#this is coming from someone who experiences awful intrusive thoughts from trauma. this is not the way

[meowthplushie]

posting this bc of the absolute shitshow i've been seeing on social media lately: do not follow me if you're a pedophile or zoophile. do not follow me if you think pedophiles and zoophiles deserve a "safe space and community". they don't need an echo chamber. they absolutely don't need to keep telling each other to create and share harmful content and make themselves worse + more dangerous in the name of "art liberation" and "no censorship". fuck all the way off

[drag-me-kicking-and-screaming]

It's kind of scary how much I relate to "Blow my brains out" by Tikkle Me

here's me relating to every lyric. Like individually

note: I tagged this with autism tags because a lot of these things are about autism so if you follow autistic tags and don't want to see me rant about wishes to kms I suggest scrolling. Also extreme cursing

Sometimes I wish I could lend you my eyes - See the world through my eyes, know my experiences and maybe you'd have a shred of empathy that you seem to stereotype me as not being capable of feeling Lend you my hips and lend you my thighs - I guess this is the "step into my shoes" metaphor so. yeah I'll talk more on it later in this post I'm tired rn Sometimes I wish I could take a new shape - I wish I could switch lives, I hate this one Switch out some parts and become a big A - sAme as above

Sometimes I wish I could lend you my ears - Sensitive hearing makes me snap at loud people which they laugh at me for Lend you my thoughts and lend you my tears - Have you tried living where every single fucking day you have a fucking breakdown because you want to fucking die? Would anyone fucking miss me? You wouldn't. I wish you could know how it fucking feels. Sometimes I wish I could take a new form - I hate my fucking body Switch out some parts and become like the norm - I'll never be able to fit in, I'll never be able to be like the norm, and it's fucking awful

Lucky is she, who lives unaware - You don't have the burden of knowing the trauma you've caused me. Who doesn't get bothered by those who don't care - You don't pick and choose every word someone's told you, subconsciously trying to find some underlying message of hatred. Lucky is she, who lives unaware - You don't know that every night I sit in my bed and wonder how people would react if I disappeared, and you don't have the burden of knowing it's your fault Who doesn't get bothered by all that's unfair - You don't think about the consequences because you know I've been beaten to a pulp and don't know how to stand up for myself Unlucky me, who knows way too much - I wish I could go back when I didn't know this about myself, before I knew my family and friends were fucked up Who fights to make changes and music and such - I can't though. This is the only line I don't relate to. Because everywhere I go I'm called an acoustic retarded faggot who should lay down in traffic, all because of who I didn't choose to be. Unlucky me, aware of the pain - I WANT TO ESCAPE. I HATE BEING AUTISTIC. THIS DISORDER RUINED MY FUCKING LIFE AND NOW THAT I'M AWARE OF IT IT'S BECOME EVEN WORSE. I WISH I WAS NEVER BORN All 'cause I happen to have some brain - I'm better than this. I know I am. Everyone around me tells me I'm better than this. Then why am I such a useless fuck who can't even get over my own stupid intrusive thoughts? I'm better than this. And yet I'm the only one smart enough to know that I'm not good enough for anything.

Sometimes I wish I could lend you my voice - See how much effort it takes to keep it from shaking? To keep me from crying? Lend you my heart and lend you my choice - I don't have either. I want to be able to empathize and have friends but even if I wasn't autistic I can't. I've been so severely ruined by the people around me including at home that I can't even trust myself anymore. So why the hell would I trust you? Please take my heart, it's been ruined already. Sometimes I hope for a savior to come - I don't believe in god, but if I did I'd pray every day for him to come down and kill me himself. Why create me to make me suffer? Please send a savior, to kill me or to save me, either is a positive. Who's got what it takes to convince everyone - Nobody would even believe me if I told them they were ableist pricks who bullied an autistic kid. Even if they did, it's not like they'd stop. It'd get worse, probably. Please, I wish they could understand, but they won't. They can't. They'll never understand how fucking traumatizing they've been to me and how irreversibly awful they've been to me.

Sometimes I wish I could lend you my shoes - You know that "step into my shoes" metaphor? Or whatever I never really got it, but maybe if you knew what it was like to be completely isolated and excluded since childhood for no real reason, and never know how to stand up for yourself or make friends because if those abilities weren't gone already they certainly are after my home life ruined it. Lend you my life and lend you my truth - I wish you could know. I wish you could relate. I wish you could understand. I wish you could fucking empathize but you never do. But you stereotype autistic kids as being unable to feel empathy? You fucking hypocrite! You're a fucking monster! But sometimes the truth is just my point of view - I guess it's just imposter syndrome. It happens to everyone, I get it, but there's always a voice that tells me I'm being overdramatic. I don't believe it, but it leaks into everything else; all my issues are selfish and ignorable. I just need to get over it. I'm better than this. Not what is real and not what is true - Nothing is fucking real. I'm not fucking real. I mean I am and you are and everything is but the panic that grips me when the water I splash on myself is lukewarm and unfeelable instead of cool and grounding tends to make me forget that. And I don't know why, it's fucking pathetic honestly

Lucky is she, who lives unaware - You don't know I'm autistic. You don't know the pain I've gone through, laying awake knowing I'll never be able to be normal, I'll never be able to go out with friends to watch a movie, because I'll never be fucking normal, and it makes me want to die. Who doesn't get bothered by those who don't care - You're so lucky, honestly. If you were autistic, you wouldn't be bothered by this, you'd be able to brush it off, you wouldn't be affected. Because you have a family who cares enough about you that they don't manipulate you at every turn they get. You have support. I don't. I'm ignorable and forgettable and useless. Lucky is she, who lives unaware - If you are somehow autistic, you don't know. You don't know the pain of knowing I'll never have friends, or a social life, or self fucking esteem, all because of this stupid fucking disorder. And that's not universal, obviously. So I'm just being an overdramatic crybaby, I know. Who doesn't get bothered by all that's unfair - You've been so cruel to me. You wouldn't be bothered; you obviously aren't. Unlucky me, who knows way too much - I can't keep repeating myself, you get the gist. Who fights to make changes and music and such - I wish, I wish I had a passion that I could keep committed to. Every test I've taken told me I should be a writer! Or an artist! But who the fuck would hire someone as useless as me? Or who would read my shitty projection and words? Anyone can do that. Unlucky me, aware of the pain - I was diagnosed with depression when I was 10. I wish I wasn't. I thought I was cured, but I wasn't; maybe I was just trying to convince myself I was and lied to myself enough that it became true. At least, for me. But that's just a game theory, don't listen to me! All 'cause I happen to have some brain - I'm better than this. I'm better than you. I'm better than you. I'm better than this body, this disorder, this trauma. Then why do you beat me down, and why does it affect me? Why does this body trap me and suffocate me? Why does this useless fucking disorder ruin everything it touches? It's touched me. I'd argue I'm pretty ruined, though that sounds pretty cliche. Why does my trauma hold me back? I'll never be normal and it's because of the trauma. I'm not better than the trauma, or the disorder, or this body, or you. And I'm smarter than you. I have the brains to realize that but I don't know how to say it without sounding like a prick.

Lucky is she, who lives unaware - I wish I was lucky. I wish I was unaware. Maybe I'd be happier if I wasn't. Lucky is she, who lives unaware - I wish I was you. Not because you're better than me, but because you're blissfully unaware of my problems. If I didn't know my own problems, I'd be happier, right? Unlucky me, who knows way too much - I can't think of what else to write. I don't know what else to write that isn't just rants about hating myself and wanting to die, that's too unoriginal. Who fights to make changes and music and such - Read above, I guess, IDK Unlucky me, aware of the pain - I wish I wasn't, because maybe that would make it go away. Maybe that would make it not exist. I know my logic is bad but it's better than nothing, right? All 'cause I happen to have some brain - Thanks for reading this, really. I know most people will just scroll past but if you read the whole thing it means a lot. You don't have to interact but just. It means a lot. Thank you.

[volkamecha]

Something that gets me is that people care so much about children that are survivors of abuse but are no longer okay when those children aren’t children anymore and are learning to process their trauma in a way that doesn’t align with their glorified perfectly sanitary idea of a victim.

Just a heads up the rest of this is me being vulnerable. I believe it’s important to normalize these discussions to help others on their own journey towards recovery. This is a post about trauma play and play therapy.

———

Growing up and becoming an adult has made me realize and look back on how much shame I carried for the ways I processed trauma from a very young age. I had carried awful intrusive thoughts for the longest time and when I was like 6-11 years old I used art as a way to express and explore those thoughts I had. I always kept it to myself however because what I was drawing was shameful.

As you can imagine as an 11 year old still going through it persistently, I had a really poor understanding of morality and little control over my emotions. I thought the things I did, the way I behaved, and the way I treated others was perfectly normal. Most of it I don’t remember, but I do remember acting it out through toys or video games where I would fantasize about hurting small, vulnerable things. As a grown up, this never stopped. It’s just internalized now, because that’s how trauma play works when a positive conclusion isn’t found.

For people who struggle with BPD, C-PTSD or OSDD/DID, or intrusive thoughts, this isn’t unheard of at all.

I strongly do believe everything is nuanced and art is morally ambiguous and very situational. Everyone is different and everyone is going to process or represent their work in different ways, It’s not a black or white issue. Letting go of the guilt I felt over it and talking/sharing art with therapists about the thoughts I had and how I felt helped me go further in my recovery, because I was learning to not repress difficult emotions and punish myself for expressing them, but rather, being able to identify my emotions and learn how to work with them.

I do not think people who share this work publicly are bad people, only that they have difficult ways of coping and aren’t receiving the help they need. In trauma play, there is a desperate need to share the distress or expose others to it to feel heard or listened to. I am not going to say this is good or bad, only that there are more effective and appropriate ways to respond to traumatic representations in art rather than demean or criticize.

Art has always been my best friend when it comes to healing. Hell… most of the discoveries I’ve made about myself and the things I was learning about internally were almost always the result of me drawing or making comics to play out scenarios in my head. Sometimes, they were not clean, and that’s okay. It is not a reflection of who I am as a person, because who I am is someone who helps others.

I do believe overtime, morality policing and shit has made the internal critic that punishes me for expressing any emotion at all so much worse, whether I realize it or not. I can feel it. But there was nothing wrong with me being emotional or vulnerable. It was wrong for me to continuously hurt myself over it, because people I cared about were watching me do this to myself and hurting because of it.

Side note, I’m not a professional, I am only a psych major college student speaking from personal experiences in recovery. Just some little guy online.

[starleska]

when Logic twists: an analysis of Logan, cognitive distortions, and a future Side

spoilers ahead! this is a little deep-dive into some foreshadowing in the latest Sanders Sides episode, and what i believe the team are going for in terms of Logan’s arc. just some thoughts i had after the episode - i hope you enjoy, and would love to hear your thoughts too :) tw for discussion around mental illness, trauma, abuse, intrusive thoughts, therapy, etc. 

so, we all know that Thomas does a marvellous job portraying difficulties with mental health. he uses interactions between his Sides to carve out fun stories that dramatise the the internal struggles which come with facing complex situations, including those which arise from your specific history and mental illnesses. the writing behind Sanders Sides often uses consideration of real symptoms and therapeutic techniques in order to impart useful advice to the audience who may be struggling with similar issues. with all of this in mind, i thoroughly believe that a good chunk of you are correct about this new Side (foreshadowed in Logan’s eyes) being Wrath, or some variant of Stress or Anger, and here’s why: 

