Boeings (the same model that crashed in late 2018 and early 2019). Low fares will lure people back, he thinks.

Benalmádena, November 2020

But when? The long, almost fatalistic loosening of restrictions over the Christmas and New Year’s holidays does not bode well for the third wave of the epidemic or for the orderly resolution of the crisis. It looks like the Summer Mistake all over again.

* * *

That the coronavirus crisis is not a case of temporary bad luck but the opening chapter of the unfolding environmental chaos of the 21st century, is not the sort of thinking that is popular along the Spanish costas. It is not politically sustainable. It is economically suicidal. It is not good for real estate. The epidemic may have highlighted the fragility of the Spanish economy, its reckless reliance on an unsustainable tourist industry that creates no innovation, adds little value and perpetuates low-income jobs. No matter. The official line of thinking is that there is no alternative.

As the powerful tourist lobby begs for more government support, investors are forging ahead with plans for more hotels, more incentives, more highrise condos, more arrivals, more of everything. For when the day comes.

------------------------------------

Sources: Financial Times, El Pais, RTVE, The Economist.

#wepèfjw

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euphoriarps · 5 years ago

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❊ ◜ORLANDO.// weather

general //. those who have never made the great pilgrimage to florida often associate the sunshine state with, well, sunshine. they imagine a tropical paradise where they can frolic through disneyworld, contentedly eating a mickey bar and taking wall pictures for the `gram. the reality of the matter is, florida is not the paradise that so many think it to be. and those cute disney instagramers? they thank god for face tune to hide just how fucking awful they feel. the moment you leave the orlando international airport, it feels like chuck norris became the human embodiment of heat and punched you in the face. while there are occasional periods of reasonable temperatures, they are punctuated by a lot of rain and devestating heat and humidity that leaves many a newcomer experiencing this lovely thing called heat stroke. let us dive further into florida's imaginary "seasons." hurricane season //. hurricane season runs from june the first to november the thirtieth. it is during this time that florida's weather is the true embodiment of hell's front porch. on a normal day, temperatures can range anywhere from the high eighties to the low one hundreds with humidity that leaves things feeling like it's twenty degrees hotter than they actually are. those that have keyless start up for their cars are thankful during the summer time, as they can get the a/c in their car going before they get in. for the plebs that do not have those privileges? they have to hachachachacha their way into their car and start the car and get their seatbelt on without burning off all of their skin. and for those of you with leather interiors? you're basically fucked. june and july are certainly hot, but they're not unbearable. morning time is reasonably comfortable, and you can almost certainly guarantee that there will be an afternoon rain storm sometime between the hours of 1PM and 4PM. the period fo time in which it rains varies, it can be anywhere from downpouring for fifteen straight minutes or raining light enough to be an inconvenience for four whole hours. it is a truly floridian thing to place an umbrella into your car, and then to never actually use the umbrella because it rains so frequently that you give up on lugging the umbrella everywhere. during the more dramatic of thunderstorms that occur during the summertime, the thunder can get so intense that it can shake houses and apartment buildings. roads will flood, and everyone will mysteriously decide to turn on their flashers and drive thirty miles over the speed limit on the interstate. because for being a state where it's always raining, nobody actually knows how to properly drive in the rain. most of the tropical storms and hurricanes that form in the atlantic end up affecting florida in some way, shape, or form. in instances of the outer bands brushing up against the state, it'll prompt the usual amount of rain. nothing too shocking or devestating. life will go on as it usually does. if a category 1 to a mid tier category 3 storm threatens to hit the state, floridians will rejoice as work and school are cancelled and go buy out the entirety of the liquor aisle to ride out the storm. "hurricane parties" are a legitimate thing in florida. no exaggeration. for an upper tier category 3 storm to a category 5 storm, floridians will act like it is the appocalypse and will effectively buy thousands of dollars of supplies. for those non native to florida, they typically fall into the "act like it's the appocalypse" category no matter what the level of storm is. they'll barricade themselves in their house or their apartment until after they've done the hurricane thing a few times and then it becomes normal. if you thought the heat before the rain was bad, the heat after the rain is exponentially worse. the humidity increases tenfold and you're not only wet from rain, you're wet from sweat that largely feels you leaving like a drowned rat. the worst of the florida summer is august and september. the heat and humidity can get so bad that it feels like you are venturing outside into soup. the air is thick, and sticky, and forget looking cute because you are guaranteed to have swamp ass two seconds into leaving the air conditioning. influencers and beauty gurus have to pump hundreds of dollars into luxury setting sprays to keep their faces from melting off, and frizzy haired chic may as well become a trend during this time of year. the recommendations for surviving the heat, the rain, the hurricane season? drink water. now drink more water. now drink even more water. find a hurricane buddy, someone that has grown up in florida and can recommend the best brand of tequila to make hurricane margaritas with. keep several changes of clothes and shoes in your car for the inevitable downpour, maybe consider using that umbrella for a change? who am i kidding, we all know it's worth it. and, of course, drink . fucking . water. sfall and swinter //. the end of hurricane season (october and november), and december through february be labeled sfall or swinter ... essentially, slightly less bad summer punctuated by occasional and surprising cold fronts. if the temperature drops below seventy five degrees, that is when you'll see floridians pulling out the knit sweaters, thick hoodies, and the uggs. non-floridians will question what on earth is wrong with them as they are standing their in their t-shirts and flip flops enjoying the fact that they don't feel like death for once. these tiny dips in temperature, however, will typically last all of two to four days before it spikes right back up to being eighty five degrees with humidity making it feel like it's ninety eight again. you see why it's sfall? because it's still summer. late december through february can get a little more brr. temperatures will briefly drop anywhere from the low fifties all the way into the upper twenties depending on the cold front and where it is coming from. the orange groves will threaten to ice over, floridians will descend upon target to purchased puffed jackets to insulate themselves, and the non-floridians will once more question their sanity levels. florida cold should be identified as a wet cold, the humidity having a similar effect to the cold as it does with the heat. it makes it feel colder. factor in the fact that the cold times are also windy with a wet sort of wind chill and it goes highly recommended that you at least wear a light jacket. florida does sometimes have bizarre cold fronts where it'll be thirty eight degrees at 8AM and then by 2PM it is in the mid-eighties. it is always recommended that you plan your "warmer" outfits with layers that can be taken off to reveal layers more suited for the summer. or just carry a change of clothes and shoes in your car. and drink . fucking . water. the pollening //. march begins the season best known as the pollening. the temperatures are finally manageable, ranging anywhere from the high sixties to the low eighties with the bare minimum in humidity. when it is humid, there is typically the presence of a nice breeze to cool you off and keep you from getting too sweaty. so while you're comfortable physically, if you are one of the many to be afflicted by seasonal allergies then your sinuses will be making you miserable. there is only so much that one can do to enjoy the weather when they have a stuffy, runny, crusty nose and watery, itchy, eyes. invest stock in claritin and tissues, my friend, because that pollen is going to fuck you up. the pollening typically spans march through mid to late april. it's gonna be may //. late april through may is the most ideal time to be living in florida. there is some heat and humidity, and there are occasional days of on and off thunderstorms ... but it these times when you need to make the pilgrimage out to cocoa or clearwater for a needed beach day. it's sunny, it's comfortable, there is a breeze, and a distinctive lack of pollen. it's not the best time for theme parks because it's spring break season and everyone from other states are there, but floridians will take advantage of the good weather for barbecues, picnics, and beach days. it does get notably hotter very fast the later you get in may, and the last two weeks of may start that late afternoon rain that you can set your watch by; foreshadowing the june through november misery that is hurricane season. conclusion //. florida, like most places people live, is an acquired taste. there is very little that can be done to warn you about the actuality of the weather. with temperatures that can range anywhere from the hundreds to the high twenties, and a sticky humidity that can make you question all of your life choices ... there is only one thing that can be said about surviving florida: drink . fucking . water.

