#working on a pretty drawing is addictive I like compulsively come back to it

[daisywords]

wish I could get (and stay) in the zone with writing like I can with drawing

[howwelldoyouknowyourmoon]

The Psychological Needs That QAnon Feeds

Joe Pierre M.D.

Psych Unseen         Psychology Today

Part 1: What to do when someone you love becomes obsessed with QAnon.

August 12, 2020

“Where we go one, we go all.” — QAnon mantra

Ever since I started writing about conspiracy theories, readers have occasionally written in to ask for advice about a family member who has fallen down the rabbit hole of belief. To be honest, beyond expressions of sympathy and referring them back to my posts about why people are attracted to conspiracy theories in the first place, I often feel at a loss to offer anything helpful. The stark reality is that becoming obsessed with conspiracy theory beliefs has significant potential to drive a wedge between loved ones that can irreparably damage relationships.

Recently, however, I was invited on KQED radio to talk about this issue as it relates to QAnon, which prompted me to consider a more thoughtful response that I’ll cover here in a series of blog posts.

In Part 1 of this series on “What to Do When Someone You Love Becomes Obsessed with QAnon,” we’ll explore why it is that some people are so drawn to QAnon. Understanding that is a vital starting point if we hope to help loved ones climb of out the QAnon conspiracy theory rabbit hole.

Understanding the Psychological Needs That QAnon Feeds

QAnon is a curious modern phenomenon that’s part conspiracy theory, part religious cult, and part role-playing game.

Some of the psychological quirks that are thought to drive belief in conspiracy theories include need for uniqueness and needs for certainty, closure, and control that are especially salient during times of crisis. Conspiracy theories offer answers to questions about events when explanations are lacking. While those answers consist of dark narratives involving bad actors and secret plots, conspiracy theories capture our attention, offer a kind of reassurance that things happen for a reason, and can make believers feel special that they’re privy to secrets to which the rest of us “sheeple” are blind.

With an invisible leader (it’s not even clear if “Q” is a single individual or several), no organizational structure, and no coercive element for membership (people are free to “come and go” as they please), it would be a stretch to call QAnon a religious cult. But it has been increasingly modeled as something of a new religious movement, especially inasmuch as it’s often intertwined with an apocalyptic version of Christianity. Previous research on cults has revealed that people who join them are more likely to have symptoms of anxiety and depression and are often lonely people looking for emotional and group affiliation.1 Anecdotal evidence suggests that a similar psychological profile may also account for why some might find QAnon appealing.

Beyond conspiracy theory and online cult, QAnon has also been described as “an unusually absorbing alternate-reality game” where online players who refer to themselves as “bakers” eagerly await the chance to decipher cryptic clues in the form of “bread crumbs” or “Q-drops.” These rewards are dispensed within an irregular "variable ratio reinforcement schedule" that highlights how QAnon represents an immersive form of entertainment that, like online gaming or gambling, provides an ideal set-up for a kind of compulsive behavior that resembles addiction.

The puzzle-solving, role-playing dimension of QAnon acts as another reinforcing intoxicant of sorts, providing believers with an exciting new identity as a "Q Patriot." Back in the 1980s, parents worried that kids playing Dungeons and Dragons would get so invested in their magical role-playing characters that they might lose touch with the real world. Today, QAnon is a kind of live-action role-playing game in which the conflation of fantasy and reality isn’t so much a risk as a built-in feature.

Understanding the multifaceted aspects of QAnon in this way helps to understand its appeal as well as why believers might be unwilling to unplug and walk away. For those immersed in the world of QAnon, climbing out of the rabbit hole could represent a significant loss—of something to occupy one’s time, of feeling connected to something important, of finally feeling a sense of self-worth and control during uncertain times.

Without replacing QAnon with something else that satisfies one's psychological needs in a similar way, escape may be unlikely. Of course, leaving QAnon would allow believers to reclaim significant time and energy that might be better channeled into healthier real-life relationships, work, and recreational pastimes. But for many, the very lack of such sources of meaning might have led them to seek out QAnon in the first place, such that there would be little guarantee of finding them anew.

From that perspective, life down in the rabbit hole might look pretty good. As one QAnon believer put it , “Q is the best thing that ever happened to me.”

How can we convince our loved ones to walk away from that?

For more answers, stay tuned for Part 2.References

1. Rousselet M, Duretete O, Hardouin JB, Grall-Bronnec M. Cult membership: what factors contribute to joining or leaving? Psychiatric Research 2017; 257:27-33.

https://www.psychologytoday.com/ca/blog/psych-unseen/202008/the-psychological-needs-qanon-feeds

_______________________________________

Joseph M. Pierre, M.D. is a Health Sciences Clinical Professor in the Department of Psychiatry and Biobehavioral Sciences, David Geffen School of Medicine at UCLA and the Acting Chief of Mental Health Community Care Systems at the VA Greater Los Angeles Healthcare System. His work focuses on the treatment of individuals with severe mental disorders, including schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, major depression, and co-occurring substance use disorders. Although his clinical practice centers on the care of hospitalized patients who suffer from psychotic disorders, he has a longstanding interest in the grey area between psychopathology and normality and the psychological underpinnings of everyday life. Psych Unseen draws from the perspectives of psychiatry, neuroscience, psychology, and evidence-based medicine to address timely topics related to mental illness, human behavior, and how we come to hold popular and not-so-popular beliefs.

AUTHOR OF Psych Unseen

Psych Unseen: Brain, Behavior, and Belief draws from the perspectives of psychiatry, neuroscience, psychology, and evidence-based medicine to address timely topics related to mental illness, human behavior, and how we come to hold popular and not-so-popular beliefs. Read now.

___________________________________________

Part 2  How Far Down the QAnon Rabbit Hole Did Your Loved One Fall?

What to do when someone you love becomes obsessed with QAnon, 

Psychology Today      August 21, 2020

Joe Pierre M.D.  

___________________________________________

Part 3 What to do when someone you love becomes obsessed with QAnon

Psychology Today      September 1, 2020

Joe Pierre M.D.

___________________________________________

Born on the dark fringes of the internet, QAnon is now infiltrating mainstream American life and politics

CNN      July 3, 2020

by Paul P. Murphy

___________________________________________

The thin line between conspiracy theories and cult worship is dissolving

An information war is being waged.

bigthink.com     May 18, 2020            

by Derek Beres

___________________________________________

I’m dating a conspiracy theorist. But it feels like I’m the one going crazy.

Washington Post     August 16, 2020

by Trent Kay Maverick  

___________________________________________

The Birth of QAmom

Rolling Stone    September 2020

by EJ Dickson

___________________________________________

Christian Groups That Resist Public-Health Guidelines Are Forgetting a Key Part of the Religion’s History  

TIME

___________________________________________

The Prophecies of Q

American conspiracy theories are entering a dangerous new phase.