Logan is the side of Thomas which is constantly needing to pick up the slack. not only does he spend a good deal of his time de-escalating conflict between the other Sides, he is constantly letting his own dreams (and consequently, needs) fall by the wayside to comfort, validate and assist Thomas' overall desires. we even literally see him benched during the court case with Janus - his input is considered unimportant unless he is deemed as the voice of reason. with this understanding, Logan is viewed by the other Sides as a Side who doesn’t need help. He’s Logic, so they believe he always knows what is appropriate, and how to control himself - or even that he doesn’t need to control himself at all.  yet i don’t believe this to be the case, and i think ‘Working THROUGH Intrusive Thoughts’ foreshadows this in an intriguing way: by utilising the dynamic between Logan and Remus. for context, i am speaking as an individual who suffers from Complex Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (CPTSD), a form of PTSD. whilst the Thomas we know in the Sanders Sides universe is of course somewhat sanitised and simplified for the easier imparting of moral lessons, we know that this Thomas suffers from issues with intrusive thoughts, low self-esteem, and high anxiety. whether or not these can all be attributed to an underlying condition is irrelevant, but what is intriguing is whether these symptoms are being exacerbated by traumatic, triggering or otherwise stressful events affecting Thomas’ life - which, based on the direction ‘Working THROUGH Intrusive Thoughts’ went (using the relationship with Nico as a conduit), i think is true. when you experience a number of traumatic events or an acute amount of stress, your Logic can become faulty. let’s think about Logan not as a super-genius who just knows what is the correct thing to do all of the time: his knowledge comes from a bank of information and experiences, which he constantly uses to provide a ‘rational’ stance next to the more ‘emotional’ traits of each Side. yet Logic relies on evidence in order to build up this ‘rationality’. let’s think about a scenario wherein you are told every day by someone that you are ugly. now, if this occurred later in life, your Logic might have already rationalised that this is not the case - that you are beautiful just as you are, that this person is seeking to hurt you, that they are projecting, etc. your Logic would make those reasonable counterpoints based on past experience. however, if you were told by multiple people throughout your life, every day, that you are ugly - say, from caregivers, or close friends - you would internalise ‘i am ugly’ as part of that internal Logic. in the first scenario, you would be able to accurately evaluate the thought, ‘i am ugly’ as a cognitive distortion. however, in the latter scenario, you may be unable to, because you have this bank of ‘evidence’ that other people perceive this as reality. even if those people are abusers, or have an ulterior motive, the notion will be internalised and become your reality - so your Logic will say, ‘i am ugly, based on all of the evidence.’  i find this interesting because in this latest episode, they specifically had Logan call attention to cognitive distortions. we must remember that Logan is a part of Thomas. this is Thomas attempting to rationalise with himself, to implement mindfulness and CBT techniques which he knows to be successful, because they have worked in the past and he has it on scientific authority that they help with intrusive thoughts. but this leads us to a question: what happens when you experience so many traumatic events, or so much stress, that your Logic turns against you and begins to validate your intrusive thoughts?  imagine for a moment Logan’s awesome rational power - but levied in support of all of Thomas’ deepest fears. in my own experience with CPTSD, a horribly thorny mental trap is the one you fall into when you start down the path of ‘i must be a horrible person, just like they said. i must have deserved everything done to me. look at all of the evidence.’ these thoughts often appear rational due to the intense nature of the sufferer’s pain, particularly if that pain is repeated or prolonged. i believe that Logan’s outburst, paired with Thomas’ fretting over not receiving a call back from Nico, are supposed to represent the building stages of this mental trap. such thoughts are difficult to emerge from, but they become even more difficult to deal with when met with a powerful emotion: Rage. if you have cause to think thoughts of the ‘i am a disgusting human being’ variety thanks to trauma, stress or similar negative events, often there is a good deal of pent-up Rage stored alongside. justifiable Rage, one might say - it certainly feels so in the mind of someone who has suffered so terribly. if one is prone to hating themselves, feeling inadequate or other fertile breeding ground for intrusive thoughts, they may also sometimes snap into the opposite extreme - becoming infuriated by everything that has happened to them, and that they are still needing to deal with yet more pain in the present. this is something i have suffered from personally: when mixed with trauma, it is equal parts emotional dysregulation, and being triggered by something. you might be enRaged by the idea that you were ever ‘passive’ as a victim of something terrible, and want to ‘fight back’. in other words, the emotional state of your Rage will feel justified - and this can cause you to engage in some deeply destructive behaviours. this is why i believe this new Dark Side will be Rage (or an equivalent). Logan’s ‘STOP IGNORING ME!’ speaks of a breaking point brought on by years of fixing other people’s problems, only to receive very little in return. there’s a misconception that people who are ‘good’ at handling stress or fixing other people’s problems (i.e., not showing much of the strain) are simply less stressed as a whole, and therefore should be saddled with yet more stress. Logan’s screaming at Remus, and Remus’ delight at Logan’s response, shows us that Logan is exhausted from all of the hard work that he’s had to do in order to fight Thomas’ intrusive thoughts and cognitive distortions, alongside the massive amount of stress in his life. likewise, by giving into his impulsivity and opening up more opportunities for further stress, Thomas has allowed Logan - and his Logic - to become vulnerable to Remus and intrusive thoughts. Logan may have successfully been able to dispel the intrusive thoughts which had no basis in reality (for instance, a murderer hiding in Thomas’ closet) - but what happens if Thomas is given validation for an intrusive thought? in other words - what if Logan feels he has reason to listen to Remus? i believe this Rage has been simmering within Thomas for a long time, and his debut is going to be explosive. there are lots of ways this debut could be written; some have theorised that Logic and Rage will be a kind of antithesis to the Creativitwins, wherein the two are fused as Thomas has internalised his Rage as having a Logical root. this would have Rage not as a separate side, but a kind of version or alternate mindset for Logan, a bit like how he was when in Virgil’s room. i would not be surprised at all for this episode to include both Remus and Janus - Remus, revelling in the intrusive thoughts which Logan/Rage is now allowing to fly free, and Janus, delighting in Logan/Rage’s validation of destructive behaviours, which may well include Deceit. i could also see Virgil being drawn in by this irresistible combination of Anxiety-fuelling thoughts - intrusive thoughts inspiring inadequacy, Deceit inspiring fear of being found out, and the terror of Logic being twisted to validate every fear Virgil has ever had for Thomas. you know when someone has hurt you really badly, and so in your head you come up with countless (awful, unrealistic, hurtful) ways to ‘get back at them’? that’s what i think the next Sanders Sides episode is going to be like.  of course, like Anxiety, Intrusive Thoughts and Deceit, Rage will have his uses too. i believe, if any of this theorising is correct, that the next Sanders Sides episode will follow a narrative discussing if Rage is justified when one is hurt to a massive extreme, and what Logic can one follow when it backs up every destructive impulse. are you being Logical if you are full of Rage? basically, i think Logan (influenced by a breaking point and giving over to Rage) is going to do everything in his power to be destructive, under the idea that it is the only Logical thing to do. i believe he will fall to the horrific power of cognitive distortions and mental illness, and that the other Sides will need to use their strengths to bring him back. anyway, that’s all my thoughts! my apologies for any inaccuracies, or if anything in here was upsetting. i’d love to hear what you think about this, and your own theories! :D take care 💏

[akindplace]

Hey, do you have any content for people with PPD(Paranoid Personality Disorder) and suffer from intrusive thoughts and paranoia?

Unfortunately I do not have knowledge about PPD. My posts come from knowledge about diseases I have and personal experiences. I've dealt with Generalized anxiety, depression, ptsd, narcissistic abuse, trauma, self-harm, suicidal thoughts, and Ehlers Danlos syndrome. I'm neurodivergent according to some doctors but I am not ready to talk about it on tumblr.

But when I was severely anxious and depressed I had intrusive thoughts. I will be honest with you, they were awful and something that really helped was medication. Resisting them is very hard. I learned in therapy to acknowledge those feelings, telling they are valid but not real! Your feelings are valid but they don't have to be facts. Telling myself that really helped to part with some intrusive thoughts, instead of constantly fighting them.

Talking to people about it helps. I know it might feel awkward because others don't understand how those thoughts come. Therapy is amazing and medication (for me) was crucial. Reaching out to friends and talking about it is great, but you can also talk about other things and find distractions.

When it felt really hard for me, acknowledging those thoughts and telling them they are here for a reason but they are not useful at moment and are not helpful, and letting them go is great.

Finding distractions at the worst moments was also crucial. Sometimes it didn't go away. Movies, books, poetry, memes, talking to friends about anything at all, studying something you are passionate, focusing on something or someone you love is so helpful.

You can't sit with those intrusive thoughts. You have to reach out to a doctor and therapist if it is possible to you. If not, there might be a lot of other blogs that can help you and other pages on the internet that teach how to deal with it. YouTube has great videos about dealing with mental illness (SEARCH FOR REAL DOCTORS AND THERAPISTS THERE, they are amazing - don't go for coaches and people who aren't experienced)

Anyone has anything to recommend to anon?

[socratoteles]

A year to get Ph.D in letting go

The last time I was here, I wrote that perhaps it was time for me to go out and just enjoy the world. And amid the global pandemic, I sort of managed to do that. It was such a lifesaver in a year of goodbyes. I`ll get to that, but let me begin with my coronavirus scare.

On March 4 last year, I was away in Bandung, aware but not worried of some obscure virus that triggered a total lockdown in some Chinese cities. That very same day was also the time when my colleagues came in contact with a man who later confirmed of having contracted COVID-19.

That was how close I was of contracting the virus. Had I not taken a paid leave to write last year’s essay in the city where I was born, chances were high that I was another case as well, at that early stage of the pandemic too. I`m still familiar with the helplessness that came after I checked in to a hospital only to being denied the test (the nurse reasoned that the contact with my colleagues, who might catch the virus from the confirmed man, cannot be categorized as close contact).

And that experience, of confusion and fear of infecting loved ones, left a lasting impression that shaped my behavior going forward. After all, it takes a pandemic to make wearing mask and washing hands could made the difference between life and death.

Covid-induced isolation meant that I spent most of my time being holed up in my room for the past 12 months. To this day the side effects of this solitary existence is still beyond my full grasp. On one hand, this situation had brought out my inner resiliency, resourcefulness and adaptability in the long days and night when things were just so dark. On the other hand, it also forced me to deal with unresolved traumas and numerous intrusive thoughts, which I will get into later.

People get really creative during the long locked-down days, spending it doing viral social media challenges one after the other. Videoconferencing become a thing on its own and for some reason loads of folks played a game named Among Us too, perhaps to remind themselves of the interactions cruelly torn apart because of the virus.

There was also a newfound awareness on class too, because the coronavirus disproportionately affected different individuals with different income level. At least on my part, I was lucky that essential workers (the pandemic elevated the phrase into such a buzzword) near my place were safe and somehow never contracted the virus. It is worth mentioning that I definitely cannot survive this long if not for the minimarket workers, ride-hailing drivers and dozens of cooks, all of whom must have worked in long hours, despite knowing the risk, just to keep their families fed.

Others, however, were not so lucky. the SARS-CoV-2 had infected more than a million Indonesians a year after it was officially detected in these shores. Millions have lost their jobs as economic activities ground to a halt. The place I currently work was not an exception. Massive layoffs would have happened in my office had the shareholders have enough money to properly compensate their workers.

It was an obviously eye-opening experience to calculate my own severance pay and make sure I could survive on that for as long as possible. The prospect of losing your income during the pandemic –which should be that particular time for anyone to hold on to their what-ifs money– was really awful.

This is the paragraph where I say that I wish nothing but the best for those who left the company simply because they deserve nothing less than that.

But there was another reason why I signed up for a help from professional therapist last year. In the latter part of last year, things got very, very grim. At the risk of oversimplification, let’s just say that I was unable to express my feelings properly to a girl that I really liked, right at the most critical moment when probably both of us needed support from each other. She eventually left with another guy.

Days before that fateful event happened, I was quietly bearing my own burden. After years of convincing myself that I was okay, I was, in fact, not okay, at least mentally. Years of trauma have caught up. It’s too personal to even spell that out here but I`ll just quote this Youtuber just to describe a fitting metaphor. 

“You see, human identity is like a house of card. One that’s always expanding. A story that is ever developing and always referred back to because every memory becomes a new card. Trauma is when a card doesn’t fit because the experience itself is so painful that it’s incompatible with everything else and if you become obsessed with making it fit the whole house of cards can fall apart and you lose the confidence to build anything new.”

Basically, my house of cards came crashing down, hard. At a time, it reduced me into this insecure soul who were unsure that people will accept me for who I was.

The last time I felt this way was a couple years back when my parent’s divorce was formalized. A girlfriend turned ex-girlfriend at that time too. Apparently, the universe has a cruel sense of timing to combine existential crisis with a relationship one.

The road to recovery was rocky, to say the least. I know something fundamental must be addressed, hence the therapy session.

I`m grateful for the company of my friends, either offline or online. (yes, I had become quite loose in terms of isolation because I know I had to prioritize my mental health; COVID-19 be damned). I`m also glad to say that because I talked with my friends about this issue, some of them were also encouraged to seek professional help.

At the height of my despair, I watched La Grande Bellezza (probably for a half a dozen time already) again and found this quote, spoken by the protagonist Jep Gambardella:

“We’re all on the brink of despair. We can only look each other in the face, keep each other company, kid each other a bit. Don’t you agree?”

Someone was kind enough to upload the entire scene on Youtube.

I decided that all bets are off, so I purchased books, many of which had been on my to-read list for years because I know I`ll have to read it when I search for a catharsis. That was how I finally read the Camus’ Myth of Sisyphus, from which I managed to understand what he meant by the absurdities of life. Into the Wild, excellently written by Jon Krakauer, broke my heart too because of Chris Mccandles’ tales somehow mimicked my own, minus the grand adventure part. I finally read Alan Watts too, from whom I learned that efforts to avoid from pain is painful in itself.

And music, a constant part of my life as I know it, helps too. I was saved because Fleet Foxes released a life-affirming record that fittingly spoke about relief, gratitude, and seasonal rebirth. During the darkest days I was just alone with my guitar in my room, terribly singing out the words that these musicians carved out of their soul to release my emotional burden. I was particularly grateful for being reminded time and again that “no one gets it right” but “we’re all supposed to try”.

I made a playlist containing songs that for me served as a reminder to be gentle for myself. You can check that here.

All of that was a roundabout way to say that I indeed, was able to go out amid the pandemic. On one afternoon I just said fuck it, I need to go out and see things. That led me to a weekly socially-distanced walk around the neighborhood, which was therapeutic in itself because the walks allowed me to be fully present and be sensitive to the sights and sounds and smells around me. Nothing is more liberating that allowing your feet to go where it you to go.

I don’t have the full answers yet, but as I wrote his essay, I`m glad to be able to say that I have rebuild my house of cards, with some of the bad cards included as well. It was quite a bumpy ride but when I looked back, this particular tweet was eerily prescient because it rings true today as was the day I tweeted it.

But I walked away from the depths of that bottomless pit not only with knowledge, but also of understanding the parts that made me who I am. I`m also humbled after I saw the abyss for the second time because it suggests that there might be another time when I found myself on the edge of despair.

I`ll never forget the fact that these hard-won lessons came on the back of years of pain, grief and suffering. But it also came on the heels of moments of simple walk in the setting sun and feeling the breeze on the beach too. In fact, I have made it my mission going forward to acknowledge both good and bad things as they are. Because forcing yourself to remember all the bright things when you were in the dark, and vice versa, is a form of self-torture. I hope this essay somehow do that mission justice.

I have said goodbyes to many things in life as the crisis comes and goes, but 2020 goodbyes were simply different. So much so that I thought I have a PhD in letting go already, however absurd that idea is.

[spectrumed]

3. sadness

Don’t be like that. Be like this, or be that other thing. Be unique, but don’t be too unique. Fit in, but try to be a rebel. Be a renegade, but don’t rock the boat. Don’t know what you are supposed to be? What? Do you have imposter syndrome or something? Just be yourself, but, y’know, sand down the edges a little bit. Be friendlier. Be the kind of person everyone likes. Be the life of the party! Don’t be some shut-in, some crazy cat-lady with absolutely zero social life. Don’t be sad. Don’t burden others with your sadness. Work to maximise the total happiness of your community. A smile goes a long way. Can’t smile? You really can’t help but being a sourpuss all the time? Well, I guess maybe that if you can’t help but stay in a perpetual bad mood bringing everyone else down… then maybe you should just stay isolated? Better stay alone, away from others. You’re toxic. You’re just so damned sad. You really must be quarantined.

I am sad, a lot of the time. Are you? But, no, you can’t just admit that you are sad. Don’t be a buzzkill, try to inject a little humour into the things you say. You can admit you’re depressed, if you do so with a joke. Don’t let others know you’re being sincere. Ironic jokes work the best, don’t they? They let you confess your secret gloom to everyone around, but they���ll never know just how serious you’re being. With a wink of the eye, any candid expression of your inner turmoil can become a hilarious post-modern gag. Are they or are they not telling the truth? Oh, I’ll never tell! And it will all work out excellent, up until the day you commit suicide. But every comedian’s time in the limelight has to end at some point, right?

This blog is supposed to be about autism spectrum disorder, why am I suddenly discussing depression? Well, I suppose that it is time we bring to the table this little thing called comorbidity. Psychology is messy. Some would argue that it is barely even a real scientific field (I tend to think that it is the best thing we have, but I acknowledge that in places, psychology is fundamentally flawed.) You may have thought that you’d get just one diagnosis. One simple label that you can work through and overcome. You’re bipolar, now go deal with it! But instead, you find yourself with a whole fistful of diagnoses. What to hear my proud list of diagnoses? Oh, please, don’t think because I am listing them this one certain way, I put them in order of relevancy to me. I love all of my diagnoses equally.