#euphoriarps #site buzz #preview:location #real life rp #city/town rp #city town rp #preview #roleplay #jcink premium #jcink rp #jcink roleplay #jcink site

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the-trans-otter33 · 5 years ago

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Sanders Sides The Martian AU

Note: I used canon information from the original The Martian characters so jobs, education levels, and other facts could be accurate to the story. It will remain this way just for the sake of accuracy. All original character info can be found on The Martian Wikia and all credit is due to Author Andy Weir, creator of The Martian

----------

Introduction Post

JULY 7TH, YEAR 2035

----------

Roles:

Commander: Thomas Sanders

Doctor: Patton McManus

Pilot: [Major] Roman Cone

Computer Specialist: Logan Locke

Navigator: [Dr.] Remus Cone

Botanist: [Dr.] Virgil AsheFord

EVA Specialist: D. Dain Dechard

----------

Character Info.

April 24th, 1993, 42, Thomas Sanders- Thomas was the first to be chosen for the Ares III mission. He graduated with honors from the US Naval Academy with a Doctorate in oceanography. After the navy, he entered into CalTech's Division of Geological and Planetary Sciences before joining NASA and taking trips to the SpaceX Station. He takes a lot of time to speak at public gatherings and conferences, encouraging others to achieve their dreams as he did and living life to the fullest. Thomas has dedicated his recent months as Commander to making sure his team bonds and remains safe, oftentimes treating them like family or adopted sons. Thomas is NASA’s first openly gay commander and is proud of it and his 22 year long marriage with his husband, Daniel.

Appearance: Thomas Sanders is 5' 10" with a healthy body. He is not lean nor pudgy, being in a somewhat perfect balance in-between. Sanders wears a classic brown undercut with no ability to grow facial hair, much like Patton. His eye color is brown and he enjoys staying in old and new uniforms more than regular clothing.

January 15th, 2001, 34, Patton McManus- The youngest member of the 7 person crew on Ares III, Patton McManus is not someone to be trifled with, especially when it comes to his intelligence. Due to his young age, he finds himself underestimated a lot of the time, and not listened to. It was no surprise to him and his parents though when he got accepted into the Yale School of Medicine, receiving the Norma Bailey Berniker Prize, and his extensive training in Aerospace Medicine as a Captain in the United States Air Force Reserves. He joined NASA in 2029, increasing his training with a Masters Degree in Biomedical Science and was the second person chosen for the Ares III mission. Kind, caring, and generally just a sweetheart, Patton hopes to lighten all spirits on the mission and hopes to bond closely with everyone on board. Dr. McManus hopes that one day his 4-year-old son [from a past relationship] will follow his views on the world and grow up to help people just as his father does.

Appearance: Patton McManus is a soft healthy, 6' teddy bear. Dr. McManus is ginger, his hair always messy with untamed short curls. Freckles spot his face around his nose and under his eyes. He's a bit pudgy around the middle, having close to a dad bod [even though he has no kids]. He cannot grow any facial hair and wears round glasses with thick light blue frames, matching the color of his eyes. Patton tends to wear light-colored polo's and khaki's if he can but jeans work out just fine too. He is also almost always seen with a grey jacket tied around his waist or his neck resting on his shoulders.

June 4th, 1995, 40, Roman Cone- Roman was the third person to join the Ares III Crew, immediately getting along with Commander Sanders and Dr. McManus. Before joining the crew, Roman spent eleven years in the United States Air Force. Originally trained as a fighter pilot, Major Cone worked his way up to the USAF Test Pilot School. Continuing to keep up high marks and great performance he quickly gained respect from his peers and commanders. From a young age, he knew he was destined for NASA so he gained a bachelor of science in astronautical engineering at USAF Academy. At NASA he also became an MDV/MAV Specialist. Witty and outgoing, Roman enjoys taking up all the attention in the room, often doing dramatics to do so.

Appearance: Roman Cone is a sight to see, standing at 5' 9". He is more on the muscular side, though nothing near Dain's level of muscle mass. Major Cone is dirty blond, sporting a magnificent pompadour, never seen without it perfectly done, he has long sideburns that transition from blond to brown the more he grows them out. Roman tries not to let them grow into mutton chops but sometimes finds them there anyway. Surprisingly Roman enjoys sweatpants and baggy shirts more than anything fancy or dramatic. Roman's eyes are light green.

November 3rd, 1998, 36, Logan Locke- Logan graduated at the young age of 16, winning in NASA's largest hackathon a year later. Afterward, Logan moved onto MIT for dual undergraduate degrees in math and computer science. While starting graduate school, Mr. Locke started a private software company in the hopes of becoming a software engineer and CEO. Though his plans changed suddenly when he came into contact with a SpaceX executive who was impressed by his work. His decision to join NASA was later founded when she helped develop software that would later become an integral part of the Hermes operating system. With that knowledge of the Hermes, he wiggled his way into the Ares III crew, being the fourth one to join as the System operator and Reactor Technician. Logan found himself seemingly alone among the crew due to his introverted lifestyle along with his inability to "take a joke" [said by Roman after joke about MIT]. His emotionally repressive behavior got especially worse when Remus joined a few days after, mocking Logan for his OCD. These habits and behaviors seemed to only start getting better after meeting Ares III Botanist Virgil AsheFord, who shared some of these traits. Locke never includes his thoughts though when anyone bring up parents or family back home, no one knows why.

Appearance: Logan Locke is a lanky 5' 8" nerd. Wearing rectangle-shaped glasses with white half frames. Logan has thin cheekbones with a thick chin strap beard connected with a black goatee. His hair is slicked back but not as tightly nor as long as Dain's and without curls in the back. Logan's eyes are dark blue shade, often matching his professional outfits. Mr. Locke often wears button-down shirts or polos with a blue or black tie running below his belly button. he usually tucks his shirts into his pants, which are almost always jeans held up with an always new looking leather belt. he also wears what Roman calls "old man shoes" though he is quite proud of their permanent shininess. Logan actively chooses to not work out, instead, he just makes sure to eat as healthily as he can.

June 5th, 1995, 40, Remus Cone- Remus was the fifth person to be chosen for Ares III. Remus was invited to join the crew through NASA and the European Space Agency after being located in Germany for several years. Holding two master's degrees in chemistry and astrophysics. Remus has also earned a doctorate in chemistry from spending six months on Antarctica. Remus has published dozens of papers in international journals to pass time. Dr. Cone felt the need to assert himself with the family name after his brother Roman upstaged him constantly in college. Remus is fluent in French and German, often using those languages to swear when visiting his brother in the USA. Remus has a knack for being a trouble-maker around almost everyone he meets, making messes mostly on accident due to his childish clumsy nature. Dr. Cone is only found being serious when there's work to be done, the dedication to his job is one of the only things bonding him with the rest of the Ares III crew.

Appearance: Remus us a 5' 10" pure blond man. he is often found wearing unmatched clothing that some would call ugly af [but he likes it that way]. Sporting a low hanging man bun, his hair just might be the most yellow thing at NASA HQ and on the Hermes, but it's completely natural! To go along with his man bun, Remus has a majestically neat handlebar mustache. Remus resembles his older twin brother Roman a lot with his light blue eyes and wide chin. Baring a bigger nose than Roman though. He also cannot grow any other facial hair. Remus isn't as muscled as Roman, being a bit round in the middle but tries his hardest to remain interested in working out. Nowadays his interest is kept by working out with his gym buddy, Dain.