Story by Adrienne LaFrance ILLUSTRATIONS BY ARSH RAZIUDDIN The Atlantic   June 2020 issue

This article is part of “Shadowland,” a project about conspiracy thinking in America.

https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2020/06/qanon-nothing-can-stop-what-is-coming/610567/

___________________________________________

[scnnyfm-old]

chicago’s very own sunshine ‘sunny’ carmichael has been spotted on madison avenue driving a bmw 3 series , welcome ! your resemblance to dua lipa is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty-third birthday bash . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re sensitive , but being altrustic might help you . i think being a cancer explains that . 3 things that would paint a better picture of you would be the scent of bubblegum, an abundance of house plants, and freshly baked cookies . ( cis female + she/her ) 

helloooooo ghouls, goblins, and everything in between. it’s ya girl aneesa or whatever fun nickname you wanna call me, and this is my child sunny! you can reach me via ims or catch me on discord at 𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐬𝐚 🦋☀#5408

* && 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐬

full name — sunshine carhmichael

nicknames — sunny (preferred name actually)

birthday — july 15

height  — 5′ 8″

age  — twenty-three (23)

pronouns — she/her/hers

occupation(s) — singer, record executive, fashion/cosmetics brand ceo, fashion designer, reality show star, & model

languages spoken — english (barely)

orientation — bisexual

* && 𝐛𝐢𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐲

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ 𝑻𝑯𝑬 𝑺𝑻𝑶𝑹𝒀 𝑺𝑶 𝑭𝑨𝑹...

sunshine hawthorne grew up in the foster care system, according to the letter her mother left her, she was just a teenager with strict religious parents who threw her out the minute they learned of her pregnancy, and sunshine’s father was nowhere to be seen, and giving sunshine up was easier than living on the streets trying to fend for herself and a child

SEXUAL & PSYCHICAL ABUSE TW growing up in the foster care system was a lot, she bounced from family to family, and the things that happened were unspeakable. sometimes the abuse was physical, emotional, or sexual and it just caused a lot of deep personal trauma for herself that was never resolved

this caused her to become reserved, stuck up for the underdog even if it was at her own expense, just intrinsically unselfish, has always been the mom friend to a fault

she was 10 when she got adopted into an extremely wealthy family, like i’m talking top ten wealthiest families in the states, and suddenly sunny hawthorne became sunny carmichael 

so let’s take a minute to talk about the carmichael’s 

they originate from old money, i’m talking so far back it’s unclear whether or not the money they have was obtained legally or not, this caused her parents to be a little reckless w their spending

her father: sebastian carmichael is the one who inherited the wealth from his father, who inherited it from his father, and the cycle continues, he was addicted to gambling add that to the fact that he was a serial cheater and you have an extremely poor father figure

ALCOHOL & DRUGS TW her mother: davina carmichael was a drug dependent alcoholic who spent all of husband’s money to makeup for the fact that he was cheating on her, started her own billion dollar company from scratch, plans on ‘giving it’ to sunny

the carmichaels were very problematic and all of their scandals were extremely public, in fact the only reason they adopted sunny in the first place was so that they could appear more well-rounded then they were

after that would come give siblings, and it fell upon sunny to take care of all of them, so from a young age she acted extremely mature, learned to fend for herself, and still managed to have a soul flourishing with tender spots

sunny was a gifted kid, not academically, she struggled A LOT, she had trouble paying attention, couldn’t read as well as the other kids. she got teased a lot for being ‘dumb’ and honestly hated it, it’s one of her biggest insecurities to this day. but what she lacked academically she made up for artistically, she was musically inclined, and it was clear that she loved to draw (apparent from all the doodles in the margins of her notebooks)

her family capitalized on this as if she were some sideshow attraction, come see our daughter! look how good she is at painting and doodling! pay us money! and although it made her feel like some trophy the could polish and show off, and this messed up sunshine even more because she knew deep down they didn’t love her

in high school she was the bubbly ditzy popular girl, chewed on enough bubblegum to finance a new mercedes, and just was that stereotypical girl ripped straight out of an early 00′s movie

was on the cheerleading team because again i tell you she was just living her best teen life! having an amazing time! vibing!

although her parents could give her anything they wanted and were decent enough to pay the bills for her and her siblings, she wanted to provide for herself, not have to depend on her parents for anything

she got into modeling! and although t took her a while to find her footing eventually she did, and it was a great time! but eventually parents got jealous and made her quit modeling altogether, because god forbid that she get more attention than they did

eventually (and to everyone’s surprise lmao) she went to college, and somehow got accepted into an ivy league....for art! not as surprising, but her family lied and said she went to business school bc of course they did

she went to harvard and majored in visual arts, she got her degree, and got her her happy ass out of there, mostly stayed focused on her studies, occasional party here and there

she was extremely worried about her siblings and she immediately went back home to them, surprisingly they were in one piece, not surprisingly they were being raised by nannies

she applied her visual arts degree and started designing clothes, then modeling said clothes, because although her parents had enough money to get her company off the ground, she wanted to do it by herself

and she did! finally bringing a decent name to the carmichael family!

was a guest judge on a bunch of modeling/runway shows, occasionally starred in her family’s reality tv show against her will, and was so dynamic she would be offered her own, and of course she jumped at the opportunity! 

her mother tried handing off the company to her, and she declined! instead she opened up her own company selling her designs and was very hands on in learned to make cosmetics, and her company has been doing extremely well so far, it’s set to surpass her family’s company in a couple of years

as if she didn’t have enough on her plate she wanted to pursue her singing career, ended up having a whirlwind romance w a singer that she collaborated with, they were pretty serious and talked about being engaged, but eventually things fizzled out

said romance inspired a lot of her music, and encouraged her to keep going with her music career, she even worked her way up to the title of executive of their label, she’s on top of the world

she’s come a long way from the shy girl from foster care who afraid of her own shadow, but she’s lost none of her softness!

still extremely charitable and even started multiple charities all ranging from helping fund the foster care system to providing more funding for no kill shelters (she’s a vegan!) all of her charities are nation wide and oh boy does she have a lot on her plate

has....literally no time for anything else....still tries to prove to herself that she’s definitely not stressed and has so much free time! sdflksj tries to party and have fun, but mostly craves staying inside and takes baths with scented candles and just watches the same romcom over and over again 

* && 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭

....okay so maybe it’s not completely believable that she got into an ivy league with her own merit, after all she’s not the sharpest tool in the shed and spoiler alert she didn’t

her parents bribed an admissions counselor to let their daughter in their visual arts program, they even donated enough money to renovate the art museum 

all of this happened without sunny’s knowledge and she continues to live in blissful ignorance about the whole thing

* && 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲

zodiac — cancer rising, cancer sun, & scorpio moon

alignment — lawful good

mbti — infp-t

enneagram — type 2 ( the helper )

temperament — phlegmatic

house — hufflepuff

positive traits — ( + ) altruistic , committed , conceptual , curious , courteous , determined , generous , humble , inventive , imaginative , loyal , loving , organized , passionate , playful , reliable , selfless , supportive , thoughtful , and trustworthy

negative traits — ( - ) anxious , cautious , compulsive , critical , disorganized , dogmatic ,, hyperactive , indifferent , insecure , impulsive , logical , oblivious , pedantic , protective , and resilient

* && 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

please don’t feel limited by this list because i have a brain the size of a walnut and this is all i can think of these are almost all ripped off ryker’s intro bc i’m not creative

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ 𝑭𝑨𝑴𝑰𝑳𝑰𝑨𝑳....

family friends  maternal or paternal cousins

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ 𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑻𝑰𝑪...

past crush  current crush  flirtationship except she prolly doesn’t realize bc head empty  unrequited love ( on either side )  fwbs  will they? won’t they?  someone her friends are trying to set her up with  forbidden love of some kind idk maybe not  exes on good terms  exes on bad terms  first love high school or college romances  summer romance  childhood crush friends to lovers  pr relationship somebody who leads her on 

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ 𝑷𝑳𝑨𝑻𝑶𝑵𝑰𝑪...