My diagnoses are:

Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD)

Social Anxiety Disorder (SAD)

Agoraphobia

Possible Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder (OCD)

Asperger syndrome (AS)

No, I was never officially diagnosed with depression, but largely because, at the time I received these diagnoses, my depression was so blatant that it felt as if I was walking around with a cloud of miasma surrounding at all times. Imagine me as Pig-Pen from Peanuts, but instead of being covered in dirt, I was covered in the funk of melancholy. And whatever treatment I would eventually go on to receive (and still am receiving to this day,) would go about treating my anxiety first, and hopefully, the depression would give in alongside the anxiety. It has, for the most part, though, I still feel the presence of that black dog from time to time. I also got only a half-hearted potential diagnosis of OCD, but later, during a trial of an antidepressant that had a freakishly negative impact on my psyche, it blossomed into a fully-grown attention-craving condition. Turns out that OCD can be a real hog for the spotlight, really not allowing any of the other diagnoses to take their turn on stage. Thankfully, when I got off that particular antidepressant, those symptoms stopped, but it has led me to be far more aware of my internal obsessive-compulsive thought patterns. For me, OCD largely lacks physical compulsions, but my mind is ablaze with intrusive thoughts, and I will routinely force myself to repeat certain phrases in my head to make them go away. The funny thing is, I never realised that wasn’t normal.

Diagnoses are an attempt to map out a spiders’ web of problems. Things come hand in hand. While I’m no psychologist, I can speak from the perspective of someone who has been through the psychiatric process, which I suppose, lends me a certain kind of expertise, doesn’t it? Maybe it really doesn’t. Maybe I’m just throwing words out there, thinking that I could serve a good purpose, but instead all I am doing is contributing to this great onslaught of digital disinformation we’re all suffering under. But I’m probably just too doubtful of myself. I am speaking about myself, after all. I’ve got first-hand experience in being myself. I know exactly what it feels like to own this skin, these bones, this heart, and this mushy brain of mine. I’m not claiming to know everything. I’m just claiming to know about this one sad individual writing this hoping it might allow someone to reblog my posts with the hashtag “relatable” one day.

Anxiety runs in my family. The neurosis demon gets passed down from generation to generation, only occasionally skipping a beat. My mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, though, she has for the most part of her life not had it to quite the excessive degree that I have it. I really took that genetic predisposition for anxiety and ran with it. And while I’m the only person in my family to have gotten diagnosed as being “on the spectrum,” there are a few members that I kinda sort of in a way actually quite seriously suspect might also be here somewhere on the spectrum. Still, as always goes with diagnosing, there’s no point in doing it unless the person is in need of some kind of treatment. I wholeheartedly believe that most people on the planet belong to one spectrum, be it an autism spectrum, a bipolar spectrum, a narcissism spectrum, even a schizophrenic spectrum, but diagnoses should be exclusively reserved for those who need psychiatric care. The world is a spectrum, and it’s worth noting that the terms “sane” and “insane” do not alone capture the complexity of the human psyche. A person can appear perfectly sensible, yet at some point in their life, they may have been a real silly little bugger who thought that their pet hamster was the reincarnation of the Buddha. Just as with physical health, one can struggle with one's mental health for one period in their life, only to later on in life feel utterly and entirely mentally healthy. Or, well, sadly in a lot of cases, people who were perfectly mentally healthy may suddenly become diagnosed with dementia. But that’s really sad, so let’s not talk about that.

Is it all genetic? Well, no. Or well, maybe? In regards to autism, I am pretty sure that, yes, it is genetic. While, yes, I do admit that I’m just a dummy on the internet, so what do I really know? And the brain is such a complex bit of mushy meat, so I could always be proven wrong. Though, I tend towards thinking that there most likely is principally a genetic factor to conditions like autism, or attention deficit disorder (and attention deficit hyperactivity disorder,) or things like bipolar disorder. But with anxiety, quite frankly, I can’t say how much of it is nurture and how much of it is nature. I mentioned that my mother and I share many of the same neurotic quirks, so that would imply that there is something in one's genes that can make some more prone to anxiety than others, but my mother does not struggle with agoraphobia, nor does she seem to have any obsessive-compulsive tendencies. In fact, in my family, even those that exhibit some element of heightened anxiety, they don’t seem to show any milder symptoms of this kind. I can’t help but feel as if these conditions I gained through that tortuous period of every boy’s and girl’s (and boy-girl’s) life is called puberty. I hate to conform to stereotypes but I did indeed hate being a teenager. Believe it or not, I wasn’t a jock, and no, I didn’t go to parties. I mostly spent my time crying.

The question that no doubt plagues every movie psychiatrist to no end is what kind of trauma must a person undergo to make them go mad? Abusive parents? Abusive uncles? Abusive teachers? Abusive dogs? Honestly, to be an adult raising a child must be rough, considering how any mistake you make might suddenly turn your little babe into a future serial killer. Now, there’s no doubt that there are some seriously terrible parents out there, and that a lot of people have mental woes that definitely came about due to their parents and their abysmal lack of parental care. But generally, how much can you actually blame on your parents? We know the cliché, let’s go sit down on the sofa and complain to our Freudian hack-shrink all about those times as a kid our dad missed the big game, or that time our mother embarrassed us in front of all of our friends. I have plenty of things to complain about my parents, like I believe we all have. Our parents are flawed, messy human beings, of course they occasionally made mistakes throughout our upbringings. But is that nearly enough to turn a person mentally ill? Putting up with an at times really embarrassing mom? No, I don’t think so. And of course, there are some real awful parents out there, I’m not doubting that. Trust me, I’m a fan of true crime, so I’ve heard some real grizzly stories of what some kids are forced to grow up with. But I am thinking that those instances are more rare than they are common. Most people with mental illnesses can most likely not blame their parents.

How ‘bout bullies? Yes, them bullies. Them awful mean bullies that made all of our lives so painful. It’s funny, it seems like every school had their own fair share of bullies, and yet no-one as an adult ever comes forward to admit that they themselves were the bullies. It’s almost like as if no-one ever thinks of themselves as being a bully, even when they are throwing rocks at that weird chubby kid with blonde hair who happens to be named Fredrik and who just wants to be left alone. Was I bullied? Well… yes. But I can’t say I got the brunt of it. I got bullied, but overall I’d say I only ever had it slightly worse than most people. I was still quite tall, typically taller than my classmates growing up, and for the most part I could roll with the punches. If you really want to talk about a kid I knew growing up that got bullied, let me tell you about this kid who knew all the right dances for all the right Britney Spears songs. He was gay, I think. Not quite old enough to have come out, I suspect, but, well... He liked all the female pop stars, but not in that way of wanting to kiss them and fondle their boobies, but in the “I want to sound just like them when I grow up” sort of way. I don’t know what happened to him (or them, or her, depending on how they identify now,) but that was real bullying. Like most folks, I found myself stuck in that limbo of seeing others get bullied far worse than me and being too cowardly to intervene, in fears that I’d end up taking their place. Yes, isn’t school just a marvellous place? It’s a wonder any of us turn out okay.

No, I think that, fundamentally, the problems I have arose with myself. This, blaming myself, is not something that I am unused to doing. I have a long history of blaming myself, that’s really the problem. As a teenager I knew that I was different, and I was frightened and scared of being exposed. I didn’t even really know what it was that was different about me, I just knew that I didn’t fit in. I felt as if I didn’t deserve to fit in. The older I got, the more intense these feelings got. And I started taking it out on myself. I started hating myself. And I really mean furiously hating myself. It wasn’t some casual self-loathing, it was searing self-hatred. I did not physically hurt myself, but I did engage with self-harm. I kept repeating the mantras of “I hate myself,” and “I am pathetic,” over and over again, with the ultimate goal of making myself cry. For a period, I couldn’t go to bed without making myself cry first. I began taking days off from school, pretending to be sick. Well, I suppose I was ill, but not physically. I began failing most of my classes, I only ended up doing well in art. I stayed away from school for whole weeks at the time. Once, when I shame-facedly returned to school some of the meaner boys came up to me and said that they were surprised to learn that I was still alive. They were surprised, but also a little disappointed.

This was a time in my life when I really needed psychiatric care. This became increasingly obvious to my parents, and my teachers. I was clearly suffering from depression. Not just some teenaged angst, but full-blown, wholly insidious, depression. But, well, I didn’t get the care that I needed. Oh, I did go to see a psychologist a couple of times, but she saw no reason for me to continue seeing her. I don’t know why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help, frankly, I can’t fathom why she felt as if I wasn’t in need of help. I suppose I avoided telling her the truth of what went on inside of my head, but I feel like as if any good psychologist would have been able to tell that the kid sitting across from them was clearly suffering from something a tad more intense than just some common concerns about puberty. At most I was able to confess was that I was feeling ashamed over myself for getting so fat, but it should have been clear to anybody that I was only using that as a hook to hang my self-hatred on. There very clearly was some underlying condition that I had that should have gotten addressed. But it went ignored.

At most I can think to explain this is the fact that I wasn’t “problematic.” Not in the way some kids are, when they’re struggling with their mental health. I did not act out, I did not take drugs, and I was certainly not violent. Even to this day, though I have at many times suffered from suicidal ideation, I am a real low-risk for actual suicide considering my intense fear of dying (yes, that’s an odd combo to have.) So, I’ve come to realise that the only way I am getting treatment is if I actually seek out treatment. And back then, I was just as placid as I had previously always been. I was quiet and introverted, just desperate to get back home so I could go and hide in my room. Many teenagers are like that. And it is easy to ignore them, because they want to be ignored. They just don’t want to exist. When you are desperate to be left alone, eventually people will leave you alone. I would go on to receive psychiatric care later on my life, but only after several years passed. I did have a better time living in my later teenage years, but like with a bone that heals wrong, I needed someone to come in and sort me out. I was sad as a teenager, but I would become really sad as a twenty-something. Hopefully my thirties will be jolly.

[nonbinarycrow]

okay but for real. not to get up on my damn soapbox, but not all trauma is created equal and internet discourse is fucking missing that.

like, I'm a conversion therapy survivor. I'm also coming to terms with the fact that I'm an emotional abuse survivor. I have c-PTSD, I was nearly hospitalized in February, my life is permanently changed by my trauma and it's not ever going to go away because it was years upon years of utter hopelessness and despair. I'm missing years of my life to a broken memory. there's a damn good chance that I'll become an alcoholic if I don't watch my every fucking move. I deal with debilitating guilt and intrusive thoughts. I am literally *constantly* dissociating so that I won't feel anything. I'm only 21 years old.

most of y'all's trauma is actually trauma, so don't misread what I'm about to say here, but just because you went through trauma doesn't mean you have PTSD. in fact, most people who go through traumatic experiences will not develop PTSD. a statistic I've seen is that 50% of adults in the US will go through some kind of trauma. only 6.8% of those adults develop PTSD. and so much of any discourse on the internet is weaponizing trauma and universalizing the language that people going through PTSD use. no, you're not triggered by an argument. you're not having flashbacks. your impulses (like that eating a leaf post) are not intrusive thoughts. gaslighting is highly specific, and people can't gaslight you if there's not a personal relationship there. people do just lie, you know! just because someone was mean to you doesn't make it abuse. and by the way, you're still responsible for your actions, even if you have gone through trauma.

look. I'm not trying to be that mean, angry bitch here, but it's frustrating because nobody takes my experiences seriously because y'all won't stop to think about the words that you are using. my PTSD isn't just that I'm having trouble working through my trauma. it's a disability. it has changed the way my brain works, permanently. I literally can't visualize my memories anymore, and I know I used to be able to, because I used to be able to draw from memory so well that teachers would remark on it. I can't call up what my mom's face looks like, or my girlfriend's. I shut down to the point of being unable to move. I get random aches and pains, stomach problems, and have difficulty regulating my body temperature (all things that might be related to PTSD). that's not even talking about the emotional fallout and the big symptoms.

just consider the language you're choosing. this isn't the trauma olympics, and what you suffered was valid and awful, but y'all should be fucking grateful to have gone through something horrible and escaped without this. not to mention that none of you seem to know what trauma responses look like or that it's not a fucking cakewalk, it's ugly. we are often cruel. our lives are messy. we're not going to be this perfect fawn all the time, and it's not helping when people who don't have PTSD use the language we need.

in conclusion please reblog this and think about how you speak

[undignifiend]

Theme Ramblings - On Evil, Honesty, Violence, and Better Ways to Rule Number Two (Local Windbag Spends All Night Pontificating Again)

I really like Trollhunters and Tales of Arcadia. I feel like it addresses important themes that I also want to address in my own writing, and I feel like that is part of what makes it an awesome world and story to explore, through the original stories, and through fanfiction. I find exploring ideas within an already established world is very helpful and therapeutic. So here are my current thoughts on some of those themes, which have also been informed by various other stories. Narrative is one of the ways through which we process the world. And one of my goals is to learn how to do that with clarity, practicality, and compassion. So here’s a bit of what I think I’ve learned so far.

Warnings: Talking about violence, with pain and trauma. Stay safe. Also, spoilers for Tales of Arcadia - Wizards, and for the film You Were Never Really Here.

+++++

‘Evil’ is not a word that holds a lot of weight with me, at least not the way I feel it’s commonly used, especially in stories. Some bully without any redeeming qualities beating someone up for a power trip is a common motif, but I don’t find it a compelling or useful model of how or why some people act shitty, or how to possibly fix it nonviolently. As something of a determinist, I don’t believe our decisions just pop out of a vacuum - rather, that they are informed by our experiences, which we react to in healthy or unhealthy ways depending on what we think we understand and what we want to protect.

Or at least I think that’s a nice idea, but I don’t know how practical it actually is. For instance, maybe there are actual people who are just idiots, cowards, or cruel and nothing more, and interacting with them in a good-faith manner is an entirely hopeless waste of our limited time - especially when those mofos are actively threatening people. “They’re complex people, too!” seems kind of irrelevant when they’re calling for killing those who disagree with them, for example.

Maybe I’m having trouble with this idea because I haven’t actually recognized such mind-numbing simplistic malice in anyone directly involved in my life. I’m starting to think I might be spoiled that way.

I also want to emphasize that I’m not even remotely claiming “Everyone is right in their own ways”. Some mofos out there are objectively incorrect. I’m currently convinced that we all think we’re right, but not that we all are. Or that even when we realize we’re wronging someone, we tend to spin narratives that twist the situation to make ourselves look better, or even like we’re “The Real Victims! D:” to justify and excuse something we may otherwise deem tragic.