December 19th, 1999, 34, Virgil Asheford- Virgil had spent eleven months already working at NASA when he was chosen for Ares III. Originally attending the University of Chicago, Doctor AsheFord moved to Northwestern University to earn his Ph.D. in Plant Biology and Conservation with an emphasis on hydropedalogy and environmental engineering. When joining NASA, his work focused on hydrologic flow paths and sustainable water resources management within Earth's Critical Zone. Virgil spent the next two years in the peace Corps engineering sustainable agriculture and water irrigation systems for developing nations. Afterward, Virgil applied to the NASA Astronaut Candidate Program and was ultimately selected. Throughout his life Virgil has had a constant battle with his depression and anxiety, growing more introverted over time. His interest in Botany helped him through the battle he has fought so hard to win. Despite over complicating many different thoughts, solutions, and ideas, Virgil often finds the outcome satisfying and without flaw. Emotional repression from before and after his little sister's death made him hesitant to accept his part in Ares III until he met Computer Specialist Logan Locke, who also dealt with emotional repression. The two instantly bonded due to being different from the rest of the team as well as their inexplicable ability to fall into intensely deep existential crises.

Appearance: Virgil is a 5' 6" pale, thin man. He is healthily thin despite eating a lot [his fast metabolism runs in the family]. Virgil's hair was dyed crow-black before being selected for Ares III but is naturally brown in a Faux hawk style. Virgil usually has short stubble lining the bottom half of his face, never letting it grow longer than 1-2.5 millimeters long. Virgil regularly applies eye shadow around his eyes, earning him the nickname Plant Raccoon from Remus. AsheFord can always be seen wearing dark if-not-black clothing, unless in his NASA jumpsuit or his Ares III Mars EVA suit [he hates that it's mainly white and orange]. Virgil also wears many different types of boots, specifically requesting some from NASA for the Ares III trip to Mars. he takes extra time to make sure they are neat, clean, and shiny each morning, something he now does with Logan.

[Deceit] February 3rd, 1996, 39, D. [Dain] Dechard- The last member to join the Ares III crew, yet welcomed with open arms. Dechard often says little white lies to the crew and others around him to rile them up when he's bored and wants some action. He has a severe disliking towards his first name, so he tells people to call him Dain. The crew is always theorizing what his real name is. Dain was first brought into NASA by his father, a Rocket Engineer, and was immediately interesting in becoming an EVA Specialist so he could travel into space for Ares III. Before specializing in EVA, Dain had been a NASA Mathematician with an associate's degree, bachelor's degree, master's degree, and Ph.D. in Mathematics. From the age of 18 to 34, Dain was in College constantly to earn these degrees and never gained any friends because of it. Dain promised before leaving for the Ares III, that he’d keep in contact with his 9-year-old niece.

Appearance: Dain is a 6' 4" lean [ripped] gym rat. He's got slicked back ink-black hair with lines of grey coming in at his temples due to years of work and school. The back of his head is riddled with curls coming from the ends of strands. Sporting a lighter coal-black Van Dyke goatee [and quite proud of it too] he also has scars riddled across the side of his face from chin to forehead. More scars can be found throughout his body in an inconsistent pattern but suspiciously only on the right side of him. Dain's eyes are dark green and he tends to wear joggers and shorts along with skin-tight shirts. While his gym buddy has an ugly sense of fashion, Dain has no fashion sense whatsoever.

----------

Not-the-boys cast:

The administrator of NASA: Teddy [Theodore] Sanders [No relation to Commander Thomas Sanders]

Director of NASA Media Relations: Annie Montrose

Director of NASA Jet Propulsion Laboratory: Bruce Ng

Head of Mars Operations: Venkat Kapoor

Flight Director for Ares III: Mitch Henderson

NASA Analyst/Satellite Coverage: Mindy Park

Physicist: Rich Purnell

--------

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Feel free to request to be on the tag list and send asks about something you’re curious about within the story! Your asks will strive to be the main drive for the story!

#sanders sides #TheMartianAU #thomas sanders #Thomas is the only one with an unchanged last name #crazy right?#patton sanders #roman sanders #logan sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #deceit sanders #intro post #future relationships #analogical

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amygeeunit · 5 years ago

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The Quarantine Chronicles: These Last Five Years & What I Thought I Wanted

There’s nothing like being alone in your own thoughts at 1:00am in the midst of a global pandemic... Instead of aimlessly scrolling through my Instagram timeline or checking my bank account with all the money I have saved from not going out, I’ve had time to think about what the 28 year old, almost 29 year old Amy needs versus wants...

I think in high school or at some point in our lives we have all fallen victim to “By the time I’m age this, I want to have x, y and z.” At 16, I thought at 25 I would have my life 85% figured out. Pretty funny concept now that you think about it, right? I actually laugh at how naive or how troublesome it is to have these unrealistic goals and tag an age onto them... I pictured myself living in a nice apartment, potentially dating someone, or if not just focusing on my career. Fast forward to 2020, besides this year being a complete clusterf*ck, I’ve had extra time to sit down and think of these last five years in a nutshell.

All I remember from 2015 was going to Vegas, still working in retail, having foot surgery and getting into CSUF. The rest is foggy because it’s been five years. Huh? I thought 2015 was last year...

2016 seemed to be one of my better years. I started at CSUF, went to Iceland, interned at Rastaclat, ended up getting a job at Rastaclat, entered into my first serious relationship, moved back out to Orange County and felt like at 24 - 25 I was killing the game (or so I thought.)

2017 wasn’t too bad. I graduated from CSUF in the spring, went to Oahu, continued on in my relationship and spent a majority of my time focusing on my career.

2018 is when life started to get real interesting. My pup, Ben G, passed away while I was out in Illinois visiting my cousin (long story to save for another post,) I started a new job at Pretty Great LLC, traveled to escape 99% of the time, started taking birth control that made me bloated, emotional and feel weird and moved back to Moreno Valley. During this time, my relationship started to crumble due to lack of communication, the wave of grief I was experiencing and everything in else in between that couples go through. I started going to therapy in July and in August, I had my first panic attack. In September, I decided I needed to get as far away from my life as possible. I booked a flight to Japan to visit Sarah since she was stationed out in Yokosuka. Yokosuka has a naval base and is about an hour from Tokyo. I talked to my boss at work a few weeks prior and asked for a week and a half off. Luckily, he was one of the most understanding and best people I have ever worked for in my career so far. Most bosses would have told you to “Get over it” or “Figure it out.” Rob Myers was a saving grace for me that year for letting me have my time off to not think about life.

While I was in Japan, I remember the time change messing me up quite a bit. I think it took around three days for me to finally be okay without passing out in the middle of the day. In short, this trip changed me. It changed how I traveled, it changed how I process emotions, it changed my outlook on life, it changed many things for me. I came back from this trip and my relationship was virtually over. I didn’t know how to feel, I didn’t know what to do, it just sort of fizzled like a candle using its last part of the wick. October came and I spent my birthday in Big Bear with my parents. I remember crying in the cabin when we got back from Octoberfest. I don’t think it really hit me that I was single, with no friends around and that 27 was already a shit show on day 1. I visited my best guy friend and his sisters in Arizona at the end of October to make up for the previous weekend. I had no idea that November could get any worse for me, but it did. It was two days before Thanksgiving, November 20th, 2018.

I was driving from Moreno Valley to Santa Ana one morning on my way to work. I took my normal route, left at my normal time, a pretty standard commute. About 2 miles from work, I was at a stop light. At this stop light I waited for about 30 seconds while the other cars went. The light turned green. As I was pressing my gas to accelerate, out of nowhere, a semi truck plows its way through the intersection and t-bones my driver’s side. I remember screaming. I remember it being like a scene from a Final Destination movie where the victim doesn’t know that death or uncertainty is upon them. In that moment, I remember thinking “This is it.” My reflexes shifted real quick and that was it. I remember pulling off to the side of the road leading up to the 5 freeway. I felt like my soul left my body for seconds then came back. I was shaking. I called my dad first and let him know what had happened. I called my mom and then the insurance company. I exchanged words and information with the driver. I remember being upset, but I couldn’t yell or get any words out. I just went by the protocol of what to do when you get involved with an accident. Sure, I have been rear ended before, but never t-boned and let alone by a damn semi truck. This accident passed, I was awarded some half ass money and in the midst of it all, I remember being so mentally drained that I cried out for help on Instagram Stories... I remember going through survivors guilt. I remember saying to myself “Why am I still here? There are people that die in accidents or by drunk/distracted drivers all the time... Why do I still have to live this life of pain and suffering?” In my mind and in 2018, I never knew how to take pain and suffering very well. I didn’t know it would shape me for what these next couple years would throw at me.