BEST FRIEND / ROOMMATE PLOT BASED ON NEW GIRL OR FRIENDS PLS I WILL GIVE YOU MY EVERYTHING  best friends  confidants  ride or die sibling like friends  close friends  neighbors??  enemies to friends  reunited childhood friends drunk / party friends  someone she’s a good influence on  bad influence  unlikely friends  secret friends, aka friends who do not hang around in the public eye as their family or friends may not get along  #married....just they argue and love each other like a married couple

‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎‏‏‎ ‎ 𝑵𝑬𝑮𝑨𝑻𝑰𝑽𝑬...

enemies  former best friends  frenemies

[the-siren-saga]

Scenes from the City

Shanna

It starts with thunder so loud it seems to beckon to the land, lightning that strikes into it like the sharp sting of a blade, and the land responds in kind with feverish tremors. The sky is vivid, aurora of green and blue and deep purple flashing across it like brush strokes on canvas. It seems to coalesce in a roughly circular area around the city, as if creating a barrier, or perhaps a focal point. 

Needless to say, Shanna Averil is not impressed. 

"Figures this happens on a day I have to go into work," she sighs, flopping onto the couch in her pajamas. 

Victoire looks over from her computer. "They've closed all the roads anyway. Looks like all three of us have been granted a little forced vacation."

"Speak for yourselves," Moirah laughs. "My work is never done. A client wants info on this new TV preacher who's blown up overnight, and by the Hethe, this one's a slippery son of a bitch."

"The client or the preacher?" Victoire asks innocently.

Moirah slumps in her chair, an utterly lifeless expression on her face. "The preacher. And he's so calculatedly inoffensive, can't find a single crack in that disgustingly squeaky clean image he puts on for the cameras. I just want to break every bone in his body," she hisses.

"Is this what you're doing instead of going after the real threat here?" Shanna snaps. "I'm going back to bed. Wake me up when you've got your priorities–"

Another shudder as the ground moves under their feet. Shanna scrambles for something to hold onto, and, finding nothing, hits the floor with an unceremonious thud. 

Moirah offers her a hand, which she refuses, either out of anger or pride. "We'll have this conversation when the sky's not falling," she murmurs. Crawling to her feet, she looks out the window, to the electric-flashing sky and the wall of clouds that is beginning to build around the perimeter of Taveril'domaine, and as the immense golden door begins to materialize on the outskirts of the city, she silently curses the Hethe for never allowing her life to be normal.

Timothée

He can't stop looking at the sky. It's his nature to distrust anything that transfixes him so, but it's impossible for him to look away. But oh, how he wants to. How he wants to run, to never look back. How, if he wasn't obligated to stay, he'd have done it already.

"What's happening in the palace?" he asks his contact through their earpatch network.

Carine, an experienced spy in the Court, looks around briefly before answering. "They're all transfixed. Obviously. I don't blame them."

"Where's Marchosias?" he asks. "Does he have anything to do with this?"

"Ha, yeah," Carine laughs, trying not to draw attention to herself. "Marchosias Aversen controls the weather. Is that what they teach in that Society of his?"

Respectfully, Timothée chooses not to dignify that with a response.

"No, he has nothing to do with it. He seems pretty interested, though. I'm sure he's gonna make some grand address on the subject later– I'll patch you in to watch if you want."

Timothée makes an effort not to cringe. "I'd prefer not to hear whatever he has to say. Just send it to Asra, they're more able to handle that shit than I am."

"Asra's a little busy right now," Asra's voice echoes through the earpatch. A deafening chant can be heard, almost drowning out their voice. 

"Where the hell are you?" Timothée questions them. "And for the love of Ced'ric, please turn on push to talk. That chanting is incredibly distracting."

"Done, there, got it," Asra pants in response. "And to answer your question, I'm at the door. I wanted to prove it a fake, just in case it turns out to be one of Marchosias's schemes. But, uh–"

Timothée can feel himself growing impatient. "But what?" he sighs. "Please tell me it's a, like, a cheap stage prop or something. Just once, let SOMETHING be simple."

"...To tell you the truth, I'm not sure what it is," Asra says quietly, a definite note of awe in his voice. "But I can tell you one thing. It's definitely not a stage prop."

Marchosias

Once the sky is clear, he gathers his faithful in the High Cathedral– and not just his faithful, either. Somehow, whether due to his celebrity status both within the Court and outside it or simply due to his otherworldly talent for swaying the minds of others, he's managed to get a camera crew to film this address and broadcast it on every channel in the city. A message to all with ears to hear it, Malistrade had said when he heard about the plan. Absolutely inspired, Master– my mind thrills at the thought of what a boon this could be. Marchosias's mind is, admittedly, caught up in the same thrill.

Forgoing his usual royal purple suit for a robe of flowing black silk trimmed in gold, he sits upon a gilded throne surrounded by flickering candles. His High Companion sits at his feet, looking up at him with an expression of worship, and his dear, sweet consort leads the assembled faithful in songs and chants of adoration, working the energy in the room into a frenzy. One heart, one soul, one body, one mind. One Power to lead us, one Purpose defined. It's more than music to his ears. Their worship is as much a drug to him as his presence is to them, and right now it's coming over him like a hit of pure jacrit, sharpening his senses and making every nerve in his body awaken. It's this moment that he lives for, the knowledge that his power is so absolute and unquestioned that he could tell them to fight for him, to die for him, to kill for him and they would accept this new directive without question.

He turns his power up as he rises, just enough to leave them craving more. To the ones who have come before him, kneeling at his feet and clutching at his robes, weeping and gnashing their teeth for more of him, more of his intoxicating aura, he gives a fond smile. To those in the back, scarcely an acknowledgement is given.

The cameras turn on.

"It's rare that I address the people like this," he purrs, stepping down from the altar to create at least the appearance of humility. "The sight of this innermost sanctum is usually reserved for my truest and most dedicated servants, those who are held eternally within the pulses of my Heart. But today… oh, today is a special occasion."

The earlier argument forgotten as arguments between those who truly love one another often are, Shanna, Moirah, and Victoire are in the living room, flipping channels as background noise for a more pleasant conversation. Shanna suddenly freezes, her whole body going rigid. Staring out from the screen is the face of none other than the man she used to serve.

"No," she whispers. "Not him. Can't be him. Can't be– I don't want to go back to him, please don't make me, don't lead me into the Heart, please…"

"Victoire, scrap the current project," Moirah says in a low, cold tone. "See to Shanna, make sure she's okay for the night. Looks like I've got unfinished business to take care of."