What horrifies me (what I’ve witnessed) is when harm is done by people who think they’re doing the right thing, or that they’re justified, or that it’s normal. People who otherwise have potential to do good, making a selfish call out of fear, anger, apathy, a misplaced sense of righteousness, or even just a desperate and ill-advised attempt to feel seen or important. The ‘evil’ that scares me most is a loss of perspective that leads to (and justifies or excuses) tragedy. That loss of perspective, I also think, is a key part of what makes propaganda possible. Calling someone ‘evil’ is often intended to deface them and simplify them into a problem or obstacle to be rid of - no longer a complex individual, but a symbol of all that is wrong with the world - a bully or ‘monster’ without redeeming qualities. (Often represented as something “subhuman” that we supposedly don’t have to feel bad about killing.) An external threat to vanquish in favor of facing whatever horrible truth we’re running from, or what conditions led to people acting in these harmful, tragic ways. (And if we can understand those conditions, perhaps we can guard against them and hopefully even save some lives and change them for the better?) I think calling someone ‘evil’ is not only impractical (and useless when it comes to diagnosing why someone is behaving a certain way, or how to effectively either help them grow up or maybe at least help prevent them from causing more harm), I think it opens the door for otherwise good people to do horrific things, all the while avoiding the root of the problem, and calling themselves justified and heroic.

That’s part of why I’m so excited about Wizards. (Finally got to ToA!) I appreciated Arthur as an example of what’s familiar to me, and the kinds of thinking I want us to learn to recognize and avoid. His grief was relatable - we’ve all lost someone, and we all have people we want to protect. But it’s monumentally important that we don’t commit Arthur’s tragedy, and take our pain out on others. And it’s also important that we don’t dismiss the pain that others are struggling to cope with, as Arthur dismissed Morgana’s and the trolls’ when he called them evil. And part of why I genuinely like Arthur as a character (not just an antagonist) was that he came around and admitted that he was wrong, and wanted to repair the damage he did.

At least until his Green Knight chapter, the motivations of which I’m still unsure of. I’m not the sharpest crayon in the shed, but it seemed like a non sequitur to me... after a certain point. If you have some insight into what’s going on with him, I’m all ears. I’m a little worried I might just be projecting my issues again.

So far, here’s what I think I can glean: I relate to the lines “How can I be at peace when the world is still broken?” and “He awoke to a legacy of a violent and awful world.” I don’t want to get into the specifics of my own experiences, but I understand the horror of “waking up” to a horrifying reality, and the motivation to try to change it somehow. The all-consuming restlessness of it, and the inability to escape or reconcile it, and the constant, never-ending tension that slowly rips you apart and isolates you from everyone and poisons your faith in humanity because you’ve looked into the abyss so long you now recognize that it’s where you’ve lived all along. Because no matter what kind of new equilibrium you scramble for, the truth remains that terrible, unnecessary harm is being done, and will continue to be done (and justified and excused and even laughed at) by otherwise good people until we all die out - and that will be our legacy even as we continue to squawk empty platitudes about how intelligent and compassionate and special we are, and nothing makes any of that okay.

In my worst, most melodramatic moments, I even understand the ‘Let it all burn, if it can’t be saved’ mentality. But I don’t have a lot of patience for defeatism, so it’s not a mentality I can take seriously for long at all, and that’s where my understanding (if I may be so pretentious?) of the Green Knight stops. Because I know there are many others who have seen what I’ve seen and feel the same way I do, and believe that a better way is possible, however distant, and who have done loads more than I have to change it. And (perhaps more importantly) I know that even those who perpetuate some of the same harms I want to stop, and even crack jokes about it, are still good people who mean well, and have their own pains to cope with.

What I want is for us (and our heroes) to recognize when we are being dishonest or unfair, and to call ourselves out, even when it’s inconvenient (or when it feels impossible, like when we’re scared, angry, or hurt). I love and admire people who can face their feelings and uncertainties honestly, and I want to be like them, because I believe that’s the most important, constructive kind of courage there is, it’s part of growing into a stronger, kinder person, and this stupid world needs a lot more of that in it.

And I think the whole topic of Evil is connected to our fascination with violence, and those who are skilled at it. (Though I’m not here to say ‘Violence Bad’. I know it’s not that simple.) In some situations, no other method has a chance of saving you or those you want to protect, and if you find yourself in such a situation, it pays to be good at violence, and to have friends who are, too. The stakes are high, so it makes for great drama, and is prevalent in stories all over the world. This also makes it a rather dramatic delivery system for Justice - or the Retributive version, anyway. Retribution is visceral, and easily understood, and speaks to our instincts of promoting and preserving status (teaching others not to screw us over or They’ll Pay), and discouraging harmful behaviors by harming the perpetrators...

I consider myself a rehabilitationist. But I understand the draw of retribution. I really do. The vast majority of my intrusive thoughts revolve around it, in particularly violent manners. It’s not fun, and it doesn’t feel powerful, and it feels weird to me to see stories that portray it as powerful, rather than as a failure or a loss. I understand the emotional desire to punish someone who has hurt an innocent. But I also understand it to a degree that transcends its original feelings of righteousness, takes itself to eyebrow-raising extremes, and makes me sick. Retribution has been glorified all throughout our history, and it scratches a primal itch, and yes, sometimes it may be the only available answer in order to prevent further harm. (Rehabilitation requires far more resources than Retribution, often making it impractical or overly risky in contexts of scarcity. I think that’s a huge factor in why ideals like Law, Justice, and Decency break down in a lot of Post-Apocalyptic story environments. It’s not just that our sense of Order has collapsed, it’s that we no longer have the infrastructure to support the ideals that Order was established to protect - though I would Not say that our current “justice” system in the US is rehabilitative or even ethical, but that’s a whole other rant.) But beyond that, I don’t believe Retribution is practical or productive. I believe it’s tragically ironic, loses sight of context and systemic issues, lends false-credence to the idea that people are the way they are due to innate, immutable qualities rather than taking their environment and experiences into account, and as a result, opens the door for good people to, again, do and justify horrific things.

It’s a hard, brutal film to watch, but I recommend You Were Never Really Here. The violence in this film feels far more real than the violence I’ve seen in any other because they don’t dress it up, or make it flashy. It’s more like something you’d see in a hidden-camera documentary. And their honest treatment of it was a visceral reminder of what violence actually is.

It puts a gut-wrenching twist on the ‘revenge fantasy’ and what it actually means to watch someone suffer and die. Even someone who had it coming. There’s a painful empathy to this film in its treatment of the characters and all the rituals (harmful or not) they use to cope with the violence they in turn have suffered. And the climax of the film centers on the awful realization that, despite his efforts, the protagonist was unable to protect someone from violence, or having to inflict violence of her own - like him, she’s marked by it now, too. She absolutely did it in self-defense, but the fact that she had to do it is still tragic. She has to live and cope with it now, as he does. And in the final scene, there’s this hellish sense of separation between them as they are, and the comparatively bright, happy lives they might have lived if they had not had to go through such horrific experiences. It’s unstated, but there’s this intense feeling that they’re haunted. Like they can be near that bright, happy life, but never cross the veil to reach it, themselves. The film ends with the girl deciding to try and find some happiness anyway. (“It’s a beautiful day.”) It’s not a happy ending, but it’s a hopeful one. It’s not a Good Triumphs Over Evil story. It’s a painful confrontation with an awful reality, and the struggle to find a way to carry on somehow.

And that resonates. Because we all know to some degree or other what it’s like to confront something awful, something we can’t just deny or forget or reconcile, and to try to find some way to cope with it. That tension can be so painful that it’s understandable (but still not excusable) why people sometimes try to pin it all on a scapegoat - so they can take something insurmountable, and turn it into something they can fight and triumph over. It’s a form of processing our grief, but it’s unfair, dishonest, and harmful, and inflicts more grief on others.

Anyway, in this fanfic I’ve been puttering around on (and trying to explore these themes through), Jim tries to solve things non-violently (as he often tried to do in the show, which I really like). Someday/night, he might not have the option, or can’t see any other way out. He knows that he (or someone else) is being seen as an outlet for someone’s frustrations - they’re using him as a symbol to project their own problems and issues on - something external they can beat up and triumph over in place of something intangible.

If he’s going to fight this outlook, I think he has to understand it - on more than a theoretical level. He has to go there himself. Maybe he punches Steve after all. (Maybe in the 2nd draft - or maybe later in the current iteration.) And he hates it. He’s changed forever, but not the way he expected to be. He feels capable, and righteous, and he doesn’t regret standing up for Eli or himself, but he doesn’t feel good. Because even if it’s easier to just dismiss Steve as a bully, and even if it occurs to Jim to do that - and even if he can feel it viscerally for a moment, Jim isn’t going to lie to himself. He can still see what Steve is, past his own anger. Steve is lashing out because he feels wronged and powerless, and he’s acting like his dad because that’s who made him feel that way, and that’s who showed him how to deal with those same feelings. Steve is a kid trying to process what he’s been through. It’s easy to forget that when Steve is trying to beat Jim down - when Draal has been trying to beat him down, too - and he’s had enough of all these angry people twisting their ideas of him in their heads and taking their anger out on him. He fought back because he couldn’t see any other option for handling it, and Steve was not willing to give him one. But from this, Jim knows how it feels to be demonized (seen as a manifestation of someone’s problems, some enemy to vanquish). And it becomes monumentally important to him never to succumb to that way of thinking, himself.

He’s not a crusader. If he has to fight and hurt or kill someone, it’s not because he thinks they’re a manifestation of evil. It’s because he does not see any recourse in stopping them from hurting or killing others. To him, violence is a tragedy meant to prevent another tragedy. And whether that justifies it or not is a question he will have to carry.

A lot of the combat we see in media, I would classify as “action”, and not violence. The vast majority of the time, it’s a choreographed dance that’s fun to watch, full of cool stunts that look like they’d be fun to do. It’s more like competitive eye-candy than anything else.

It’s fun, and I like the idea of writing that, but only in the context of sparring, or play. I don’t even want to call those “fights” or make a distinction between those and a “real fight”, because fighting is violence, and I hope to write about violence as honestly as I can. That’s part of what I like and admire about a lot of Guillermo del Toro’s other works, too. It’s not a dance, and it’s not glorious*. It’s ugly, terrifying, and it hurts to watch, and it makes us worry for his characters all the more, because it forces us to acknowledge how vulnerable they really are.

*Or, glory as it’s often treated, I think. If there really is any glory to be had in real violence, I think it’s in the willingness to act in a crisis to protect others. Terror is notoriously paralyzing, so this is where the value of training comes in - as a kind of autopilot mode to fall back on, and suppress our panic in the moment. The emotional fallout and trembling will come after the crisis has passed, but in an emergency, not knowing what to do, and feeling helpless, can be one of the most devastating weapons against us.

Sparring and training can be a fun and exhilarating test of skill, where no one intends to maim or kill you. It’s completely different from fighting. In a fight, the goal is not to learn or grow or compete, the goal is to either kill someone, or hurt them so badly that they can’t try to hurt you (or anyone else) anymore (or enough to give you time to get away). It’s very stressful and often traumatizing. One wrong move will have lasting consequences, if you’re lucky enough to survive to put up with them. Even if you win, odds are, you’re going to get hurt - maybe permanently. It’s the visceral understanding that someone has decided to disassemble you, and the only way to stop them is to disassemble them first. It’s an ugly reminder of the components of our bodies, and how fragile they really are.

“There are better ways to finish a fight than punching someone in the face.”

I agree with this - there are better methods of conflict resolution, and we must use them. And I really like how Jim carried this forward in sparing Chompsky and Draal. But I also felt like Claire fundamentally failed to understand what she had witnessed (and maybe I’m the one who misunderstood). I just didn’t appreciate what I felt was a lecture from someone who didn’t get it. Not that I’d wish for her to get it - it’s a horrible position to be in. When someone is actively trying to hurt you, it’s hard as hell to remember those better ways, and there’s no guarantee that they would work - at this point, you have to get the attacker to stop quickly. Steve resisted all other attempts to defuse the situation, and I don’t think it’s fair to blame someone for fighting back.

“A hero is not he who is fearless, but he who is not stopped by it.”

But I’m also not going to put down someone who still seeks to defuse a situation, even despite the risks. That’s a huge gamble, and it requires a massive amount of courage and good faith in the other party, and it won’t always pay off. But when it works, I believe it can open up possibilities that might not otherwise exist, because to demonstrate good faith in someone is to demonstrate that you are Not The Enemy. I think Douxie demonstrated this marvelously with the Lady of the Lake in Wizards. He gave up the most powerful weapon he had - or what was left of it - to free Nimue rather than fight her when it looked like she was about to End everybody. Once he realized the truth of her situation, he took action to alleviate it - because he wasn’t going to beat up a prisoner, and he did not consider her imprisonment acceptable in the first place.

Jim is not a pacifist, in Trollhunters canon, or in the AU idea I’ve been messing with. He will fight to stop others from killing, and he might end up having to kill in the process if all other attempts fail. But (at least in this AU thing) he will see it as a tragic failure to bridge a gap. He refuses to succumb to the way of thinking that presents his opponents as evil, even if that would make it simpler for him to process their horrific actions. They’re living, complex beings, not symbols of everything wrong with the world. And often, the reason they’re trying to hurt others to begin with is because they have succumbed to that “seeing their opponents as evil” way of thinking, themselves. As Jim sees it in Building Bridges, that Lie is everyone’s greatest enemy. It’s part of what allows otherwise good people (like Arthur and Morgana) to do, justify, and condone horrific things.

He will fight if he must, but he will do his best to reach others first, to show them the truth, and try to find a way to effectively address whatever underlying pain is causing them to lash out. If Maria Edgeworth has a point about how “The human heart opens only to the heart that opens in return,” Jim will transcend “human” by taking the risk of opening his heart first (whether or not he also becomes a half-troll in this AU idea). I currently think that’s the most profound way to prove that “evil” view wrong.

This is not to say that he will do so incautiously. Jim takes his role as a protector seriously, and he will do what he must in service to that. But he sees potential in others, and values it. He’s not a saint, but he strives to be understanding and compassionate. And that’s damn hard work. It takes effort to be good, and to see the good in others, especially when you’re hurting.