December came and went. It was like a sigh of relief for me to know that the vicious cycle of the 2018 rollercoaster was coming to an end. At this point, I kind of gave zero f*cks as to what happened in life. A few days before Christmas, I visited my Grandma in Illinois and my grandparents’ grave site. I think my trip to Illinois was some type of closure to my 2018 year. I hadn’t been back to Illinois since my Grandma’s funeral in 2011. It was a cold and frigid trip. It was the first trip I had ever driven by myself. The only cool thing was running into Ja Rule at the Palm Springs Airport (before the Fyre Festival documentary came out, otherwise I would have yelled at him.) He was on my flight to Chicago. Jeffrey Atkins, you sneaky motherfucker, you! How I wish I would have known about you tricking people with that one guy... I ordered a “Survived 2018″ crewneck from this small online business store, went to Disneyland with my mom on Christmas and threw caution to the wind.

2019 was interesting, but not as heavy as 2018. I called 2019 the year where I “rushed to get back to normalcy.” I realized the commute to PG was getting tiring pretty fast, I accepted being single and got back into dance. Dance saved my life, point blank. Whether it was subbing, teaching, training or being on a team, it brought back a sense of joy and also established new friendships along the way. I started a job at a marketing agency in March 2019 that was a short commute and about 6 months in, I realized this was something I wasn’t a fan of. It took me a while to realize that that was okay to feel uneasy about the jobs I once knew.

If I had to rate 2019 on a point scale, I would say it was a 6/10. I felt like the last few months I was suppose to be back to normal and healed from a lot of things I kept to myself. Dating people was weird because 1. I felt behind. What I mean by that was I thought by age 27 - 28, I would have met my “person,” by now. As I seen other friends get proposed to, plan their weddings and start their families, I started to feel like the odd woman out. Was there something wrong with me? Am I that complicated or hard to love? Are my values not aligning with people I like? Am I going to be that person that gets married at 40 or even at all? Will I always be the friend and not the potential girlfriend or wife? Who knows? 2. The reciprocity factor of it all and setting boundaries. 3. I don’t think I ever got over everything that had happened in my first relationship because we never cheated on each other, our trust when out without each other was never questioned and there was a best friend component in it. I was filled with regret, frustration and memories I forced myself to black out even after going to therapy and journaling it. Fact: I dread my birthday each year. I don’t like my birthday in general, but October I have mixed emotions about. The anniversary of my Grandma’s death is on 10/13, my Grandpa’s birthday is 10/14 and my birthday is 10/20. I spent the last couple months of 2019 drinking more than usual, especially after my friend, Beka, passed away suddenly in November. December came and went. I had my first trip to Puerto Vallarta and enjoyed some much needed beach time. I had this “idea” that I would move to the east coast with Sarah because I wanted to start over. That idea went out the window. I ended 2019 with buying a new car after having paid off my Kia Forte back in 2016.

It’s now 2020 and boy... It has been a shit show for the world I feel like. I can’t even begin to describe what a rollercoaster of emotions everyone is feeling right now, but I do have one word for me personally: gratitude. I started off the year so uneasy with finding out my dad was diagnosed with colon cancer again for a second time. I remember going into February with no expectations, yet I had expectations (weird right?) Without going into too much detail I felt like that quote by DJ Khaled saying “Congratulations, you played ya self!” I was constantly frantic about work, friendships, relationships, my future, dance, my parents, basically everything. I was a walking, talking ball of stress. March came around and I downloaded Bumble (yup, I went there) and matched with a really nice guy who actually knew two of my nurse friends. Then, COVID-19 was in full effect in the states and suddenly the idea of dating or wanting any kind of human interaction made me cringe... I had to politely excuse myself and move on. I checked in on friends and they checked in on me.

I’ve spent more time with my parents, more time on myself and then it finally clicked: I am where I need to be in this exact moment. I don’t want to date anyone in quarantine, I don’t want to understand or have expectations for another human like I’ve been searching for these last 6 months. What the fuck, Amy? You are everything you need right now and it is not in another person. I’ve danced in quarantine, I’ve cried in quarantine, I’ve laughed in quarantine, I’ve journaled in quarantine, I’ve found myself again in quarantine. As easy as it sounds for most people, the concept is quite large. Since I was 18 years old, I have ALWAYS wanted to live by myself and try it out. It’s ten years later and in the midst of this uncertain time period, I know that 2020 is the year that I finally accomplish this. So, in short, 2021 I’ll be back on the “dating” field or whatever, but 2020 is my year to literally work. on. myself. This includes: my relationship with myself, my relationship with my friends, family, acquaintances, coworkers, etc., my health regiment, my mental health, my physical health, my emotional health, I think you get the point, right? In a time where some of us feel alone, I feel secure. My days vary and maybe I’ll post something tomorrow where I say “That post was trash, quarantine was terrible,” and while it is on most days, I’m so grateful to connect more deeply with people on a spiritual and conversational level. I was tired of hiding behind my day-to-day busy routine when I finally came to terms with myself.

We are all in this together. We are all processing what we need and want. I use this blog as a way to express and share what so many people keep to themselves. Maybe you can relate, maybe you think I’m too out there. Either way, to each their own.

Until next time.