"You may have seen the door that appeared just outside of our fair city earlier today," Marchosias says in a tone that can almost be described as reassuring. "I want to make an announcement, both as a Master of the Dekn Court and as the head of this Society, that no one has anything to fear from today's events, or from what lies on the other side of that door. In fact, quite the opposite– that door is but a symbol, my beloved people, a symbol of a new age which is beginning to dawn upon the Lathrym as a whole!"

He pauses a moment, to allow the raucous cheers from the gathered worshippers to pass. What a lovely sound, the sound of those unable to restrain their adoration of him. He smiles as he takes it in, rewarding their enthusiasm with yet another pulse of that delicious, addictive aura. The deep purple neon lights that line the ceiling pulse in time.

He takes a breath before continuing. "We are entering an age of benevolence, of wisdom," he continues in the same soothing, disarming tones. "An age where all suffering shall be washed away, leaving only the joy and the thrill of worship. An age where the true God of this world shall be revealed in full. This door is the symbol of my new era, and within it is all power given to me for the building of this world. And so I offer a hand to all of you who wish to assist me in this creation."

Kellan and Asra watch the address with a sinking feeling of dread. All they've done, all they've tried to sabotage him, and he just comes back stronger.

"We can turn this off if you want, love," Kellan says, brushing a strand of hair out of Asra's eyes. "It's okay to take a break. I know how much this is hurting you."

Asra turns away, their eyes still glued to the screen, not out of Beguilement, but out of a compulsion to understand just how bad things are about to get. "Leave it on," they answer. "I don't want to be caught unprepared."

"All you have to do," Marchosias says with a chilling gleam in his eyes, "is come to me, and give yourselves over into my hands. You have my word that I will keep you safe– in fact, I may be the only one who can do so."

[writing-prompts-for-friends]

Notes from Robert McKee’s “Story” 14: Idea vs. Counter Idea, and Striking a Balance

(I highly recommend that you check out my previous post where I spoke about determining your Theme [referred to as “Controlling Idea” by McKee] and its values and causes, as that post’s content is necessary background information for this one.)

Idea Versus Counter-Idea

For the sake of this section, let’s pretend that we are writing a typical action/adventure story in which the Controlling Idea is “Good triumphs over Evil when the good person’s intentions are unselfish.” Here we have the values of “Good/Evil,” and the Counter-Idea of “Bad triumphs over Evil when the bad person is willing to resort to any means to win.” Basically, pretty much any recent Marvel film haha. 

“A story progresses by moving dynamically between the positive and negative charges of the values at stake in the story. 

Sequence by sequence, often scene by scene, the positive Idea and its negative Counter-Idea argue back and forth, creative a dramatized dialectal debate. At climax one of these two voices wins and becomes the story’s Controlling Idea.

This rhythm of Idea versus Counter-Idea is fundamental and essential to our art. It pulses at the heart of all fine stories, no matter how internalized the action. What’s more, this simple dynamic can become very complex, subtle, and ironic.”

I think the first Iron Man movie really illustrates this well. Tony Stark starts out as a selfish weapons maker who by the end of the film has become willing to sacrifice his own life for the safety of others, and the film has scenes of the Baddie Obadiah progressively making more ruthless, evil decisions in order to defeat Tony and obtain the arc reactor. 

Of course, because this is a super hero movie, the audience goes in with the assumption that the hero with triumph. This is one of the genre rules, after all. However, each time Obadiah grows stronger and Tony is further challenged, the audience is left to wonder which idea will win out in the end. 

The Importance of Balance

Let’s say that you have a very, very important message to instill in your readers. McKee uses the example, “War is a scourge, but it can be cured by pacifism.” 

No matter how strongly you believe in something, you must make the effort to build the power of both sides of your argument. 

“As a story develops, you must willingly entertain opposite, even repugnant ideas. The finest writers have dialectical, flexible minds that easily shift points of view. They see the positive, the negative, and all shades of irony, seeking the truth of these views honestly and convincingly. This omniscience forces them to become even more creative, more imaginative, and more insightful. Ultimately, they express what they deeply believe, but not until they have allowed themselves to weigh each living issue and experience all its possibilities. 

Make no mistake, no one can achieve excellence as a writer without being something of a philosopher and holding strong convictions. The trick is not to be a slave to your ideas, but to immerse yourself in life. For the proof of your vision is not how well you can assert your Controlling Idea, but its victory over the enormously powerful forces that you array it against.”

I think that a lot of “hero vs. bad guy” stories fall flat because they fail to develop the counter-idea of “evil triumphs when it is smarter/more powerful/more determined than good.” I am certain you can think of at least three works where the bad guy was just...a bad guy intent on doing on bad things. There is also poor character development of the antagonist at work here, but because the audience isn’t shown enough of the counter-idea, we are left looking at our watches and waiting to see when the good guy saves the day, because we can foresee no other outcome. 

“A great work is a living metaphor that says, “Life is like this.” The classics, down through the ages, give us not solutions but lucidity, not answers but poetic candor; they make inescapably clear the problems all generations must solve to be human.”

The Three Categories of Story: Idealist, Pessimist, Ironist

McKee divides all stories into three categories based upon the emotional charge of their Controlling Idea.

Sorry for the poor-quality picture. I’m just too lazy to recreate this graphic. From top to bottom we see the change in charges of the controlling idea from start to finish, for Idealistic, pessimistic, and ironic controlling ideas, from top to bottom. 

Idealistic Controlling Ideas “’Up-ending’ stories expressing the optimism, hopes, and dreams of mankind, a positively charged vision of the human spirit; life as we wish it to be.”

Pessimistic Controlling Ideas “’Down-ending’ stories expressing our cynicism, our sense of loss and misfortune, a negatively charged vision of civilization’s decline, of humanity’s dark dimensions; life as we dread it to  be but know it so often is.”

Ironic Controlling Ideas “‘Up/down-ending’ stories expressing our sense of the complex, dual nature of existence, a simultaneously charged positive and negative vision; life at its most complete and realistic.

On Irony

Ironic Controlling Ideas can be either positive or negative. 

Positive Irony The compulsive pursuit of contemporary values--success, fortune, fame, sex, power--will destroy you, but if you see this truth in time  and throw away your obsession, you can redeem yourself.

Negative Irony If you cling to your obsession, your ruthless pursuit will achieve your desire, then destroy you.

This is one of my favorite sections in the book, so I’m going to liberally quote McKee here.

“The effect of irony on an audience is that wonderful reaction, ‘Ah, life is just like that.’ We recognize that idealism and pessimism are at the extremes of experience, that life is rarely all sunshine and strawberries, nor is it all doom and drek; it is both. From the worst of experiences something positive can be gained; for the richest of experiences a great price must be paid. No matter how we try to plot a straight passage through life, we sail on the tides of irony. Reality is relentlessly ironic, and this is why stories that end in irony tend to last the longest through time, travel the widest in the world, and draw the greatest love and respect from audiences. 