[dogbearinggifts]

“Dad Sent Me to the Moon” vs. “Because Dad Made Me”

How Luther and Vanya Talk About Trauma, Part Four

This is the fourth installment of my series examining how Luther and Vanya address their own trauma and respond to the trauma of others. My goal is to look at each significant mention of Luther’s time on the Moon/ his forcible mutation and Vanya’s exclusion, compare and contrast, and see how these instances line up with the common fandom perception of these characters. 

If this is the first time you’re seeing this series on your dash, I’d definitely recommend starting with previous installments. 

Part One  Part Two  Part Three

Episode 5: Number Five (aka The One That Made the Fandom Look at Klaus and Say “Somebody Give Him a Hug”)

Our first trauma mention of this episode comes when Luther and Five sit in Diego’s apartment. This mention is a little tricky, because, while Five does indeed mention the trauma of losing his siblings, the conversation is focused on how that future might be avoided, what Five has tried so far, and why it hasn’t worked. Nevertheless, I’m including it, because I feel it gives insight into how Luther handles the trauma of others. 

Luther: When’s it supposed to happen? This…apocalypse?  Five: Well, I can’t give you the exact hour, but from what I could gather, we have four days left.  Luther: Why didn’t you say something sooner?  Five: It wouldn’t have mattered.  Luther: Of course it would. We could’ve banded together and helped you try to stop this thing! Five: For the record, you already tried.  Luther: What do you mean?  Five: I found all of you. Your bodies.  Luther: We die?  Five: Horribly. You were together, trying to stop whoever it is that ends the world.  Luther: How do you know that?  Five hands Luther the glass eye he’s been carrying.  Five: This was clutched in your dead hand when I found you. You ripped it out of their head right before you went down.  Luther: Whose head?  Five: Like I said, I don’t know.  Luther: Well, there’s a serial number on the back. Think maybe you can track it— Five: That’s a dead end. It’s just another hunk of glass. 

This is not the first time Five has shared his trauma with another sibling. In the second episode, he explains to Vanya how he got stuck in the apocalypse, all the awful degrading things he did to try and survive, and why he couldn’t come back. Vanya invalidated his trauma—though as I pointed out then, I don’t think she did so intentionally or maliciously, and she apologized after. 

Here, we see Luther giving a very different reaction: unquestioning acceptance. He doesn’t ask Five to fill in any plot holes he saw; he doesn’t let on that he thinks the whole thing is unbelievable. I don’t point this out to bring Vanya down or show how awful she is, because I don’t think that’s what we’re seeing. Rather, we see that Luther is far more inclined to believe doomsday predictions, which was a prominent factor in why he didn’t question Reginald’s choice to send him to the Moon. He went because he thought the world needed him. Dad always said the apocalypse was coming, so of course he was needed on the Moon to watch for threats. Now that Five is back from the future with a tale of an apocalypse that, to him, already happened, Luther’s only question is “How do we stop this thing?” 

Now, it’s worth noting that finding a solution to Five’s problem—preventing the apocalypse—directly benefits Luther. If he can help Five prevent the apocalypse, then he will not die horribly. So Luther isn’t quite helping Five out of nothing more than the goodness of his heart. 

However, this exchange establishes an interesting reversal from how he handled Allison’s trauma. When she told him all the awful details of her divorce and how she might lose custody of her daughter, Luther simply listened, offered a bit of encouragement, and didn’t downplay her trauma at all. Here, with Five, he attempts to solve the problem. These are two very different situations, calling for two very different approaches, and it appears Luther is well aware of that. He also seems to be aware of the fact that his advice and input are not always needed or welcome, or appropriate for all situations. Here, there is a problem to be solved, and Luther attempts to solve it. Allison only needed a sympathetic ear, and that was what Luther offered. 

**********

Later, when Allison pays a visit to Vanya’s apartment, Leonard enters the conversation. 

Allison: Well, how well do you know him?  Vanya: Enough to get breakfast, if that’s what you’re asking.  Allison: It’s just that after yesterday, I don’t….I have a bad feeling.  Vanya: Allison, I haven’t seen you in twelve years, and all of a sudden you’re giving me dating advice?  Allison: I’m still your sister, and I’m concerned about you—and him.  Vanya: What are you concerned about?  Allison: Leonard seems perfectly charming, perfectly thoughtful—perfect, really. But I’ve been around long enough to know that when something seems to perfect, it’s usually anything but.  Vanya: Like a woman who’s based her whole life on rumors? Some people actually mean what they say. 

Now, you can make the argument that Vanya is unaware of just how deeply the divorce is affecting Allison. Her sister has, after all, remained somewhat tight-lipped about it around her siblings; the only one she openly shares all details with is Luther, and she does so in private. However, I’d argue that Vanya is well aware of just how devastating this divorce is for Allison. She’s heard the tension and trembling in her sister’s voice as she begs to speak to her daughter. She’s seen just how upset the refusal made her. 

In addition to that, Vanya has surely read the tabloids, or at least skimmed the covers at newsstands. We see in an earlier scene that these magazines are painting Patrick and Claire as the victims and Allison as the villain, if the title “We’re Doing Fine!” accompanied by a picture of father and daughter smiling with a smaller inset of Allison is any indication. If Vanya read any of these stories, she would have known the person behind the headlines. She would have been able to imagine her sister reacting to all of this press coverage, imagine what things were like behind the scenes. No, she and Allison weren’t the closest growing up—but Allison was her sister. Vanya might not have known her as well as siblings in healthy families know each other, but she knew her better than those tabloids do. Allison wasn’t just a character in some ongoing tabloid drama; Vanya would have known her as a person with hopes and dreams and struggles and everything else. 

And here she is, turning all of that trauma into a verbal jab meant to knock Allison off her feet so Vanya can continue doing what she likes without interference. 

Yes, Vanya is an adult; and yes, she is free to choose her partner without input from her family. She is free to tell Allison to keep her thoughts to herself. But Vanya could have said as much without bringing Allison’s painful divorce into it. Like so: 

“Allison, I’m fine. Leonard treats me well. If he starts acting creepy, I’ll come and ask you for advice, okay?”  “Look, Allison, I know you’ve had some bad experiences with guys in the past, but you’re famous. I’m not. I don’t see any reason why he’d want to get closer to me other than the fact he’s genuinely interested.”  “I’ve only known him a couple of days. There’s plenty of time for me to learn how imperfect he is.”  “C’mon, sis. This is the first guy I’ve met who makes me feel like a star. Give him a chance?” 

Point is, Vanya didn’t have to take Allison’s advice; but she didn’t have to bring up Allison’s painful divorce with a smile, either. 

*******

Shortly after, Allison takes her research on Leonard to Vanya’s apartment in another attempt to get Vanya to hear her concerns. 

Vanya: You are unbelievable! You’re trying to dig up dirt on a guy I like? Who does that?  Allison: Look, I’ve had my fair share of stalkers and creeps. I don’t trust him.  Vanya: You mean you don’t trust me.  Allison: What? No! That’s— Vanya: This is not about you. And for the first time, someone thinks I’m special. Allison: I’m just worried about you.  Vanya: Well, you’re not my mother. Worry about your own daughter.  Allison: That’s not fair. 

First off, Vanya’s frustration and anger are definitely understandable. I don’t necessarily agree with her*, but I can see where she’s coming from: She’s worked hard to build a life for herself, and she works hard to maintain it. This is the first guy she’s met who hasn’t treated her like a pale imitation of her more famous siblings, she’s happy, and she’s feeling the full depth of emotion for the first time since she was four. Whatever Allison has to say will hit her twice as hard, and since she’s not aware that her medication had been dampening her emotions, she probably has no idea that she’s going to be a little volatile. 

That said….I honestly have a hard time sympathizing with her in this scene. 

Once again, we see her bringing up Allison’s trauma; and once again, we see her using it as a means to try and get Allison to leave her alone. If Vanya displayed a thicker skin around her siblings, I could excuse this by saying that she just expects everyone to be as tough as she is; but that isn’t the case. In the first episode, we see how hard she takes Diego’s “You don’t belong here” remark. In this very scene, we see her taking well-intentioned (if intrusive) concern on Allison’s part as a personal insult (”You mean you don’t trust me”) twisting the narrative to make it seem Allison has self-centered motives (”This is not about you”) and finally reminding Allison of the ongoing custody battle as a means of shutting down a conversation she doesn’t like (”Worry about your own daughter”). 

There was no need whatsoever for Vanya to bring Claire into this. Had Vanya left it at “You’re not my mother,” that would have gotten the point across just as well. “Worry about your own daughter” was a cheap shot meant to give Vanya the upper hand, and it worked. Vanya wins this round, using the most underhanded tactic available to her. 

And again, I understand she’s upset. I understand she wants to be left alone, and I understand she’s dealing with strong emotions she’s never felt before. I understand that Leonard has been reminding her at every turn that her siblings didn’t treat her right while they were growing up. Her remark was still unnecessary because, as in the previous example, there are other ways Vanya could have gotten her point across. 

*******

Later, as Five and Luther wait for Hazel and Cha-Cha, Five brings up his time with the Commission. 

Five. You know, I never enjoyed it. Luther: What? Five: The killing. I was good at my work, and I took pride in it, but it never gave me pleasure. I think it was all those years alone. Solitude can do funny things to the mind.  Luther: Well, you were gone for such a long time. I only spent four years on the Moon, but that was more than enough. It’s the being alone that breaks you. 

I’ve seen some fans point to this scene (and others, but more on that later) as yet another example of how Luther’s constant whining about the Moon causes him to ignore his siblings’ trauma. Which is odd, because in this scene, Luther does almost the exact opposite of what these fans accuse him of. 

Yes, he does bring up the Moon without being explicitly prompted; and yes, he does respond to Five’s trauma with a comment about his own. However, he does not bring up the Moon apropos of nothing. When Five says “Solitude can do funny things to the mind,” it reminds Luther of how he spent four years with zero human contact in a sealed vacuum out on an airless hunk of rock careening through the void, so he contributes that to the conversation. 

More importantly, Luther’s mention of his time on the Moon is used not to invalidate Five, but to validate him. Pay attention to the wording here: “I only spent four years on the Moon, but that was more than enough.” He’s aware that Five spent upwards of 30 years wandering a post-apocalyptic wasteland, and he remembers how difficult those four years on the Moon were. With that line, Luther compares his four years on the Moon to Five’s 30-plus years as the last man on Earth and acknowledges that Five had it worse. Here, he seems to be admitting that he would not have been able to handle over three decades of pure solitude.

Furthermore, his next line, “It’s the being alone that breaks you,” is an attempt to commiserate with Five—similar to how Vanya commiserated with Leonard earlier. Luther isn’t saying, “dAd SenT mE 2 tH mOOn aNd i HaD iT woRSe sO ShUt UP”; he’s saying, “Yeah, man, I get it. I was alone with no way out and no idea why I was there, and I was only on the Moon for four years. I don’t know how you lasted as long as you did.” 

Another, smaller thing of note: This is the first time we see Luther addressing his time on the Moon as a negative experience. Up to this point, he has either spoken of it fairly positively or neutrally. This conversation with Five, where he compares those four years to Five’s time in the apocalypse, is the first instance where Luther hints that his time on the Moon was actually very difficult to cope with. “It’s the being alone that breaks you” paints a far, far less rosy picture of the Moon than, “In those moments, when my entire world turned to white glass, I felt like I was meant to be there.” 

**********

Running count of trauma mentions (cumulative of all episodes thus far)

Own Trauma: Vanya 4, Luther 4 Trauma of Others: Vanya 3, Luther 3 

*Let’s just say I was encouraged to get into and stay in a bad relationship. When I later broke it off, the same people who encouraged me to ignore my own misgivings told me that they’d suspected there was something wrong with my partner from the beginning. Gee, thanks. Couldn’t have used that advice before everything went sour. 

Read on to Part Five

[imsorryaboutallthejack]

Remember back when Saying a character is “projecting” was all the Craze?

“Did you forget that he’s evil? You’re NOT, Or...You’re not supposed to be-You’re supposed to be Good! You Can’t-”

(POT 42:11)  Lets bring that back. Lets talk about Roman’s absolute interest in Being Good” and His hatred of Deceit. TL:Dr Roman lost a part of himself literally by not being what Thomas thought was acceptable. If Thomas starts shutting things down again and he doesn’t make the cut, he might be wiped from memory too, just like Remus-the part of himself he cut out...just to stay. -Plus some fun links.

Or... Y’know Janus.  First, Jan the man Sanders: Every time Deceit shows up, it’s at Roman’s expense. Can lying be good? Selfishness vs. Selflessness?  Heck Jan was the one that released Remus. 

“Of course not. He’s just trying to build up a false confidence in you. So, you can plummet to even greater depths” (POF 35:10) “Don’t *slight pause* don’t try to Flatter me snake” (POF 38:46)

This I think, is more important to someone who feels their only value is as “The good brother”. The good half. I think this more specifically because When the Trolley experiment came up, There wasn’t a symbol for Remus, But there was one for Jan. Also Keep in mind, he’s the one that has been ERASING Remus. At least according to Can lying be good. Janus is a serious threat to him. To every thing he fears. It’s one thing to feel insecure all the time, which Roman does. Obviously. But its another thing entirely to know that if you slip up, you get banished from MEMORY.

Y’know like Remus. Which is why I think Roman is so Sensitive about being compared to that and his self worth. He *knows* he can be thrown away. He’s watched it happen.

“It’s a little like looking into a fun-house mirror, But instead of a Giant Head, or like, long legs and a tiny torso, it shows you *small scoff* everything you don’t want to be.”  “That doesn’t sound like a very fun house” “But whatever y’know He’s gone now and he’s never coming back” (DWIT 35:53)

Thinking about this, Roman is RIGHTFULLY scared. He needs to know the rules of being a good person and a good side more than anyone. He was the most reluctant to bring Virgil aboard because HE had to literally do that to a half of himself. He’s not going to do anything to make Thomas or Patton doubt his fealty. Patton especially since “he’s the guy who that makes that call”. 

I think about this a lot in Dealing with Intrusive thoughts. When Roman comes up he’s asks if he’s ‘good’, to which he says “ I don’t know,” Then asked if he’s hurt at all. To which he specifically answers:

“ My heads fine. More than anything, I feel like I was struck by a... realization.”

(I also left a comment in the video about it since I was theorizing) He has been having issues with considering himself a good person. He’s also super insecure. As thoroughly expressed in Learning New Things About Ourselves. He needs to be Important. And the response to being told he needs to be ‘brought into line’, yikes.    He literally says “That’s rich” to “we embrace you” in the Incomplete (LNTAO 28:18). Which let’s just take some seconds to talk about the symbolism in THAT. But also, that the song starts and ends with Roman. And ‘With no you at all I’m incomplete” is a nice line. But no you at all? like there is a some Roman. well...there is we’ve learned.