#quarantine #quarantinechronicles #bloggingfromquarantine

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alexsmitposts · 5 years ago

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NATO’s Collapse Draws Nearer Politicians and experts have been discussing the presence of a deep crisis within North Atlantic Alliance for many decades. It may seem purely symbolic, however France has pointed out the existence of a crisis on multiple occasions: first in 1966, when Charles de Gaulle decided to withdraw France from the military integrated structures of NATO, and then when the alliance’s headquarters were transferred from Paris to Brussels. Now the French President, Emmanuel Macron, has given his objective assessment of NATO’s “brain-death” in both an interview with the Economist in November 2019, and then recently in a joint press conference with his Tunisian counterpart, Kais Saied, after a dangerous incident involving war ships of two NATO members (France and Turkey) off the Libyan coast. According to Macron, Europe today finds itself “on the precipice”, as members of the Alliance have clearly not been coordinated in their recent actions and the United States is increasingly turning away from the Old World. All of this means that the time has come for Europe to wake up, to start building up its own strength, and to think of itself as an independent geopolitical pole of power, otherwise it “will not control its own fate.” The French leader has realized that, under the United States’ leadership, the NATO bloc is not able to protect Europe’s interests in the era of China’s ascent and the West’s strained relations with Russia and Turkey. The French President has therefore expressed his frustration on Europe’s dependence on Washington’s whims, at a time where the American President is “turning his back on Europe” and does not “subscribe to the European idea”. As an example of this, he pointed to Trump’s sudden decision to withdraw some of his troops from the North-Eastern region of Syria, leaving his Kurdish allies to fend for themselves, without consulting his NATO partners first. In this context, Macron believes that NATO can only survive if the United States agrees to maintain its status as the Alliance’s main bastion of security. However, how long Washington can play this role for is unclear. On November 15, the United States Secretary of State, Mike Pompeo, whilst addressing the Baker Institute in Houston, commented on Macron’s assessment of NATO’s “brain-death”, noting that there have never been perfect relations within the Alliance. “We ought not to think the moment is new or fresh. The nations that comprise NATO have different interests. We saw what Turkey did these past few weeks,” said Pompeo. Today, a crisis is brewing between the United States and Germany, which Donald Trump is continuing to stoke, whether with automobile duties, sanctions for cooperating with Russia (in particular for “Nord Stream 2”), or the withdrawal of NATO troops, as the German newspaper Der Tagesspiegel reports. “The United States President’s decision to withdraw part of the American military contingent from Germany is evidence of the wider issues within NATO,” announced retired General Ben Hodges the other day, who previously served as commander of the US military contingent in Europe. It is interesting to note that America had originally explained that their presence in Germany was not due to the North Atlantic partnership, but to “protect [Germany] against Russia”. This announcement led to ironic ridicule in German society. “Trump is saying that he is protecting Germany’s safety. But from what? Germany has become both a target and a hostage in any military conflict,” announced Waldemar Herdt, a member of the Bundestag. “I welcome Trump’s decision to start the demilitarization of Germany, because he is using NATO to provide for the economic needs of the United States against the interests of other Alliance members. In light of this, the German elites must learn to start thinking as a sovereign state, rather than as a vassal state of the United States,” emphasized Herdt. A representative of the “Green” party in Germany and a member of the foreign affairs committee, Jürgen Trittin, has also recently discussed the idea that NATO is undergoing an existential crisis and is only a shadow of an alliance. In Der Spiegel, he called for a sober evaluation of the situation and to recognize that NATO has become threadbare. The politician has called on Europe to solve the current issues independently and to resolve disputes within NATO, especially regarding its relationship with Russia and the Iranian nuclear deal, which the United States recently scrapped unilaterally without prior agreement with its partners. Trittin is convinced that Europe should stop feeling nostalgic for NATO and start consolidating its own strengths, backing the horse of sustainable sovereignty. Many politicians and experts have already spoken about a crisis within NATO. Washington-lead operations in Afghanistan and Libya, which are outside the formal area of the Alliance’s responsibility, have been going on for many years without great success, despite bold statements from Washington and Brussels. As NATO is still a bloc in which the United States dominates militarily and imposes its policies on other member states, many European NATO countries are now raising their concerns about the possibility of the United States switching its attention to the Pacific region, and hence there being further unwarranted expansion of the Alliance’s operation zones. As we can see, NATO is ill-equipped in the combat against terrorism. It is difficult to implement the decision about the increase of defense spending by member states: in 2014 it was agreed that each state should increase defense contributions to at least 2% of GDP by 2024. However, according to NATO’s statistical data, only two countries reached the 2% threshold in 2019, Poland and Latvia, while Lithuania, Romania, Estonia, Great Britain and Greece all already spend slightly more than 2%. Only two countries allocate more than 3% of GDP on defense spending – the United States and Bulgaria. There is not a great deal of time before the deadline, and there is no certainty that 20 of the 29 member states will “boost” their spending. In many European countries, more than 50% of defense spending goes on staff. Small European armies now live in comfort and do not want to fight. There is also no European country which could simultaneously be part of NATO and a potential European army. Last December, the NATO summit was held in London, and it was perhaps the most scandalous and controversial in the Alliance’s 70-year history, which is why the West’s military and political observers and experts were united in saying that the Alliance is experiencing the most serious crisis in its existence. The American President, Donald Trump, has already spoken about the “uselessness of NATO” and the fact that “Europe should look after itself” in fairly harsh terms, and indeed Trump simply walked out of the final press conference in London. The American editor of Defense One has said that “NATO’s biggest threat is not from external enemies, but from within.” Following Washington’s directives, NATO Secretary General Jens Stoltenberg is using NATO to clamp down on the “threat policy”, at times pointing to the growing threat from Russia, or now looking at China, who “want to use the current coronavirus pandemic to strengthen their confrontation with NATO.” The formation of four NATO battalion groups has only recently been completed, strengthening grouping in the Baltic and Black seas. The Alliance’s infrastructure is continuing to be developed, and almost every day there are reports that Eastern European countries are starting or completing the construction of some facility or another. Recently, particular attention has been paid to strengthening the southern flank: American and British forces have sprung up in Romania, and multinational brigades are being formed there. Today, European security has taken a turn for the worse: for the first time in many years the security of the region is again being defined not by measures of restraint, not by efforts to ensure security without resorting to military force, but by maintaining a sort of “balance of threats”. This is leading to an even greater military concentration and confrontation in Europe. In doing this, and blinkered by his Russophobic prejudice, Jens Stoltenberg is not even listening to the Supreme Commander of NATO in Europe, Tod Wolters, who officially announced in a March 20, 2020 briefing that “Russia won’t be using the current international crisis for the advancing of its interests.” Linked with this, it is worth recalling what the previous German Minister of foreign affairs, Joschka Fischer, said, underlining the fact that, “NATO’s future is more uncertain now than at any time in its history… Europeans should not harbor any illusions about what defense autonomy will require. For the European Union, which has only ever seen itself as an economic rather than a military power, it implies a deep rupture with the status quo. To be sure, NATO still exists, and there are still US troops deployed in Europe. But the operative word is “still”. Now that traditional institutions and transatlantic security and commitments have been cast into doubt, the alliance’s unravelling has become less a matter of “if” than “when”.”

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paralleljulieverse · 6 years ago

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Following our recent posts marking the 60th anniversary of the wedding of Julie Andrews and Tony Walton, here we shine a brief spotlight on how the newlyweds were covered by the media in the early years of their marriage. Their May 1959 wedding was a definite high-water mark of media exposure for Julie and Tony but public interest didn’t end once they’d walked down the aisle. Newspapers and magazines continued to feature regular stories and photos about the ‘happy couple’, detailing what they were up to and how they were adapting to life as husband-and-wife.

Much of the coverage presented the newlyweds as a quintessentially modern couple who were combining the twin demands of dual careers with companionate marriage. A multi-page profile in the January 1960 issue of British women’s magazine, Housewife serves a good case-in-point. Essentially a ‘celebrities at home’ pictorial, the article marshals the couple’s “delightful new home––a large flat overlooking Eaton Square––to which they went when they were married eight months ago” as a symbolic expression of the blended amalgamations of marital domesticity (Antony: 38).

The “Andrews-Walton flat is a combination of their two careers,” the article chirps, “Julie’s piano has a prominent place and one room is made into Tony’s studio” (Antony: 40). Elsewhere it describes a cosy everyday scenario of domestic give-and-take as “Julie spends hours practising her singing” with Tony acting as one of her “sternest musical critics,” while Julie in turn “gets a thrill out of Tony’s work for the theatre [and] enjoys posing for his costume designs” (38-39). The image painted here is a transactional blend of conventional married home-life with newer forms of egalitarian coupledom: “two young people––both so young and in love––embarking on a duet” in “their lovely new home...a good basis for security in their marriage” (40-41).

Other profiles were considerably less blithesome. A recurrent refrain in a lot of the media coverage of Julie and Tony’s marriage was the perceived challenges faced by a couple in which, as one early newspaper report put it, “the wife’s name has embarrassingly eclipsed the husband’s” (Wilson: 10). In an era still tethered to orthodox notions of male breadwinners and female homemakers, a union in which the wife assumed greater professional and financial prowess than the husband was sufficiently novel to evoke both curiosity and, at times, unease.

In the newspaper profile just mentioned, Cecil Wilson (1959) strikes a note of thinly-veiled anxiety when discussing what he apprehends as a gendered dilemma in the couple’s marriage. Titled “How Not to Be Known as Mr Julie Andrews”, the article asserts a very traditional view of marriage in terms of masculine dominance and feminine support. “No man could have done more in less time” than Tony Walton, it proclaims, “to rise above the reflected glory of being ‘Julie Andrews’s husband’ or, worse still, the ignominious label of ‘Mr. Julie Andrews’” (10). “Since his childhood sweetheart from Walton-on-Thames consolidated her...stardom in My Fair Lady, he has firmly established the name of Tony Walton by designing four West End shows...[and n]ow, to give Julie Andrews further pride in being known as Tony Walton’s wife, he has gone into management” as a theatre producer (ibid.).*

It is a testament to Julie and Tony’s fortitude and well-grounded emotional security that, for the most part, they deflected such concerns as immaterial. Responding to a reporter’s question about how her status as “one of the country’s wealthiest young actresses” impacted her new married lifestyle, Julie demurred: “I don’t know how much I’m worth...We haven’t a car, although I hold a licence. But Tony holds the important licence, the marriage one” (Hickey: 3). Later, on the eve of her departure for New York to start rehearsals for Camelot, Julie mused further on the ambivalent demands of career and marriage: “Of course it’s nice to get back to work. I love the stage. But what I really like and what I want to do is to settle down and be plain Mrs. Walton” (Tanfield: 12).