This is also why, of the three possible emotional charges at climax, irony is by far the most difficult to write. It demands the deepest wisdom and the highest craft for three reasons.

First, it’s tough enough to come up with either a bright, idealistic ending or a sober, pessimistic climax that’s satisfying and convincing. But an ironic climax is a single action that makes both a positive and a negative statement. How to do two in one?

Second, how to say both clearly? Irony doesn’t mean ambiguity. Ambiguity is a blur; one thing cannot be distinguished from another. But there’s nothing ambiguous about irony; it’s a clear, double declaration of what’s gained and what’s lost, side by side. Nor does irony mean coincidence. A true irony is honestly motivated. Stories that end by random chance, doubly charged or not, are meaningless, not ironic. 

Third, if at climax the life situation of the protagonist is both positive and negative, how to express it so that the two charges remain separated in the audience’s experience and don’t cancel each other out, and you end up saying nothing?”

McKee makes it clear that Irony is god-tier writing. Notice that he does not provide answers to the questions he raises. If you want to learn more about Ironic films done well, here are the films that he mentions in this section: 

KRAMER VS. KRAMER, THE WAR OF THE ROSES, ANNIE HALL, MANHATTAN, ADDICTED TO LOVE, THE PAPER CHASE, THE DEER HUNTER, AN UNMARRIED WOMAN, AND JUSTICE FOR ALL, TERMS OF ENDEARMENT, THE ELECTRIC HORSEMAN, GOING IN STYLE, QUIZ SHOW, BULLETS OVER BROADWAY, THE FISHER KING, GRAND CANYON, RAIN MAN, HANNAH AND HER SISTERS, AN OFFICER AND A GENTLEMAN, TOOTSIE, REGARDING HENRY, ORDINARY PEOPLE, CLEAN AND SOBER, NORTH DALLAS FORTY, OUT OF AFRICA, BABY BOOM, THE DOCTOR, SCHINDLER’S LIST, JERRY MAGUIRE.

Source: McKee, Robert. Story: Substance, Structure, Style, and the Principles of Screenwriting. York: Methuen, 1998. Print

[nightshade1994]

lanqu-e

OC asks by @Ianqu-e blue

Sorry my writing and spelling is terrible ^^;

What is your OC’s favorite color? Blue

Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? She sometimes collects flowers or pretty desgin pebbles if she comes across them

What kind of things is your OC allergic to? She isn't allergic to anything that I can think of

What kind of clothing does your OC wear? In her homeland with her family she dress a tribe like outfit that blue and white with blue markings that base on ainu tribe. In the horde she wears a long brown cloak

What is your OC’s first memory? Her first memory is Sitting in her father lap gazing up at the stars with him

What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite? Doesn't have favourite animals she loves all sorts of animals. Her least favourite are bugs.

What element would your OC be? Earth or wind I think? Since she a werewolf and nature tribe like girl earth or wind might be her element

What is your OC’s theme song? She doesn't have theme song

Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? no

What deadly sin would best represent your OC? Probably Envy

What are your OC’s hobbies? Running through the woods, gazing at the stars, swimming, exploring, traveling, reading. 

How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they? She very patient it very rare for her to get hot headed if she upset or angry

What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.? She female, heterosexual, werewolf, half human. 

What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods? She loves eating meat and doesn't mind eating fruit or vegetables. She doesn't look like her food not cook properly. Her least favourite food is sproats 

If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? Owl because there smart, beautiful and mysterious at the same time.

What does your OC smell like? She probably smell like a dog little since she a werewolf but also smell of grass and flowers since lives with her tribe in the wilds.

How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? She wouldn't have a job in the world she loves in but if she did in the real world probably be a zoo keeper or vet assistance since she loves animals. Job she won't want is customer service not office job

What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? Her greatest weaknesses is losing someone important to her like her lover or family or friends or someone getting hurt. Her weaknesses is her shyness, low confidence, clumsy and her nerves. Her strength is her kindness, her wolf form, her wolf senses, and her caring for others.

What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song? Probably soft Rock music if she was in the real world she wouldn't have a favourite she love all sorts of soft rock music

If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do? If she was in our would probably be confused, unsure and scared because it very different and alien to her she probably try find a way get back home

What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? She has low selfsteem, she stutters when she very nervous and she is little clumsy.

What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? She wouldn't be in school if she lives with her tribe in the Woods in fantasy world

What is a random fact about your OC? She has deep scar on her cheek she had that as baby when she trip and fell as she try to walk first time

What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living? She sees the world full of mystery and wonder and worth living everyday. She think living with your friends and family is the best thing in the world and should spend much time with them as possible because nothing last forever

What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? I created her a friend inspired me to try make one. I created her with a rough sketch drawing. I made her for girls and women like myself that it okay to be shy, low confidence, and not pretty looking that it okay to be yourself you don't have to be perfect nor smart not beautiful just be happy and be yourself even if your, shy, low confidence, mental illness etc. She base off the ainu tribe in real life and from the world of Warcraft game.

Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why? Tough question...I would say her family but also zekhan who she loves because she fallen in love with him but her family too. I couldn't say at the moment t her least important person to her.

What kind of childhood did your character have? I think she had okay childhood she was raise with family and pack, she the youngest daughter in her family, her father died when she was a toddler. She always play with her siblings and her mother, wander off little to explore and play in the woods. Her mother was the main family member to raise her. She did feel left out and little but if outcast sometimes as the other werewolf kids didn't always want play with her because she is shy, clumsy and not the strongest she is seen as the runt in some of the pack members. But she had okay childhood.

What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? She stutters when she nervous, she blushes when she embarrassed. She does let her curiosity get better of her. But she doesn't really have addictions

If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose? I'm not sure how to answer that at the moment 😅

Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? She would but not yet until she much older she want to live her life more yet. She probably would have kids but she unsure she be good mother so I don't think she have kids until she ready and feels confident about it

What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory? Her most traumatic experience falling off a cliff one time when she was little when she was trying climb he it scared and tramtise her so much she doesn't like heights because of what happen. Her favourite memory is zekhan showing her a beautiful view of the sunset and the red and pink tress with a river it Down below was the most beautiful sight she ever seen. 

If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? Being with zekhan and free to go anywhere together with him and be accepted by everyone 

Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? She hasn't killed anyone and doesn't want to kill anyone and she try not too if even if someone trying to hurt her or someone close to her.

What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually? I wouldn't say she was social group type person. 

How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? She does like daydreaming a lot and does worry a bit of something wrong it worries her. She does daydream about the time being with her family and her love life with zekhan.

What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? She wants to be with zekhan and be free with him with her family and be accepted in the world. She won't risk too much of it, If it will mean something bad might happen she won't do it that would harm her family or friends or her love because she doesn't want anyone to get hurt. 

What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? Running in the woods and hunting like an animal.

What would your character do with a million dollars? I don't think she know what to do with that amount of money xD

What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? She doesn't have one.

Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? If it was a night out she try look clean and wear her tribe dress to look presentable and nice. She would go with zekhan They go out for a meal and walk hand to hand talking and gaze under the night sky together. 

What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? She would growl a little, her face flush red a little and probably have tears in her eyes if someone hurts or upset her too far.

Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? when she was a baby she fell and trip first time to walk. She has scar on her left cheek close to her chin

What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? When she was asking while upset with zekhan why he would die in battle for the horde she says to him "so you will die for honour? Wasting your life away for the horde for a pointless fight?! why?!" that the only time she ever lost it and said the offensive thing to zekhan

How does your character react/ accept criticism? Little shy and embarrassed but she try her best to improve better next time for whatever reason it might be

If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza? She probably be confused and unsure but will give it a go eating the pizza. I think she might like it

Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works? She probably give it to zekhan since she knows he kind knows about voodoo than her she probably wouldn't even try it. 

Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle? She can't draw well but she tries give it a go. She draw flowers or trees and animals if she can.

What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult? Her mother is very kind,gentle, caring, patient to her. Her mother is her role model she always wanted to be strong and brave like her mother. She doesn't rember her dad much but wishes he was still alive and could meet him again but she heard that her dad was brave,caring, friendly and loving father. As adult she has wonder how her life would be like if her dad was still alive.

Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush? She never had candy in her life but if she did try it yes she would be surgar rush and probably be hyper and talking fast

If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? She would be Very upset and hurt and doesn't want to die leaving her family and her love or her friends behind to never see them again. she would try spend her last days with her love and her family and friends before she dies.

[iliansarigo]

daydreaming

I’ve gone unrecorded amounts of time, what feels like a year or years, without feeling like daydreaming before.  Then one day I’ll be drowsy and start thinking about one of my characters and feel that pull, or I’ll sink into a new scenario.  It’s one of the most enjoyable things, and it feels the most... me? out of anything I do? Like getting into that state of intensely empathizing, inserting myself firmly into a moment, trying to thoroughly map out what all the characters are feeling, it’s something I identify with more strongly than even drawing.  That sounds strange to say, that something addictive, detached, completely removed from reality does more for me than an actual skill that is useful in communicating with other people. But... sometimes the most powerful experiences in life are ones you can’t communicate. It’s not all about other people, it’s not all about being useful, and even if I never daydreamed again, the times I did would be a big part of my past.  Seriously, it’s so addictive and sucks up so much time. It’s kind of like when you’re completely and totally in love with a show or book and every thought pulls you back there, and you stay up late for just one more episode or chapter. It’s such a good feeling, and very much not what people tell you is important.  The people I hear talking about what’s really important talk about preparing for work, gaining skills, maybe they talk about doing art, finding community, enjoying nature.  Everything has to come from somewhere, right? My daydream world doesn’t exist in a vacuum. Perhaps it’s like play, trying to come to terms with ideas and feelings that I don’t understand. Perhaps it’s like play just in the sense of being something I enjoy.  Either way, it is an incredible thing to have something that’s completely your own if you don’t decide to share it. More so than even art, because art is there in reality but daydreams are in the brain. Someday even the brain won’t be private, perhaps. Maybe then it would be easier to understand each other.  But for the world we currently live in, it’s impossible to know how other people feel, there are some experiences that just can’t be communicated in full. We all experience things a bit differently, and sometimes I’m not even sure where I’d start, or if I want to start, communicating an experience.  daydreaming kind of fascinates me on some level that so many people do it, yet they do it in vastly different ways. How many other people stretch out moments, focus on emotions, yet also have developed a pretty elaborate magic system? To be honest I hear about a lot of daydreaming that includes the daydreamer doing something, what if scenerios in the real world (I used to do those and still do sometimes but it’s rarely fun, more like an unpleasant compulsion) and one person described stories, something like mine perhaps but it sounded so, so different.  People probably daydream for different reasons. Perhaps we’re looking for something in our heads. 

[alxspeaks]

As some of you may have noticed, I have been pretty quiet on social media recently. In fact, I went roughly 2 months without as much as opening up a social media app. In total, it was 3 months until I officially made a post from any of my social media accounts. Now this may not seem like such a big deal, but like most of the world’s population I was addicted to social media.

In 2019, it is estimated that there will be around 2.77 billion social media users around the globe and that figure continues to increase (The Statistics Portal).Social media is everything right now: people turn to Twitter before they turn on the news, every business has a social media platform, and it is now the easiest way to contact anyone from your Mom to Cardi B. Everyone is involved in some aspect of social media and it is so easy to get caught up without even realising it. I would often find myself constantly hopping between Facebook, Instagram ,Snapchat and Twitter, scrolling, uploading and posting. It was the first thing I did when I woke up and the last thing before I went to bed. I would stay up late with nothing but the glare from my phone screen glowing on my face as I would constantly follow updates and news feeds. It had gotten to the point where I began to feel uncomfortable without my phone in my hand and whenever I felt a bit socially awkward it was the first thing I would look for. I began to depend on it and this twisted relationship started to trigger a lot of problems for me.

It all began in March 2018 just after my 24th birthday when I started to really notice a big change in my overall mood: 50% of the time I was unhappy and the other 50% I spent worrying and feeling anxious. Throughout my time at University I had been noticing increased anxiety and changes in my mood but after graduation it just seemed to be getting progressively worse. It came to a point where my overall outlook on life was consistently negative and I was miserable, unable to eat, sleep or think clearly. I had this feeling that I was just a total failure at everything and I was finding it extremely difficult to cope with life. I was really scared of the thoughts going through my head and I felt as though I had no control over my emotions. Although I had felt overwhelmed and stressed before, I knew that this was different but I had no idea what was happening to me. I sought advice from a friend who I knew was open about her mental health journey and after speaking to her I took a huge leap and decided to refer myself to my local mental health team.

This was just the worst thing for me as I hate drawing any attention to myself, yet, here I was,  preparing to talk to total strangers about my life. I started doing my own research into the way that I was feeling and I began to discover that I had symptoms similar to that of Anxiety.These were symptoms that I had been suffering with with for over 5 years and I had just put it down to stress or to me simply overreacting and being silly. I was later diagnosed with Generalised Anxiety Disorder (GAD) Social Phobia and Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. MAD! One day i’m just me trying to live my best life, and the next I suddenly have three Anxiety Disorders that I now have to manage and understand. The change was huge and I felt as though I had to learn who I was all over again as all of this time I had been living with a mental health condition that I knew nothing about. It’s crazy to think that if I hadn't taken my health into my own hands I would have never had any answers for the way that I had been feeling all of these years.