Either way, Roman takes being at fault very harshly and VERY quickly.

Actually Let me give you the HoeDownThrowdown on all this right quick:

(AIO) (actually this whole episode the way he and virgil say ‘no?’ in such a confused tone)

(GU)(boop)

(MSC)(also the whole him and patton matching thing I KNOW things this far back weren’t planned to now but it fits sooo well)(cough)

(BaC)

(AA pt.1)(and)(AA pt.2) “You’re willing to work as a team and you make us better” “Was that good? Did I do good?”

(FI)(Very straight forward in this one)

(MO pt.1)(plus a big O.O there)(MO pt.2)(plus)and(plus)

(12DoC)(obvious plus)

(CLBG)(plus)

(WDWGOoBitM16:06) (Actually this whole video)

(LNTAO 29:13)

(EP)

(Sv.S) (DWIT) we already did to death

(ATHD)

I honestly don’t trust myself to get to all the points I wanted to about this. But I left some links up there for everyone else to kind of follow what I’m getting at here. 

Roman has to worry about going back on everything he knew. It was what separated him from his brother in the first place.  “rights and Wrongs, should and shouldn’t s”(POT 40:59) “Those labels are DEADLY serious” (Sv.S 28:09)  And to Roman, it is an actual memory.

“If you’re missing that do-gooder drive, I think it’s because I’m in the driver's seat, and I’m an awful driver” (POF 24:18)

 I Honestly think he’s asking when he says

“So what, we’re supposed to do a complete 360 right back into Selfish city?”  (POT 38:24) Have far back is far enough, How much does he get to have back?

Heck yeah, Trauma! 

[boogiewrites]

Choking On Sapphires 85

Characters: Alfie Solomons x Genevieve (OFC)

Title & Song: Breakdown

Summary: Genevieve’s behavior comes to a head and Alfie is forced to act as the harsh voice of reason. He's left to act in his personal life as he does in his business where he does the things no one else wants or is willing to. But he'd do anything for his Genny. Song is Breakdown by Tom Petty.

Warnings/Tags: Language. References to assault and violence. PTSD. Angst. Drug Abuse. Trauma. Self Hatred. Fighting, verbal and physical. 

Click on my icon then go to my Mobile Masterlist in my bio for my other works and chapters. (Had to do this since Tumblr killed links, sorry.) Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

There had been a shift in the energy of the house after Claire and Genevieve’s altercation. Genevieve was trying to behave but finding it nearly impossible. The pull of the promise of relief from her medicine was too seductive to deny for long. Each dose was reacted to like some rare delicacy, with closed eyes and moans. She couldn’t control herself. Her mind was crowded with so much the more time passed. More memories and complicated waves of emotions she didn’t understand, left her feeling overpowered no matter what she did.

She was trying and it could be seen by everyone, but she would drop everything for her medicine and it was obvious there was still dependence there no matter how little they gave her. A nervous tick when it got close to the time for it, nose twitching and eyes fluttering, trying to stay still and waiting for someone to mention it because she knew she couldn’t first. Then she’d be given that look again, and she hated the humiliation that came with it.

She tries to fill the shame, the hurt and the anger with something. She studies, but that leads to headaches and a sore throat. She paints and the things that come out are dark and twisted and make those around her uncomfortable and worry about her. She dresses up, trying to see herself how she was, but it all felt like a sham. There was no confidence where it once lived. She eats and bakes, finding a productive distraction and gaining a slight bit of weight from where she’d lost it. But her appetite was still lackluster, the medicine saw to that. She wasn’t ready to try to add her former most favorite vice, sex, to the list but at least she could fathom the idea of it without becoming physically ill. Maybe things were getting better. But the voice in her head told her no as soon as the thought passed. That she was still very much broken and a failure, feeling slow in both mind and body still it was hard for her to be positive about anything. The depression was starting to set in.

With a memory that left something to be desired still, she’s grown the tendency to be forgetful. Clumsy and forgetful was preferred to hallucinating and passed out to everyone but her. The constant state of being aware of controlling herself left her exhausted most days and always on edge. She has the occasional tantrum, it couldn’t be helped, and with the lack of medicine given to help her calm down, it only made her angrier and fueled the fire of her fits. They were less often now, but more intense when they did happen. Big sweeping mood swings that took her wherever they wanted and she was was left to be used by her whims, whether the actions she took were something she wanted to do or not. They left her a crying mess. She only wanted to feel normal again. She didn’t know who this woman was that she’d become. She hates the anger she felt about her cravings for the medicine. She hates the flux of the ups and downs from it, but in her desperate moments, it’s the only thing that gives her some stability. She didn’t want to need it the way she did, another layer of anger born from shame. She felt weak and that was something she didn’t have much experience with.

On an afternoon spent dressing herself up for no reason, just passing time and listening to music to keep herself in good spirits she’s met with an undiagnosed stressor that had slipped between the cracks. A gossip hound by the name of Dorothy who did not have Genevieve’s best interests at heart. She was paid for information, not to tell that she was doing better. A saboteur sent in by one of the posh Jewish elite who did not approve of the Alfie and Gen’s underground lifestyle. Striking while the iron was hot and they were both at the most vulnerable they’ve ever been, Dorothy was there to make sure things didn’t run too smoothly for too long. Coming from the former biggest gossip in all of London’s employ, she knew how to stir a pot. And poor Gen, trusting those around her, as she had no other choice but to in her condition, never saw it coming.

“The horn section is lovely isn’t it?” Dorothy states, dusting around the gramophone.

The use of the word makes Gen’s nose twitch just as the maid knew it would. “Yes it is.” she answers with fluttering eyes and reaching for her large powder puff to fan herself with.

“I say, you’re looking rather glowing today, Miss. Like an inner light is coming out. I’m sure Mr. Solomons loves that you’re putting forth the effort in your appearance, hmm?” she makes casual sounding backhanded compliments as she moves around the room.

She sees Gen’s body language tighten and she keeps smiling as she works.

“You’ve put on some weight too I see. Filling out nicely. Looking healthy. All good things.” she chirps. “One would think there could be a little Solomons on the way with how you’re looking.” she gives an innocent scrunch of her nose and a kind smile. “Absolutely radiant.” she ends with a flourish. “And wouldn’t a baby be lovely? An excuse for all those sweets you’ve been making!” she lets out a light-hearted laugh. “Afterall, not many men would’ve stayed around through all this. You’re so very lucky to have Mr. Solomons. What a patient man.” she speaks softly.

“Yes. I am.” she mumbles, face turning downward now.

“Well, I’m finished in here. Anything else you need miss?” she asks putting a hand to Gen’s shoulder.

“No. Thank you.” she replies softly, eyes not meeting the maids, staring at her reflection in the vanity mirror.

“I don't care what anyone else says, I think you’re progressing just fine.” she gives a supportive nod. “Especially for what you’ve been through. My goodness. What a tragedy to befall such a woman who had such strengths. Surely a test. One you’re still working on mastering. We’re all waiting and watching...rooting for you Miss Durand. Have a good afternoon.” she says trotting out of the room, knowing the seeds were planted to make an eventful evening.

Every line had felt like a slap to the face for Gen. Every worry she had, some she hadn’t yet, all brought back out to the surface in a single conversation. If Gen had been herself she would’ve been impressed with the woman’s skill. Then she would have killed her of course for saying such things, but in this emotional state, she only felt sorry for herself. She looked at herself in the mirror. Were her breasts bigger? Was she getting too fat? Everyone was waiting for her to screw up again, she knew it. Apparently people were saying she wasn’t healing fast enough, but of course, they were. She wasn’t. And poor Alfie...he had been on the sidelines, merely a bystander in all this. It truly was a miracle he was still around. At this point he would be better off without her she thinks. She was only making his life harder.

Her eyes trail down to her stomach and she feels it flip with nausea. She had asked the doctor every time they were alone if her not bleeding was normal. There were no signs of pregnancy he said and the body can react wildly after trauma. That there was nothing he saw to worry about. But it didn’t stop the panic rising in her chest and bubbling up and out her throat in a choked sob. What if she was? What if a constant reminder of her weakness and this awful period of time we’re sitting right there. Taking root. It was her greatest fear and Dorothy had played into it seamlessly. All she had wanted before was to be pregnant. A happy accident, despite her timing the inward emissions of Alfie in her favor. Her mind had been all babies and happy thoughts attached and now it was of shame and upset. By far the biggest trigger of them all. She thinks of the children she’s seen. Wondering if they were a sign. Her dreams came true on occasion, so why not hallucinations?

Her hands clutch at the dress she wears, feeling sick rise in her throat. She gets intrusive thoughts of the time held captive again. Blood. So much blood. These were new, these weren’t her normal violent flashbacks, her eyes well up with tears and she starts to sob, feeling it all over again. Why was there so much blood she wondered? She feels it as if it’s real. Blood thick and caked on her skin, from her temples to her thighs, the sticky and awful feeling, the constant reminder of how battered she was. The constant worry there was too much of it, that was something was wrong with her. That panic takes hold of her and she starts wheezing, not catching her breath, holding her chest and gasping. She raises, wild-eyed and tries to make it to the bed to lie down, count like the doctor told her. But it was no use. This was too strong and she was too weak she thought. She knew what she needed.

She races in her tiny heels to the back innards of teh house to Aggie’s room. She’s in such a state she doesn’t hear Alfie calling for her as he sees her making a mad dash. Of course, his instinct is something is terribly wrong. And in a way it was, so he follows suit. He finds her on her knees with one of her hairpins in Aggie’s locked door.

His worry is replaced with hot anger, having to watch Gen give in and relapse in front of his eyes. “Gen!” he booms out and she doesn’t even notice. She barrels through the door and rummages loudly through Aggie’s things, finding the bottle of Morphine and finding it severely lacking in its contents.

She whimpers and whines, shaking it over her gaping mouth as she cries, mascara running down her face. She keeps wheezing, now at a total loss for how to handle herself.

Alfie barges in like a bull, one big swipe knocks the bottle out of her hands and it breaks against the wall. Her eyes turn large and terrified to him, but he doesn’t feel sympathy in the moment, only disappointment and anger. “Fuck’s sake Genevieve! Get ahold of yourself!” he says loudly as she cries, looking back over to where the bottle had broken.

“I can’t! I need it! I need it to STOP!” she wails loudly her head shaking back and forth dramatically.

“Gen!” he shouts again and she doesn’t stop, hands in her hair and groaning.

She was so desperate to make the fear and thoughts stop. But she just saw him there, silhouetted by that shifting yellow light over her. “I’m too weak. I can’t. I’m pathetic. It won't stop.” she pants, her face contorted into an ugly mash of pain and confusion.

“Get ahold of yourself woman!” he shouts, grabbing her tightly by the arms, making her stop hurting herself.

The rough handling of her snaps her from her self pity and kicks in her fight response. Her head snaps up, eyes dilated and black, intense as they glared into his own. “Don’t touch me!” she screams and struggles.

“I can’t fuckin’ trust you can I? Ya gonna fuckin’ hurt yaself!” he growls back as they wrestle back and forth. She was a lot stronger in the moment that he thought she could be in her condition.

“Stop it!” she fights back, kicking at him as he holds her up from falling and hurting herself, hitting something on the way down to the ground.

“No!” he yells angrily. “Look at you! Gen! Fuckin’ ‘ell girl CALM DOWN!” he roars, having to haul her back onto her feet.

She stops struggling and stands, face now full of betrayal as she shakes with the underlying anger.

“You need to get a grip on yaself Genny! Look at you! Why are you actin’ like this? Like a fuckin’ fiend! Are we going to have to lock you up next? Can you not be trusted anymore?” he asks with a low brow and harsh delivery.

“Let me go.” she demands, struggling against him mildly, her eyes looking more her old self in their fury.

“Fuckin’...NO! Why would I? Look at how you’re actin’! What is wrong with you?” he groans out loudly as her jaw clenches and she slaps him across the face, resulting in him very calmly letting her go and clenching his hands into fists at his sides. His nostrils flared and his eyes remained shut. He wasn’t going to hit her back. He wasn’t that sort of man. But she was bringing out the worst in him. They were bringing out the worst in each other.

“Don’t fucking touch me like that!” she shrieks, adjusting her dress. “I have a reason for acting this way! What about YOU?” she responds, shoving him out of the way and running off down the hall.

With her dress pulled high, she needed to escape. She needed out and away. She heads straight for the door, Joseph tottering after her as the staff had gathered cautiously to see what was happening.

“We’re going to London Joseph.” she announces with wild eyes and confidence to her face she hadn’t felt and no one had seen in some time.

“Miss I don’t think-”

“You are going to drive me to London or I will fucking DO IT MYSELF!” she screams as he hunches down and does as he’s told. What other choice did he have? “I’m not staying here. I can’t. I need to get out of my own head. I can’t stay. I can’t do it.” she mutters to herself, head shaking back and forth as they drive off as were her orders.

“Why are you just standing there! Go after her!” Aggie shouts in Alfie’s face, him standing where Gen had left him as he rubbed his temples.

“Send some of my boys after her. Watch her. We know what she’s fuckin’ doin’.” he shakes his head, his voice quiet and even.

“How are you so bloody calm?”

“Aggie... sweetie... calm is the last thing I am right now.” his voice was a deep hiss, his eyes almost hidden behind low brows. “But I...in my line of work have MUCH practice in withholding my true emotions. And I am using it to its full extent right now.” his jaw is tight, speaking through clenched teeth as he cracks his knuckles.

“But she’s ran away?”

“No. She’s going to get well pissed. That’s what she’s doin’. There wasn't enough of this fuckin’ JUNK to ease her and now she’s reverting to her immature behavior.”

“She’s not well Alfie, you need to remember.”

“IT’S ALL I FUCKIN THINK ABOUT YEAH?” he shouts in anger before composing himself and Aggie takes a step back. “I want to be so fuckin’ furious at her for this. I know I should be sympathetic. I know she’s not herself. But I am so close to just fucking off right now. And I know I don’t want to do that. And it’s all making me MORE angry because I can’t fuckin' control it. I control things Aggie, that’s what I fuckin’ DO. And I can’t her, right?”

“Neither can she. Remember that.”