For his part, Tony Walton struck a particularly mature and, for the time, progressive attitude to the unorthodox dynamics of his and Julie’s marriage. When asked in a 1959 interview if he experienced “professional jealousy” of Julie, he replied with categorical pragmatism: “Not a bit. After all, Julie has one career and I have another. But I still wouldn’t rank my fame with hers” (Wilson: 10). It was a consistently balanced approach he maintained––at least publicly––right throughout the marriage, even after Julie had graduated to the exponentially increased fame and fortune of film stardom. “[T]he embarrassments people see for me are easily coped with because they’re so absurd,” he remarked in a 1966 article, “I’d be stupid if I let them affect me” (Leslie: 8). If there is any problem, he ventured in an admirably democratic take on modern marriage, it is

“who at any one time is going to be the support. I don’t mean financial but emotional––which is the basis on which the whole marriage is built. When Julie and I were both in the theatre, and she was rehearsing at something and I was working at something else, the pressure times would swing back and forth between us. And at times I’d find myself taking on an almost feminine role, trying to calm, soothe, protect or whatever. And then as soon as I was deeply involved and under pressure then the roles would be reversed. I think if I were an over-dominant kind of male I’d find this situation harder to cope with. But neither of us is over-poweringly masculine or over-poweringly feminine” (ibid.)

That the marriage of Julie Andrews and Tony Walton ultimately didn’t last is a matter of historical record. Following extended periods of separation, the two officially filed for divorce in November 1967, eight and a half years after they were wed (”Julie Andrews Suing”: I-23). But the pair have, by all accounts, maintained a strong and enduring friendship, even after both of them found and subsequently married new partners (Robins: D-6). In fact, Julie is fond of recounting how Tony and his second wife, Gen LeRoy-Walton, affectionately refer to her as “our ex” (Andrews: 323). “They’re best friends and they gang up against me,” explains Tony Walton of the relationship between his former and current partners (McDonnell: 3D). As Julie observed in a 2001 interview: “[T]he divorce was extremely sobering but I've known [Tony] since I was 13 and he was 12, and you cannot undo that knowledge” (Birch: 16).

Notes:

* This kind of angst-ridden discourse about the perceived gendered power imbalance of the Andrews-Walton marriage intensified once Julie made the move to Hollywood and the even greater success of global film stardom. “When a wife starts earning much more money than her husband,” wrote one especially egregious example, “the marriage is not long for the lasting” (Shearer: 15). Such sensationalist commentary was evident even in international reports.”Julie Andrews and her prince-consort” was how one French-language article billed the marriage (Von Cottom: 22).

Sources:

Andrews, Julie. Home: A Memoir of My Early Years. London: Weidenfeld & Nicolson, 2008.

Antony, Jonquil. “Theatrical Duet in Eaton Square.” House Wife. March 1960: 38-41.

Birch, Helen. “Truly Andrews.” Daily Telegraph. 7 December 2001: 15-16.

Hickey, William. “For Julie it’s the Beginning.” Daily Express. 8 August 1959: 3.

Jordan, Ruth. “No Fashion Fuss for Julie.” Woman’s Journal. December, 1959: 26-27, 134.

“Julie Andrews Suing Designer for Divorce.” Los Angeles Times. 15 November 1967: I-23.

Leslie, Ann. “Beating the Hysteria: ‘Mr. Julie Andrews’.” Daily Express. 19 April 1966: 8.

McDonnell, Brandy. “Tony Time.” The Oklahoman / Sunday Life. 27 May 2018: D1-D3.

Robins, Cynthia. “When Art and Love Meld Successfully.” San Francisco Examiner. 6 September 1992: D-6.

Shearer, Lloyd. “When a Wife Earns More than a Husband.” Parade. 9 July 1967: 14-15.

Tanfield, Paul. “My Year of Bliss...by Julie Andrews.” Daily Mail. 18 August 1960: 12.

Von Cottom, Joseph. “Julie Andrews et son prince-consort: le pitoyable drame des maris de vedettes.” Ciné-Télé-Revue. 4 August 1966: 22-23.

Wilson, Cecil. “How Not to Be Known as Mr Julie Andrews.” Daily Mail. 24 September 1959: 10.

Photographs by John Dixon, George Konig, and anon.

#julie andrews #tony walton #my fair lady #celebrity #stardom #musical theatre #old hollywood #marriage #london #eaton square #belgravia

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sweetstudies77 · 5 years ago

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Pressing On & Prepping for 2L

Y’all. The past year has been difficult beyond measure.

TL;DR - Law school is hard. Being treated like crap at home makes it worse. Friends help. I’m grateful for my support system. Whatever you’re dealing with, I believe in you! You can make it.

TW: some discussion of verbal/emotional abuse by romantic partner.

The struggle has been real. Not purely academically, but personally as well. Here’s my story.

My Blog

I started this little study blog as a creative outlet. I frequently looked to other studyblrs’ beautiful blog posts with photos of coffee and neatly written class notes for motivation as I embarked on my first year of law school. As I wrap up my 1L summer, I have been given the opportunity to reflect on the past 365 days and it has been quite a journey. Beginning School

I began 1L in August of 2018 with bright eyes and an eagerness to do the very best I could. I read through several blog posts with advice for rising 1L’s. The advice I received included tips like “always go to class,” “actually do the reading,” and lots of links to useful school supplies. As wonderful as the advice was, nothing could have fully prepared me for the year to come.

On the first day, I walked into the school with no interest in socializing. I actually texted my mom “I am not here to make friends.” I didn’t see the utility in social connections and frequently experienced bouts of social anxiety which made reaching out to others nearly unbearable.

My Schedule

I lived with a boyfriend in a cute little apartment in the downtown of a city approximately 40 minutes from school. On Sundays, I would cook lunches for the week, carefully selecting healthy choices, mindful of what foods he liked/didn’t like. I’d stack Tupperware containers with the week’s lunches in the fridge.

On the weekdays, I followed a 12 hour “on” (at school) and 12 hour “off” (at home) schedule which enabled me to beat traffic and maximize my time at school, making time for one-hour windows to go to the gym and break for lunch. I made sure to get home with enough time to make dinner and spend a few hours with my then boyfriend before going to bed. This way, I did all of my studying at school and could be fully present while at home. I wasn’t going to allow law school to interfere with my relationship and my home life.

Weekday mornings, I would wake up around 5:30am, get dressed, make coffee, and head to school. Usually I’d arrive at the law library between 7:15 and 7:30am and read/review my notes for the class ahead. I made sure to always be prepared for any cold call that could be thrown at me (I actually wasn’t called on at all during first term). I’d remain at school until approximately 7pm when I would drive home to make dinner.

On the weekends, I dubbed one day my “study day” and the other my “no school” day. Hoping we could still make weekend plans and enjoy each other’s company.

This system worked until midterms, when the boyfriend started to complain about how much I talked about school. Fine, I thought. I’ll just talk about school less and make sure our time together was more intentional. Nope. Even through minimizing how much I talked about school, any mention of my school friends or new class topics was met with hostility.

I thought my relationship would grow stronger, especially because I was prioritizing it above so much else and working hard to keep us together and happy. My hope was that, through making myself consistently available for a few hours a day, we would be able to have almost as much together time as we did before law school. I was sadly mistaken.

*Failing Relationship

My then boyfriend saw the hours I carved out to make time for him as restrictive. If I asked to spend time together during the evenings or on my “no school” day rather than the “study day,” I would be told that my school schedule “wasn’t his problem.” He chose to spend time with his friends rather than me on the free days and but the time he wanted to spend time with me, I was studying. I felt bad for trying to pigeonhole him and worked to make more time for him during the week. It was never enough.