There were various different factors that had led up to this point in my life, University being the main one as that was when I had my first signs of anxiety: my self-confidence had really plummeted and I found myself feeling completely lost. After graduation, everything just seemed to be going wrong like my entire future was slipping away from me and I was helpless to stop it (Post-Graduate Depression see article links below). I was under way too much pressure from myself, my family (being the sole carer for two parents with long term illnesses), and from life in general with no help and no one who could truly understand. I was really unsettled and didn’t have anywhere to truly call my home. Job rejections had just become so commonplace that I didn’t even realise how much it was affecting my self confidence. Family and friends that I thought I could count on had all left and in the space of about 3 weeks my friendship circle had more than halved, at a time when I needed the most support I felt truly alone. During this time, I was still active on social media scrolling away, but the more I scrolled the worse it made me feel about my own life and each time I put down my phone after being on social media I felt upset. At times, I was even drawn to tears. Not only was it lowering my self-esteem and fueling the ideas in my head that ‘I am a failure’, it was also a huge trigger for my Anxiety. Once I realised this, I knew I had to take action, but I honestly didn’t know how. Then, one day, I went to spend some time with one of my closest friends and she said four life changing words to me. ‘You have a choice’. As obvious as this may seem I had genuinely forgotten that I actually have the option to choose whether or not to participate in social media. She explained that she had been through a similar experience and that she had to set herself some very strict rules. One of them was that she only logged in when she was making a social media post and logged out straight after; she never scrolled! That was all the advice I needed and I immediately logged out of all my social media accounts and guess what? The world didn’t end and I finally felt as though I had control over one aspect of my life. I now controlled social media; it did not control me. The moment I logged out, I didn’t feel the urge to log back in for months. However, I still found myself reaching for my phone out of habit. So, to shift my focus, I downloaded apps that are constructive uses of my time such as wordscapes, Duolingo (started learning new languages) and Headspace (mindfulness meditation).

Throughout all of this I was still struggling whilst awaiting my first counselling appointment on a 3 month waiting list, but I put on a brave face, carrying on with business as usual. Then, one day, I snapped. I had a huge panic attack and during this whole episode I accidently smashed my phone. I had completely given up on life and I felt as though no one understood what I was going through.

So, there I was, completely broken and no phone, no contacts, no apps, nothing! Ordinarily I would have been even more of a mess after breaking my phone, but I later found that this gave me the push I needed to understand that I don’t need to be contacting people all the time and people don’t always need to be updated on my every move. In fact, it’s when I am most quiet on social media that I am working my hardest, and at this particular time it was vital that I put all of my efforts into working on me and my well being.

In addition to this, (I have a confession to make, here it goes…) I haven't picked up a pencil in over a year! Unfortunately I have not been able to design as much as a vest since last year summer. When my mental health deteriorated, so did my creative flow. However, I did not see it at the time so I just put more pressure on myself to create a new collection until it made me sick and my body started to shut down. I went without sleep, food, water, social life, pretty much everything a human needs to function. I was forcing myself to produce work in ridiculous time frames, frantically trying to prove to myself and the world that I am good enough. The fact that I couldn’t think clearly just caused me more frustration but mostly I didn't want to let everyone down: all of you who believe in me and my creative talent. I already felt like a failure in my own eyes and I didn’t want anyone else to think the same. My desire was to be constantly seen on social media doing amazing things in fashion but that just wasn’t my reality.

The truth is, I had built up so much pressure around myself and my fashion career that it became a huge anxiety trigger for me. As a result, I haven't been able to return to my beautiful design studio in nearly a year. Me, Alex, who lives and breathes fashion. I wrestled with the idea for a long time but I was forced to take an extended break from fashion design and my other projects until I saw some improvement in my mental health. I once said that if I was to suddenly die I wouldn’t be upset because I was no longer alive, I would be upset because I didn’t get the chance to live a life that I enjoyed living. I had to take a break and readjust my whole life, it was seriously a matter of life and death; I had to put my fashion career on hold.

I’ve heard of so many artists, musicians and writers taking creative breaks and now I completely understand why. My creativity is such a huge part of me but it only works when i’m in good health. Anything that I create outside of that is just not a clear representation of me as an artist. I was so focused on trying to live my best life through the eyes of others that I forgot to look after myself. Right now, living my best life currently looks like attending my therapy sessions, remembering to breathe, drinking plenty of water and practicing mindfulness. I plan to take as much time as I need to focus on me and my health so that I can come back stronger and produce something that’s true to who I am as a designer when I am at my best. So next time you see me, don’t ask how my collection is going, ask me how I am doing!

We often look at people who do great things and admire them from afar. In our eyes they might seem like the best and the brightest and it’s easy to assume that all is well with them. But, my experience has shown me that this is one of the most dangerous assumptions a person could make. I was still going through all of this trauma when I was raising the money for my collection, when my shirt design was sold in Hawes and Curtis and when I became one of Birmingham’s 30under30 finalists. I realised that I had been wearing a happy mask and suffering in silence for years until it eventually fell down and I was left to deal with everything that I have been hiding from. It came to the point where I was just waiting for someone, anyone, to ask me if I was ok. Then, finally, I took my health into my own hands and bravely asked for help.

I am currently undergoing therapy sessions with the best therapist ever and we are working through small steps to help me get better. I finally have somewhere safe that I can call my home and i’ve started spending more time doing things that I enjoy like being outdoors and writing poetry. I also started doing yoga and practicing mindfulness meditation so I can learn how to switch off when my head is just doing the most (the Headspace app has literally saved my life, check it out). My relationship with social media is now so much better and I have set rules for myself #noscrolling and I logout after every session. I have seen huge improvements in my mental health, self-esteem and body confidence since doing this and I just feel generally more positive about life. I still have a very long way to go and I am nowhere near better yet but each day I learn something new and I make progress.

I logged out of social media and it was one the best decisions I have ever made for myself. On my 24th birthday I told myself that this was going to be the year of me and so far it has been. Although it has been my most difficult year to date I have been forced to focus on me and put my health first because, at the end of the day, that is what is most important.

For more information about Anxiety Disorders and mental health advice check out these links below.

For Useful Contacts

https://birminghammind.org/contact-page/emergency-contacts/

For Information

YouTube- The 5 Major Anxiety Disorders

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IzaNQAh3NiY&t=7s

Mind

https://www.mind.org.uk/information-support/types-of-mental-health-problems/anxiety-and-panic-attacks/anxiety-disorders/#.W6GCdy2ZNsM

Beyond Blue

https://www.beyondblue.org.au/the-facts/anxiety/types-of-anxiety

Post-Graduate Depression

https://metro.co.uk/2017/07/17/why-is-no-one-talking-about-post-graduate-depression-6760769/

https://www.topuniversities.com/blog/we-need-talk-about-post-graduation-depression

References

The Statistics Portal https://www.statista.com/statistics/278414/number-of-worldwide-social-network-users/

[suggestionsofthecaribbean]

Tortuga: James and Elizabeth

Certain plans are disrupted by the death of a friend. Well, acquaintance, really.  

CW: This update is fairly tame, but there is rum again and with it allusions to addiction.  Towards the end there is very mild sexual content; if it were a film it would probably get a PG-13.

Featuring: @norringtonsuggestions and @lizzyswann-turnersuggestions, who are now dating, apparently.

Elizabeth got to her feet  as soon as the door opened, wordlessly crossing the floor to wrap her arms around him and bury her tear-streaked face in his shirt.

An astute observer would see she was barefoot and that her nightgown was very lacy, her hair halfway pulled back and styled with considerable effort and concentration, her hands and nails recently cleaned - and that there was an open bottle of rum in the room.  Open, and not full.

James pulled his cloak around her. It still smelled of its previous owner’s apparently preferred roses, but it was full enough to envelop her against him.