“Oh, I do. And it just makes it worse.” he throws his arms up in the air. “I’ll go get her. Fuckin’... AGAIN.” he sighs and shakes his head. “I was prepared, yeah? To deal with the healing. I can grasp that. I can respect it. But this…” he motions to the broken bottle on the floor. “I’m having a bloody hard time respecting this.” he says with a groan. “This is just... weakness. This isn’t her. She’s not Gen when she’s on this shit.” he tells, walking around the bed and crunching the glass under his work boots. “There’s no more of this. Fuck that!” he says pointing to the same spot. “I’m done wif it. I ‘on’t care if the doctor says it’s helpin’, it’s fuckin’ not, right? Don’t get no more. Those are orders. You hear me? I know you’re soft Aggie but it’s time for some tough love for the old girl. Don’t ya think?” he asks, leaning over the small woman as she scrunches her face in a scowl. “This soft fuckin’ treatment innit doin’ a fuckin’ thing. She HATED bein’ coddled before. Remember? Do any of us ever remember fuckin’ BEFORE now?” he sighs and groans, rubbing his face.

“Yes sir.” she says coldly.

“Oh don’t give me that.” he responds with an aggressive nod. “Do you not think it’s time to reign her in?”

“I do. But I don’t like it.”

“Well, I ‘on’t fuckin’ LIKE it either! You think I want to be cruel to her? The woman I’ve promised to care for? To respect and protect?”

“It’s hard to tell with you lately.”

“Well, I fuckin’ don’t. But with someone like her…” he points in the direction Gen fled. “In a situation like this, perhaps sympathy isn’t what is needed. She needs a swift kick to the arse to make her see how she’s actin’. And I’m the only one what will tell her what she don’t wanna hear.”

“I hope you’re right. I’ll call the doctor and tell him no more medicine. In case she tries to get it herself.”

“Good girl.” he says giving her a strong pat the back and sauntering down the hall with hard steps that make his shoulder sway even more than usual.

-----

Genevieve had done exactly as Alfie knew she would. His men were out on alert for her in the city and they found her quickly. Out getting pissed at some east end shit hole where she didn’t have to pay for a thing.

“Alright. She’s had enough.” Alfie instructs, putting his watch back into his coat pocket. “Bring her out.” he orders with a flick of his wrist. “Be gentle but...make her. Try to appeal to her vanity. That usually works.” he states with a stern point of his finger to the lads given the job.

Gen, of course, did not want to leave. She didn’t want to see Alfie or hear about him or any man really. She wanted to be lost in the sounds and movements and be young and wild and free again. But the reality that she could no longer be any of those things, truly, would always come knocking. And in this instance, it was a few of the big boys of Alfie’s she knew. The muscle.

“Miss it’s time to go.” one says in her ear.

“No.” she declares defiantly. Like a child, really.

“Miss I must insist. We’re here on Mr. Solomons orders.”

“Fuck his orders.” she sass’s back and turns away and he takes her by the arm.

“We can take you out of here kicking and screaming but what would the gossip sound like if word were to get around, eh? So why don’t you walk out with us, and no one has to be any wiser as to what’s happening.”

She gives him a look that would normally make him worry, as he had heard about the things she’d done. “Don’t fuckin' touch me.” she growls, jerking out his grip. “Where is the bastard?” she spits out as she begins walking towards the door.

He waits, and it does take longer than expected. But there she came, mad as a wet cat, stomping, and hissing just the same towards his vehicle. She was uneasy on her feet, not stumbling but a drunken sway that told him he’d stopped her at just the right time.

He sits in silence, his hat on, cane in hand and posture straight as he makes her sit with her thoughts as they travel down the road. He eventually turns towards her and she’s pouting out the window.

“Gen, look at me.” he orders.

She, of course, doesn’t even acknowledge him. Sitting with her arms crossed and body language very clear she wanted nothing to do with him.

“Genevieve…” he warns. “Can you even hear me? Ya fuckin’ pissed innit ya?” he scoffs and waits.

She lets out a defiant huff through her nose.

“Fuckin’ look at me, woman.” he moves and takes her by the chin. He met with glossy and unfocused eyes and pouting lips. “Look at you…” he shames her and her lip quivers. “Fuckin’ mess.” he tsks and shakes his head. “Can you even respond to me ya little drunkard?” she speaks nothing and tries to move out of his grasp but he’s holding onto her too tightly. “Fuck’s sake Genny.” he presses his lips and sighs.

“I can.” she snaps back. “But what’s the fucking point?” she snarls.

“Because I asked you a fucking question dinnit I? Because you should explain this childish behavior. You’re not a fucking child. You’re not even that young, you’re a grown woman. You know better.” he speaks intensely but with a smooth delivery that makes her wants to slap him again. He was being too condescending. So patronizing it made her sick.

“Clearly I don’t.” she ejects back with a rough turn of her head that knocks her chin out of his grasp. He returns it slowly to the top of his cane.

“You’re some fuckin' junkie now and you’re just gonna give up? One bad thing happens and you just roll over and let your jellied brain just fuck you, eh?” he delivers harshly, knowing the words would hurt her, but it was his role to put the wild thing in her place before, and it only made sense he’d be the one now. He could handle her hating him. More people hated him than liked him, it wasn’t a bother to him. He knew that if she’d see a true relfection of herself, that she’d thank him one day for the honesty.

“One thing?” she shouts. “One fucking thing?” her voice cracks with emotion as she begins speaking with her hands. “My life has been nothing but bad things Alfie!” her voice was exhausted. ”One after another. Every fucking day!” she turns on her knees and screams at him. “I was there for DAYS, the things they did to me?! And you want to say it was ONE thing?” her French accent comes out, her finger pointing in his face as she let go of all that was building up inside her that the Morphine wouldn’t let her feel or communicate. “When you know how I was raised? What my father and his friends did to me? The kind’ve men I’ve had to get close to? The shit I’ve had to eat because of being a woman. ONE THING?” she screams in his face.

“And what good is complainin' and throwin’ a tantrum like a fuckin' little girl gonna do, eh?” he keeps his calm, and it makes her angrier. He should be as upset as her she thought. It wasn’t fair he got to be unbothered and she was left a mess.

“Fuck you Alfie!” she barks, sitting back and crossing her arms, looking out the window.

“I’d rather hear that then you feeling sorry for yourself.” he snarks with a raised brow. He was proud of her, actually. This was the most she’d talked about what had happened. She needed to feel these feelings, get them all out and that medicine had stopped it, stunted her and left her in an emotional purgatory.

“We can’t all have steel traps up here can we?” she replies, tapping her temple “We can’t all be fuckin’...made of stone and just push forward no matter what happens. Some of us are SOFT and FEEL things.” she answers with a quieter voice, but that did not mean she was less angry.

“If you think I don’t feel things you’ve not been payin’ attention.” his voice even, and lips pursed.

“So your reaction to my problem is to shake me and shout at me? To give me barked orders like a dog?” she questions incredulously.

“You haven’t listened to anythin' else.” he gives her a side-eyed glance and he can feel the heat radiating off her towards him.

“What else have you tried lately Alfie? Huh? I don’t even remember when I first came home, and I don’t remember you being soft with me once as of late. You’ve just given me that… fuckin’... look.”

“A look?” he answers a mild chortle.

“Yes like that! Like a disappointed father. Like you don’t even want me anymore. I’m just some burden to you.”

“Genny this behavior is a burden for a man like me.” he speaks plainly and it cuts her like a knife.

“Then why don’t you just fucking leave? If you hate me so much?” her eyes welling up with tears now, the anger shifting into hurt.

“I don’t hate you, but you’re actin' like a daft cu-.” he sighs. “I don’t hate you. If I did I wouldn’t be here right now. I wouldn’t have been dealing with the things I have for you... from you.” he answers with a curt tone, his hand laying out his point as he spoke.

“Do you think what a woman like me needs right now is cold indifference?” her head shakes back and forth, in disbelief at how he was speaking to her.

“I don’t know what the fuck you need any more to be honest. This whole thing has turned you into someone I don’t know.” his eyes were more honest now, she recognized it.

“I could say the same.” she glares back, hiding the swell of emotions inside her. She didn’t want to break down again. She didn’t want him to have the satisfaction. And that was exactly what he had wanted out of her. He didn’t care if she had to use him and spite for him to gain the want to control herself. He just wanted her to control herself.

She sulks the whole way home, the anger fading, turning to sadness with the tiredness that overtook her body. He followed her into the bed room, as if nothing was wrong.

“Why are you staying around me?” she snaps as he sees the softness in her face.

“Because I have to, love.” he replies as he takes off his coat. He knew another flare was incoming.

“Why are you being so mean?” her hard exterior breaks and tears start to fall.

“You want to know? Truly? Can you handle it Genevieve?” he asks with a mean face that shows so sympathy for her tears.

She nods, “Yes. I can.” she says defiantly through tears.

He takes a deep breath and gives her the truth. “Because I just want my Genny back.” he admits with a shake of his head. The brief softness in his eyes making a sob bubble up in her throat. “I don’t know who this drugged up woman is that runs off in the middle of the night.” his voice lacked bite, but still felt harsh as it came out. “You did it once, and I was sympathetic, your sister passin’ ‘n all. But not with this. Not after all this time.” his face hardens, straightening his posture and looking her up and down, judging her. “You’re smarter than this Gen.” he says with exasperation. “You aren’t who I agreed to be with right now. And I just fuckin’ want some relief, I just want my Genny back, love, that’s all.” his brow was hard, his words even more so as they hit her in the chest like a kick.

“I am your Genny.” she sobs, voice so small. Her heart was broken, her faults laid out plainly for her to see. She could no longer ignore them. “I am. I’m just... I’m…” she breaks down and begins to cry. The fog she’d been in gone, the cold reality of her behavior hitting her now. Feeling every little thing, most importantly shame for the right reasons for the first time since the incident.

“But you’re not though are ya?” he leans towards her, his face still cold to her. “You’re not her right now, sweetie. Cause my Genny? She wouldn’t do any of 'is.” he motions to her, half bent and sobbing into her hands as he begins to walk away to leave her to her catharsis.

“I am your Genny!” she shouts and her voice breaks and cries, tears and snot and the whole mess, months of backed up and delayed revelations coming at her, feeling alone and ashamed. She watches him leave the bedroom as she calls out, not seeing the hurt on his own face for putting her through this. But he knew it had to be done, it was his role to be the one to do the things no one else wanted or could.

He sleeps in his old room that night, giving her time to wail it all out. And she did. She cried herself sick. But she didn’t drink, she didn’t ask for medicine, she didn’t ask for anything. She sat in front of the fire, thinking about the past few months and let out everything in wails and sobs. A cleansing she’d desperately needed.

——-

The next morning Alfie's conscience is weighing heavy. It didn’t happen often and he hated the feel of it. But he’d slept like shit and heard her crying all night and had to deal with the dirty looks from Aggie and Claire as he rose from the spare room. He wanders into the kitchen, asking for Genevieve’s favorite tea and sweets. It isn’t questioned and he shuffles his way to her room with the serving tray balanced in his hands. House shoes scuffing the stone floors while his pajamas slicked together from the soft fabric Gen insisted on them being.

She’s asleep in the floor, laid out on pillows and blankets in front of a dying fire. Her hair was covering her face and most of her body, a silk nightgown just visible underneath the veil. He stokes the fire and feeds it, then standing over her and clearing his throat, causing her to stir.

She whines and rubs her face, pushing her hair out of the way of seeing before focusing her eyes on his shoes.

“Oh.” She says sleepily, “It’s you.” She lets him know she wasn’t too keen on seeing him.

“I brought ya your tea and biscuits.” He offers in a friendly voice. Much more polite than anything they exchanged the night before.

“Thanks.” She grumbles, pulling herself off the floor and onto the couch.

“Would you like me to make your tea? Fetch you a robe?” He inquires.

“No.” She answers quickly, moving to prepare her tea herself. “I don’t want to be fucking coddled.” She forced out through a smart tongue.

He doesn’t find himself annoyed at her behavior. Even though that was clearly the case for her towards him. She was a crumpled, sickly looking mess but she was indeed herself. And that’s all he’d wanted. He’d missed that spark, that justified emotion, even anger towards him. He knew she was feeling more herself with her demand and he felt a small glimmer of hope.

“How are you feeling this mornin'?” He inquires with a tilted head her way.

“Like hell.”

“You do favor it, sweetie.” He says with a rub of his chin.

She raises her eyes in a glare his way but finds his face not aggressive. ”You look just as well Alfie.” She snarls back.

“I’d not only agree but say I feel much the same.” He nods and purses his lips I’m hesitant agreement.

“I’m going through withdrawal and dealing with a bastard of a ma What’s your excuse?”

“Dealing with a woman going through withdrawl and being a right bastard.” He retorts.

She actually felt inclined to smile at the remark. That would’ve been the first in months. The first non-drug induced one anyway. Normally the comment would’ve been met with a laugh and a little pinch of the cheeky man. Perhaps even a kiss for the self-deprecating humor. But all he saw was a flash of sarcasm in her eyes, but that was indeed enough to satiate him for now. A “Mmph.” nodded is all he is given in the meantime.

“Do you need anythin' this mornin'?” He asks cautiously. She always asked for her medicine with breakfast when it was not freely given.

“No.” She sighs out, teacup resting on her thigh. “I’m afraid I don’t have an appetite for much of anything else anymore.” Her voice is even but her hands shake. Her color was poorly, dark circles under her eyes and a pale complexion. A light cast of sheen from sweat on her skin. Her stomach growls and she rubs it with a wince. “Just send Aggie in. I’m feeling rather weak in the absence of the medicine and I’ll be taking to my bed today I believe.” She rises and puts the back of her hand to her mouth for a moment, nausea sweeping about her insides.

“Will do, love.” He says with a polite bow. “Any cause to call the doctor?”

“No. There’s nothing he can do for this.” She shakes her head. “I’ll just have to suffer until it’s out of my system. And what is more suffering for a woman like me?” She shrugs and looks his way. She was tired, bless her, in so many meanings of the word.

“It is nothing for a strong woman.” He states supportively.

She lets out an amused laugh, a single forced exhale of “Ha.” A scoff really. “When I see one I will be sure to give her my problems.” She rolls her eyes and rubs her stomach again as it growl and squeals.

“Mirrors in the bathroom.” He motions and she shoots him a side-eyed glance. “If you need me further I’ll be only a phone call away.”

“I won’t require you.” She answers curtly, not looking his way. It was the first time she’d not pouted when he mentioned leaving.

“I will be home for tea. Perhaps you will feel up to having it with me?” He questions as he moves toward the door.

“Perhaps.” She calls out in response. She pauses in the bathroom doorway as he does the same to the hall. “Perhaps not.” She says with a shrug and an almost sarcastic face.