I felt so alone. Stretched so thin and trying to be the very best at school, being a girlfriend, and homemaking. I never once received a “thanks” … which didn’t bother me initially because, of course, he had never asked me to stretch myself so thin. But wasn’t this a partnership?

I ended up finishing my first term in the top 11% (not 10% as I was JUST below the cutoff for that). I was disappointed because top 10% was my goal, but I resolved to get better. To do better. My school is on the quarter system and we have three terms per year (plus optional summer sessions), so I figured I had enough time to finish first year even better. I started studying with a group and had no idea how much of an impact these three students would have on my life moving forward.

*Crashing Down

Long story short, things at home got so bad that I started to question my ability to perform at school. I did not share with the boyfriend how I was feeling at all times, but I would do my best to calmly explain concerns with the relationship when they became relevant. Expressing myself became akin to walking on eggshells, but I still thought I could make it work if I just tried hard enough. I was regularly insulted, gaslighted, or ignored. Whenever I was upset about something, I was told that I was being “dramatic.” His friends took priority over our plans together and my boundaries were constantly crossed (example: I don’t like having people come to our apartment to drink often, but I requested that IF we were going to have company, that the boyfriend at least tell me about it in advance so I could make sure I was dressed… he never told me in advance).

I experienced stress induced hives, rapid weight loss, and extreme anxiety about everything. I began thinking that I was not good enough and that nothing I did even mattered. I even started to believe him when he told me I was stupid. My study group reassured me of my abilities and extended kindness and support beyond what I had ever seen at home. They urged me to leave my boyfriend and move to a safer place. Eventually I did and I am so glad… but things have been far from “all better” since I made that decision.

The summer began on a bittersweet note. I had dropped to just below the top 30% and I had broken up with my boyfriend of two years. We still lived together but I would be moving out soon. I felt discouraged about my class rank, and I didn’t know what the future would hold.

Because of the mental strain and emotional abuse* I did not apply to many summer internships or other extracurricular activities. I just didn’t think I was good enough. This left me confused and even more anxious, but fortunately I was afforded the opportunity to intern at a local firm, thanks to one of my study group friends. *Abuse is the word the school counselor used to describe the way my ex talked to and manipulated me – I do not intend to demonize my ex nor do I want to paint him as a bad person. Please note that several details of the circumstances have been left out in the interest of writing a blog post rather than a novel on how “bad” it was. If you or someone you know is experiencing any type of abuse, please reach out to a trained professional.

Starting Over

This month, I am wrapping up a summer internship at a local private defense law firm. My friend reached out and offered to talk to his old boss about having me shadow him for the summer when he realized the magnitude of my situation. Thankfully I have not spent the entire summer twiddling my thumbs. I am extremely grateful for this and all of the kindness of my classmates.

Today, I am living at my mom’s house and preparing for 2L. I wish I could say something along the lines of “I made it through the storm. Everything is fine now.” But that’s not how it works. My mom is further away from the school than my old apartment and living with my family makes me feel like a bit of a child. Before law school, I worked in advertising and lived in my little apartment for three years. I feel like I am moving backwards. My best friend is getting married in November and I am her maid of honor. This means planning a bachelorette party and making hotel reservations for the wedding. I am so happy for her, but it is hard not to feel like I’ve gotten the short end of the stick. My class rank is lower than I want it to be and I worry about what this may mean for the future and my career. With all of this, it is still easier to breathe. My laughter is genuine, and I don’t have a sense of doom or fear at the end of the day anymore. I am able to sleep through the night without a sleep aid. And most importantly, for me, I am not faced with constant insults or gaslighting anymore.

Looking Ahead

Focusing on the negative has never been helpful for me, so I have to keep going. I don’t know what’s in store for the future, but I am hopeful for good things. I know we all have tough things going on in our lives and school performance is just the tip of the iceberg. If nothing else, I want to encourage you to press on. That’s what I would have told myself in December when my façade of perfection came crumbling around me.

Lastly, hold on to your support system. Make sure that someone knows if you’re in trouble. And make time for socializing. You never know when your friends are going to be your rock.

#law school #personal #surviving #studyblr #law studyblr #verbal abuse #emotional abuse #narcicist #breaking up #disillusioned #keepgoing #press on #keep going #you can do it #moveon #move along #positivity #it will be okay

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jchall110 · 5 years ago

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So ordinarily I would put something like this on my Twitter, as that’s kind of turned into my personal vent/diary platform as of recent, but this is going to be much longer than Twitter can allow, and I need to write this all out without losing my train of thought. It’s gonna go behind a Read More, and I’d like to request that you only read it if we’ve been mutuals for a while, and only if you really want to. I’m not expecting any response, hell I don’t want any responses, I just need to put my thoughts down somewhere, and if I put it in a Google doc or something I’m gonna come back to it later and dwell on it, but if I just put it somewhere and immediately delete it, I’m not going to be able to talk to my therapist about it on Monday. Anyway, content warnings abound, as I’m gonna be talking about depression, anxiety, self-harm, suicide, covid-19, stalking, emotional abuse, and a pretty negative experience I had in a partial hospitalization program at a local mental institute. You’ve been warned. (Also for those of you who are new here, “ignore me” is my personal rant/vent tag, feel free to blacklist it to avoid seeing future posts like this)