He only gives her a nod in response, shutting the door behind him. He should’ve felt a burn of her being cold. But he didn’t. He knew she’d be mad with him for some time. But he was ready to weather it. She could be as angry as she liked, didn’t matter to him. Not when their well being, their business, and her recovery were at stake. He’d take all the anger from her in the world to get his Genny back.

Please like, comment and reblog if you enjoyed it! It helps out us writers A LOT!

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[ill-be-istj-if-no-one-else-is]

Regarding looping, I also find that many people mistype their Enneagram, considering themselves 2 in integration or 7 in desintegration... There is no info about how long these "rises and falls" may last.

I’m not sure if there was a question in here? But I’m going to take it as a jumping off point to talk a bit about my entirely subjective theories here.

First, re: no info about how long these rises and falls last. This is all pseudoscience, so this is very much just me speculating, but as I understand it:

Gripping is a brief stress reaction. If you think you are gripping for years, you are probably just mistyped.

Looping is typically described as a defense mechanism, specifically in people who haven’t developed their auxiliary function very well. As a result, shorter periods of looping, also as a brief stress reaction, make sense in teen/early adulthood years. For long-term looping, I’d suspect it wouldn’t occur unless someone also had severe trauma in the mix, in which case stop reading about looping on the internet and find a therapist if that’s remotely possible.

disintegration/integration are more a lifelong state of health for enneagram. Most people are somewhere in that middle range, and again, stop saying “oh it’s just enneagram disintegration” and get some actual help. But I don’t think you just dip into disintegration (the way you might for a loop or grip) - it’s not a stress reaction, but an overall, well, disintegration. It’s a breakdown process.

-------

Now, the other part: Tumblr is an absolutely garbage place to learn about mental health. I cannot stress this enough. There are lots of people who have taken a single psych course if that and decided that they are basically a luminary within the field of abnormal psychology when in fact they are a caffeinated 19-year-old with a B- average. Or people will hear something from their therapist - which is great - but share it and other people will assume it also applies to them.

The example I like to use is maladaptive daydreaming. This is a controversial subject even within actual clinical psychology, and research is in its infancy. There have been something like two actual case studies. And, more crucially, normal levels of daydreaming in healthy humans are pretty high. If maladaptive daydream gains traction as a recognized condition, it would have as its core symptoms a requirement that the affected person essentially be addicted to the point where it is seriously interfering with one’s ability to engage with the real world. It is not common. But because it’s a poorly-understood area with little research, instead of exercising a normal level of scientific caution, or having the life and/or research experience to say “oh having elaborate escapist fantasy scenarios in your head is ENTIRELY FUCKING NORMAL, why do you think people write fiction or play D&D” a whole lot of people on Tumblr have decided they are afflicted with this, when in fact they are completely fine.

Self-diagnosis is a stage in the mental health process, and I’m not going to front like every mental health professional has pure intentions and is infallible nor that mental health is as accessible as it should be, but so many things - daydreaming, intrusive thoughts, feeling anxious or sad or easily distracted sometimes - are well within the normal human range of experience. The mental illness occurs when you feel this way for no reason and can’t stop for extended periods of time and can’t function normally. To put it another way, even a completely neurotypical person can have really shitty days, because that is how life and the world and brains all work.

I don’t want to minimize mental illness (ie, I’m trying not to sound like Maria Bamford’s brilliant Everyone Has Depression bit), but the internet discourse in general suffers from a severe lack of context and nuance.

This applies to MBTI. Everyone has stressful moments when they lash out, because that is how many people interact with stress. These are things you can learn from a. meeting a goddamn fucking person and b. taking a class in cognitive neuro or psych and recognizing it does not make you a psychologist but it does give you a tiny grain of that context you so desperately need to engage with that internet discourse intelligently. But without that context, instead of saying “I was having an awful day and I freaked out and I’m sorry, this is a human thing” it turns into “I was gripping/looping/disintegrating.”

For some people, MBTI turns into a way to divorce their consciousness (their soul I guess if you ascribe to that theory?) from their actions and that’s one reason I try to describe the functions as being used (eg: I am a high Si user) - if I do something shitty, that is me, Em, doing something shitty, not my low Ne or my high Te or enneagram 1 disintegrating into 4.

Frankly, even if I were legit in the grip, if I did something shitty I have still done something shitty and am still responsible for my actions, because adult humans are general speaking responsible for their actions. But I think a lot of looping/gripping/disintegrating stuff comes from a place of both not understanding what is pathological and what is completely normal, and also a lack of personal responsibility. Or, on the flip side, people hoping they are fine and this is just an MBTI quirk when in fact it’s an actual issue.

As a lesser and more cynical factor, I think some of this also is a way to type yourself as the hot new darling of whatever system while explaining why you don’t actually act that way: “oh, I’m disintegrating to 7 but I’m really the all-knowing 5″.

[dipulb3]

Traumatizing details of George Floyd's death were shown at trial. Experts weigh in on who should -- and shouldn't -- see them

New Post has been published on https://appradab.com/traumatizing-details-of-george-floyds-death-were-shown-at-trial-experts-weigh-in-on-who-should-and-shouldnt-see-them/

Traumatizing details of George Floyd's death were shown at trial. Experts weigh in on who should -- and shouldn't -- see them

They were among the officers responding to a call accusing Floyd of using a fake $20 bill at convenience store.

The footage shows two perspectives of the events before and after the nine minutes and 29 seconds Chauvin and two other officers knelt on Floyd’s neck and body.

Lane’s bodycam is up-close and personal, capturing Floyd’s fear and increasing panic as he struggles with officers trying to put him into a police car: “Don’t do this to me,” he pleaded repeatedly. “I’m claustrophobic!”

Agonizingly clear are Floyd’s struggles to breathe and cries for his mother as Chauvin continues to kneel on Floyd’s neck.

Thao’s bodycam shows the panicked reactions of a growing crowd at the corner of 38th Street and Chicago Avenue as they plead with officers to stop.

“Does he have a pulse?” yelled off-duty firefighter and certified EMT Genevieve Hansen when the officers refuse to let her examine Floyd. “Tell me what his pulse is right now!”

And then a chorus of anguished voices: “What are you doing, he’s dying!” “He’s not moving!” “Get off his neck, bro!” “He’s f**king dead!”

If you and your loved ones haven’t already, should you watch these traumatizing videos and follow the trial as it unfolds? What role might your race, ethnicity or prior experience with trauma play in your decision? If you have viewed them and are struggling with emotions, what can you do to help yourself and those you care about?

Appradab reached out to four trauma experts for their opinions: psychology professor Janet Helms, the director of the Institute for the Study and Promotion of Race and Culture at Boston College; Dr. Cheryl Singleton Al-Mateen, a professor of psychiatry and pediatrics at Virginia Commonwealth University and medical director at the Virginia Treatment Center for Children; and clinical psychologists Michele Cosby and Leslie Kimball, who are both assistant professors of psychiatry at the Virginia Treatment Center for Children.

Here are their thoughts, edited lightly for clarity.

Leslie Kimball: For adults who have had similar traumatic experiences, I think it’s advisable not to watch the video or trial without some opportunity to get support or to talk with someone else about it — isolation is dangerous.

But everyone may be deeply disturbed by these videos — that’s our humanity, our empathy — and that’s a wonderful thing. It’s also an awful thing that we are able to put ourselves in his shoes and feel his terror and helplessness. It was clear he knew what was happening and what was about to happen. It’s secondary trauma — we are witnessing someone else’s trauma, and so we experience a form of trauma.

Be aware if you experience intrusive memories, or even flashbacks. And if you notice that starts to interfere with your daily activities — your sleep, your appetite, and certainly if you start having any unsafe thoughts about death or dying or hurting yourself — the first step is to talk with someone you trust, such as a mental health professional.

When it comes to children, parents need to be careful. We can’t protect children entirely from these realities, but we want their exposure to be developmentally appropriate. No, we would not want young children to watch these tapes, but we may want to have a conversation with them about what they may be hearing. For older children, maybe they watch a news story about it, but if an entire tape is being played, say “Hey, let’s not watch this part.”

Janet Helms: I think White people have a duty to watch the videos, because if you don’t watch as a White person, then you never know these things are happening in your name. So I think you have a duty to watch, to bear witness, to say, “This is not who I am; it’s not who you are.”

It’s a different experience for Black and Indigenous people, because they are watching similar experiences with respect to violence in their own lives every week, and so this is just building trauma, upon trauma, upon trauma for Black people.

In retraumatization, whatever symptoms were experienced the first time, are going to be aggravated a second time, and perhaps more strenuously than the first time. It’s racial PTSD, and my team has resources and a tool kit people can use at #racialtraumaisreal.

I also think even people of color did not expect to see what happened to Mr. Floyd.

Although people of color, particularly Black and Indigenous people, grow up knowing that they are likely to be victims of police violence, we don’t typically see (police) spend such a prolonged amount of time killing a person.

Watching them drain a person’s life is particularly traumatic and not being able to help or prevent that yourself adds additional trauma to the situation.

Now there’s multiple trauma, reoccurring trauma, and also the knowledge that in these situations, no matter how many people are there, Black people are essentially helpless to prevent violence against one of their own.

What I often recommend to Black people is that they recognize that they’ve been traumatized, and that they need to take care of themselves by not watching those videos over and over again, if they can avoid it.

They can choose not to be a witness to this particular incident, to try to keep it out of their minds because it’s more traumatizing to them.

I say to them, “It’s okay to get help. You don’t have to be strong in this situation. This is an inhuman situation, so seek therapy to help you get over your symptoms.” It’s really important that if they talk, they are with people who can understand the trauma, their feelings of anger and guilt — and not with someone who’s going to discard it.

Or with someone, if I may say, who’s a White person who feels bad and wants the Black person to help the White person feel better. It’s not a Black person’s job to do that, it’s the White person’s job to do that for themselves.

Dr. Cheryl Singleton Al-Mateen: Understanding some of the issues related to structural racism in America is a process. People have to appreciate that it’s there, and then understand more and more about how it impacts others as well as themselves.

If someone is really saying “Well, what’s the big deal. I don’t know why should I care,” then maybe they should watch. And if somebody feels it’s part of their journey in that process to see this, then OK. But if somebody feels like “No, I don’t want to see it because it’s going to be painful for me,” then I’d say OK with that as well.

And if someone’s curious because they want to know about it, then “Fair warning, this could be traumatic for you to watch.” But it may be something that’s necessary for some people to see to understand what is happening.

It should not be necessary for someone to watch something that’s traumatizing, because you don’t know what their personal history of trauma is. What is a necessity is to listen, understand and believe.

Michele Cosby: I would encourage any person of color to take emotional inventory of what they can handle. For me as a trauma therapist, I know I dare not watch something that is triggering for me in the middle of my workday when I may not be emotionally resourced to handle it.

I encourage Black people to seek their own support. That could be structured or professional therapy. It can also be seeking out your spiritual leader or talking to loved ones who are seeing and experiencing very similar things.

It’s vicarious trauma. By hearing stories or witnessing and feeling the pain and the fear and the terror, it’s as if you are going through the trauma yourself, because you’re bearing witness to how that was for someone else. And especially for people of color watching, it also triggers their own life experiences, dealing with generations of racial trauma.

As a Black woman, I think what is often triggering is that it makes you think of your son, your uncle, your grandfather — all those people in your life that might encounter that situation.

There isn’t a way to avoid it completely, but I think part of this is taking inventory of emotions, recognizing what your emotions are. So if I have no emotion, if I’m numb, if my life experiences I associate with this leave me hopeless — that’s something I probably need to deal with. If I’m triggered with anger or guilt or desperation, then I need to figure out how to channel that for my own healing.

As a collective, this is not new for us, so having that shared experience can be helpful if it’s being channeled in a way that doesn’t cause you to self-destruct. Because it can easily trigger sadness, depression. Anxiety and fear are based out of not having control, and what those videos show is feeling out of control.

[iamhere-now]

Grief.

Grieving is an extremely powerful emotional response. It overwhelms you, stretching to every corner of your mind, body and soul. You experience an array of awful sensations, one minute your gasping for air, as if you’re drowning, next it feels as though theres a mountain sitting on your chest, crushing you. Grief is the most intense form of sadness you could possibly ever endure.

In my experience, and after a bit of research, grief has affected me relatively ‘normally’, I have gone through and continue to go through some expected stages of grief associated with the type of circumstance in which the death happened. Denial, anger, depression and guilt.

Everyone processes the news of a death differently. But everybody grieves. Its a natural emotional response to the news that a loved one has gone. Theres a lot of wild theories and studies floating around about certain stages of grief, whilst some of the feelings and responses are spot on, the order in which people experience them will always differ. Denial is a tricky one. In my previous post I talked about my aunt, who was diagnosed with terminal cancer. In cases of terminal illness, the denial stage can come well before the actual death, and in my families case, this was very much the general consensus. Denial, in terms of my fathers passing and how that came about, is a stage of grieving that, honestly, I don’t think I’ll ever get over. This goes hand in hand with guilt in my case. There will always be those ‘what ifs’. And what I am learning is that, its okay to have those what ifs, but its also okay to not allow them to take over, its okay to get on with your own life. I’ll probably be holding on to that guilt for the rest of my life, but not as intensely, and I wont be focusing on it, it’ll just be there, in the back of my mind.

Depression comes in many forms, and for some you may not even realise you have it. Grieving for a loved one can trigger a depression, of course, again its a completely natural response. I’ll talk about depression in more details another time.

Grief is a potent coping mechanism for humans, and even animals. It can gobble you up in an instant, and if you let it, it will keep you there. If you’re experiencing grief, you are not alone. Although it may feel like you are, no one is ever alone. Take that alone time that you need, but try to balance that out with spending time with the people who really care about you, and whom you care about. If I could give one tip to anyone going through the grieving process, it would be to not be afraid to laugh out loud. We are all human, we all go through a whirlwind of emotions on a daily basis, its what we do. Sometimes it can get us into trouble, sometimes it can bring about lasting memories of happiness/sadness/remorse/guilt, you name it, our brains are capable of it. Grief is a natural process, I am learning not to shy away from expressing those feelings. In the beginning I saw myself as weak every time I cried out for help or let intrusive thoughts take over, except now I feel like those early stages of grieving and my being so vulnerable, has made me stronger now than I’ve ever been. Experiencing a death, and going through an intense grieving process has started to shape who I want to be, a strong woman, a confident woman. Someone not afraid to say yes, or no. Someone who, sadly thanks to some intense emotional trauma, can rise up from the ashes a new, wiser human.

Its okay to grieve.

https://psyche.media/grief