So. Here’s a brief recap of the past year and a half in my life. Back in October of 2018, my best friend went through a very bad breakup with her emotionally abusive ex, while another of my friends was struggling very much with his mental health and attempted suicide. I was miserable working at Target and was gearing up to return to school in the Spring. I had also had feelings for the friend who went through the breakup, and she sort of had feelings for me, but she also had feelings for the other friend, and I had some vague kind-of feelings for the other friend as well, so in December we all decided “fuck it, let’s all date.” I won’t recap the full details of the relationship but it was a goddamn shitshow. His mental heath continued to deteriorate and he wasn’t seeking treatment for any of it, her mental health was extremely poor as well as a result of two years of emotional abuse and extreme codependency issues, and my mental health suffered greatly because of the expectations placed on me, as well as his frequent mood shifts where he would go from wanting to spend the rest of our lives together to, at one point, telling me things in an effort to get me to hurt or kill myself. Not a good situation by any measure. School was good, though, and the two classes I took last Spring were excellent, and I was ready to go back to school full-time in the Fall. Flash forward to September of 2019. My mental health is terrible, though my academics are very strong. I decide, after a few specific incidents, that I can’t be in the relationship with the both of them anymore and break up with him. A lot of bad things happened. She ended up leaving him as well. Then, about a month later, she left me as well and moved out of the state with someone she had met on OKCupid only a few weeks prior. At this point I need to take a medical leave of absence from school and move back in with my parents because I’m so depressed and traumatized that I can barely function. You see, since breaking up with him, he had been harassing me, even after I had attempted to get the police involved. He would call me, text me, make new Facebook accounts to send me message requests, anything to try to get in touch with me. So with all of this happening, and with me basically unable to do anything, I decide to look into a partial hospitalization program at a mental institution not far from where I live. Insurance covered most of it, my parents said they’d pay for the rest, so I started the program in early November. Ordinarily it’s only a three or four week program. I was there for at least 5. It was essentially a day program, so I would be there from 9 to 3 every day Monday to Friday. It was a really great program, except for a few things. Firstly, because it was a program both for mental health and addiction, a lot of the programming wasn’t really applicable to me, as the only thing that I’m addicted to is sugar, and I have no plans to break that habit. There’s a history of temporary psychosis caused by mind-altering substances in my family, and I don’t want to even find out if it applies to me as well. I barely even drink. So anyway, I was one of maybe three people who was there exclusively for mental health, so my options for programming were a bit limited, until a bunch of us complained about the repetitiveness of that aspect of the program and they switched things up a bit. Unfortunately it was at the tail end of my time in the program, so I didn’t exactly get much benefit from that. Secondly, and more importantly, close to the end of my time in the program, one of the mental health workers, a pre-doctoral intern who was running most of the “classes” that I was in, said a few things to me that were really frustrating and upsetting. Firstly she said that “ADHD doesn’t exist, it’s just a reaction to trauma. Too many kids are getting diagnosed with it when they just have regular attention issues, and in adults a diagnosis is almost always accompanied with trauma. And of course people are going to perform better when they’re on a stimulant.” Which. Is wrong on so many accounts. First of all, it’s overdiagnosed in the wrong people and massively underdiagnosed in the people who actually have it, especially young girls. And secondly, of course it’s paired with trauma when adults are diagnosed with it. They’ve had to deal with it for their entire lives up until then without knowing why they couldn’t do things the same way as everyone else, and there’s also a lot of trauma in general that comes with having ADHD considering how many people say “Oh, you’re just not trying hard enough” or “You’re just making excuses,” not to mention the self esteem issues that come with it. And thirdly, yeah people will perform better when on stimulants, but does taking a stimulant make everyone else tired? Cuz it does for me because it lets me slow down my brain enough to actually sleep. So yeah, that was fucked up. But the second thing she said was probably worse, and it didn’t actually occur to me how much this impacted me until earlier today when I realized something, but I’ll get to that realization soon. So it’s my second-to-last day in the program. I had gotten almost no sleep the previous night because I had a massive panic attack right before bed because my asswipe ex messaged me some really fucked up stuff. So I’m way out of it, and my ability to concentrate is pretty shit. I’m doing my best, though, and I’m paying attention to the discussion. We were talking about the parts of the brain and how they’re impacted by trauma. There were a few times during that day where I had forgotten words but still knew what I was talking about, and at least one of them had happened in front of this woman. So she asks “Does anybody know what the part of the brain is that connects the two hemispheres?” I say “Oh, I do” cuz I do know what it is, but for the life of me I can’t remember what the name is. (It’s the corpus callosum.) So she looks at me and says, out loud, in front of the entire group, “You know, it’s okay if we don’t know everything.” So I get all flustered and embarrassed and mad at myself because, in my ADHD people-pleaser brain, the teacher just failed me in front of the whole class and now they all hate me. So I don’t say a goddamn word for the rest of the day, and the next day I leave without saying goodbye to that one woman, after leaving a glowing review in the exit survey. So the thing about this that’s really fucked up is that like two days before, I sat down with her and told her how I have a lot of specific trauma around rejection and failure, especially relating to my dad and how he constantly asserts that I don’t try hard enough or that I need to do better, shit like that. Like, that was a major theme with me the whole time I was in the program. It was like, getting over the intense rejection of my best friend/girlfriend running away with a guy she just met, and my relationship with my dad. That was it. (Of the two, the one there that’s still a major thing in my life is my relationship with my dad. At this point, she can fuck off with whoever she wants. I’m more pissed at her than anything else now.) So for her to turn around and embarrass me in front of the entire group like that, when there was solid evidence that a) I did know what I was talking about and b) I was having a very off day was really messed up. In thinking about it, there was quite a few messed up things that she did in the last week or so that I was there. Probably more during the rest of my time there but I don’t actually remember most of it because working on your trauma can be traumatizing itself, go figure. Anyway, I had almost completely forgotten about that until earlier today when I was thinking about how I was getting much more sensitive to rejection and perceived failure recently than I was before all this had happened. Part of it is probably my increased estrogen dose fucking with my mood, but the majority of it, I think, stems from that one incident of her pretty much violating my trust and invalidating me in front of like twelve people that I really trusted and felt close with. Fucked me up, yo. Anyway, so I leave the program and start working for my dad at his machine shop. Things are going super well, I’m making a fair bit of money, keeping in touch with my friends as best I can, and doing my best to avoid my ex harassing me further. About midway through December I change my phone number so that he’ll stop calling me (he had several ways to get around me blocking his number), and in the middle of February I change my name on Facebook so he won’t be able to find me and send me more message requests, cuz there’s no way to stop that from happening either, and the police were useless because “I wasn’t in any physical danger.” At this point he had moved away from my town, presumably back with his parents but I don’t really know, and I really don’t care. So he messages my siblings on Facebook trying to get my phone number, and then somehow finds my Facebook again and sends me a picture of him cutting his wrist. So I get fed up, go to a local domestic violence prevention nonprofit, talk with one of their advocates, and file a restraining order against him. It gets approved, and the messages stop. A court date is set for us both to meet with a judge to discuss everything and see if it needs to stay in place or not or whatever, and for about 2 weeks everything is great. Then covid-19 starts hitting. I get what was probably just the flu or a cold or whatever a few days before the court date. Then the state that I live in announces that most court hearings are postponed until mid-April. I check on the website and find that stalking and domestic violence, among a few others, are exempt from this and will be going on as scheduled. Because I was recently sick, I call the courts the day before and ask if I can appear over the phone. They say yes, it’s all good, great. So the next morning I call in and things get moving. It turns out that my ex didn’t show up to the hearing, even though he definitely knew about it. So I talk with the judge for a few minutes and we decide that I don’t need the restraining order anymore because he’s not likely to start harassing me again, and if he does I can always get a new one or get the police involved. And so far I haven’t heard a peep from him so I’m assuming that chapter of my life is closed for good, which is excellent. But then more things start to close down, and my dad basically tells me that he doesn’t really need me at work and it’s best if I stay home. So since then I’ve been staying at home. It’s been 15 days total that I’ve been home, with only minimal trips to work for an hour here and there. And I really don’t do well with isolation. It’s not all bad, because I live with my parents, so I have some social contact, but as was mentioned above I don’t exactly get along with my dad, I don’t have a lot in common with my stepmom, and my grandmother is a grumpy old lady who isn’t very good for conversations about much else than knitting and Jeopardy. I’ve been doing my best to stay in touch with folks online, and it’s been decent, but it’s still pretty rough. And when Animal Crossing came out and all of my friends started playing it, I started feeling even worse because I’m poor as shit and don’t even have a Switch, and they’re fucking $400, which is a whole student loan payment for me. So I’ve been pretty miserable the past two weeks. To top it all off, I have to register for Fall classes next week, and I don’t think I can even imagine that far into the future right now. The world is supremely fucked, and there’s almost no way that I’ll even be able to afford to go back to school. I’ll probably have to drop out entirely. For at least a few years. And I’m really not ready to give up on school right now. Like I said above, I’m really sensitive to failure, and this is the third time I’ve tried, and failed, at college. And I’m getting real frustrated about it. The first time it was my ADHD, which at the time was undiagnosed. The second time it was mental health and my asshole ex harassing me. Now, when I finally have my ducks in a row, it’s money. The one thing that no amount of treatment or medication or court hearings will change. Plus there’s all the political bullshit going on still, and the impending collapse of society as we know it, and any number of other global crises (yes, that is the proper plural of crisis) going on. Oh, did I mention I’m an empath and the moods and emotions of the people around me, and of the world in general, pretty heavily impact me? I’ve been able to tell when some massive tragedy occurred even before the news story breaks. So yeah, all in all I’m doing about the worst I’ve been doing since high school before I was on antidepressants, and it’s really hard to see any end to this tunnel. I know I’m one in several hundred million people who are struggling right now, and I’m lucky that I’m at least moderately healthy with a steady place to stay and things to eat, but goddamn if things aren’t shit for me right now. Like I said, I’m not looking for any kind of response, and if you even read all of this I’m legitimately surprised. I just needed to put this all down somewhere because keeping it in is getting to be almost too much.

Don’t worry, friends. I promise you I’m safe. I’m just scared, lonely, and really lost right now.

I love you all.

#ignore me #i promise you I'm safe #don't worry about me #and if you are worried send me a message like tomorrow or something and I'll prove to you that I'm safe #long post #don't reblog

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