“Elizabeth…”

“Oh, James, I’m taking this poorly,” she said, mustering up a short, gloomy laugh.

“He’s not as gone as all that,” he said, and to his credit he even made it sound like a shame. “Here, have a look-“

He pulled his phone from his pocket and showed her an anonymous message that read S-E-N-D-N-U-D-E-S.

“I know; I got several of them,” she said wearily, gently pushing his hand down, looking up at him hesitantly.

James belatedly realized that her hair was curled and that she was dressed only in a nightgown. He released her from his arms to untie the sash currently holding his pistols and set them on the dressing table, followed by his baldric and sword and finally putting the whole cloak and his hat aside with them. He then put his arms around her again.

“Elizabeth,” he said again, aching with tenderness.

Elizabeth held onto him tightly, standing on her toes to do so.  It was suddenly surreal to be dressed like this, and yet not in Port Royal; she had not looked particularly pretty since setting out on the Trader.  It was making her dizzy, and James’ presence wasn’t helping the matter.  It was as though she were living another life entirely, one where she and James had not broken their engagement, except that was all wrong, they’d never live in a place like this - or, perhaps more accurately, as though she had been dreaming, then torn from sleep into an unforgiving morning.  She wanted her dreams to last.

It seemed nothing else ever did.

“Oh, James-”

“I’m here,” he said, steering her toward the bed. She felt unsteady enough that he wanted her seated as quickly as possible, and though he could not pinpoint its origin and did not see how Elizabeth looking so lovely in anticipation of his arrival could negatively provoke him, something had set his teeth on edge the moment he’d entered the room.

James sat beside her and rubbed her hands between his to ground her. It was a brusque and un-gentle gesture that he had used on shipmates whose hands were close to freezing, but it tended to bring them back to awareness, too, and that would work just as well for Elizabeth’s sake. In the more direct light from the candelabrum, it was plainer that he had shaved, and made an attempt at smoothing his hair.

Elizabeth smiled at him wanly, focusing her eyes on him, taking in the details of his features and person.  She could also smell him; she expected Giselle had loaned him one of her soaps.  Poor Giselle, she thought distantly; she’d worked so hard to clean up the both of them, it seemed, only for Jack Sparrow to ruin the day again. For there was certainly no acting on their intentions now.  Even if she had not been vaguely aware of his haunting them, she wasn’t in the proper mood at all.

“Isn’t my fault this time, at least,” she said, trying to make some joke out of it, and failing. “It - it just - it seems as though everyone is leaving, doesn’t it?” she asked, the tears in her eyes renewing themselves.  She felt them running down her face.  There was nothing she could do to stop it.  

“It’s Sparrow,” he reminded her. “You’ve brought him back before.”

They’d been reunited the first time when he had drunkenly attempted to kill Sparrow, as a matter of fact. That particular elephant in the room made him uneasy; James wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“I know. I don’t understand it,” she said, compulsively laughing through her tears and then wiping at her face.  “It just feels as though…. I’m having such an awful time dealing with it,” she said, unable to pinpoint the source of her bad feelings beyond Jack’s death.  

“It’s all right,” he said. “You may cry as much as you need to, and I will not judge you for it.”

“It won’t make me feel any better, though,” she said, sniffing.

He pushed a curled lock of bright yellow-gold hair away from her cheek to save it from going limp from her tears and had a mildly amused realization.

“Was this Giselle’s handiwork?”

She touched it, growing flustered.  “I wanted to look….”  Oh, it was no good; she was too self-conscious at realizing it was obvious she had made an effort to look gussied up for him to do anything but laugh in embarrassment.

“...I wanted to look like the woman you once wanted to marry,” she admitted, and it hurt to say it; it hurt to smile, and it showed.

James reached behind her head and lightly felt around for her hairpins before gently drawing them out, so that her hair fell loose around her shoulders.

“You are still that woman.”

And with that, he kissed her.

It was dangerous, that little spark of love, like flame near gunpowder.  It was dangerous like a hole in a ship’s hull.  Elizabeth wasn’t ready to want someone this much - not after Will.  She was torn up inside with the knowledge she had not really chosen James; she had simply had the choice taken out of her hands.  She could as much choose James as she could have discounted him to be with the man she had actually married.  It was not fair to James, it was not fair to Will; but even that did not make her end the kiss.

Let him not know the confusion she felt.  He didn’t deserve that pain, and her kisses could spare him it.  She tried to see it not as taking advantage of him, but of giving a good man a taste of what he deserved. Lord knew how little she had given him already.  

He ended the kiss without letting go of her, with his forehead against hers. He had one hand on her back, and as he rubbed it, it caught, just a little, on his skin where it had grown rough.

“You never enjoyed sitting still and having your hair dressed,” he said, and he sounded almost amused. “We could all tell-“

“I liked looking nice after,” said Elizabeth, presenting herself as moderately offended in order to conceal that she was considerably mortified, and adjusting her position enough to tuck her head under his chin and be held more closely.  

“Even the other officers,” James said with a laugh. “Once they had figured out I was planning to propose- oh, let’s just say they all wished me luck, and not in the way one usually does.”

How could that not make her sad again?  He hadn’t had any luck.

She found his hand and squeezed it, sitting up just a little so that she could lift her head and look him, guiltily, in the eye.

“I wish you had had the sense to set your heart on a better woman.”

“Let me know if you find one, then.”

She touched his face with the other hand, knowing she shouldn’t, knowing she shouldn’t kiss him either, doing them both anyway.

“Don’t tell Giselle I said that, though,” James said, muffled between kisses. “I think-“

Kiss, kiss.

“-she was as invested in tonight coming to fruition as either of us-“

“I did pay her five shillings to do up my hair,” she murmured, kissing him softly and slowly.

“She’s trying to make me her project,” he said, lips still pressed to her mouth as he brought her hands to his shirt.

Elizabeth was already smoothing the shirt over his chest.  “What a very fine shirt, I do believe it suits you…”

“She robbed some baronet on a pleasure cruise,” he laughed. “She told me to keep an eye out for ‘an aristo in his skivvies’-“

James burst into unconfined laughter. The whole thing seemed so absurd that he had run out of other reactions entirely.

The sound of that made Elizabeth feel strangely warm. It took her a moment to realize what she felt was joy.  She lifted both her hands to his face again, but she only rested her forehead against his, joining in his laughter.  

“- Oh, I really wish I had known you better-”

“You knew all there is to know,” he said dismissively.

“If I had known all there was to know about you, I’d have married you, for sure,” she laughed.

James stopped laughing immediately.

Elizabeth withdrew her hands at once, freezing.

“...ah,” James said faintly. “Well.”

He blinked a few times, looking as though he were recalibrating.

“I see. Well.”

There was a long moment in which he was unable to meet her eye. He wiped his mouth again and then, finally, gamely managed a smile and looked at her again.

“Well,” he said, for a third time. “Well, you may still have ended up pulling me out of Tortugan pig shit, so there was no greater harm done on my account.”

He tried to laugh again, but it didn’t work.

She couldn’t look at him any more than he could look at her.  Not only was she conscious of having said something hurtful - cruel, even - and knowing he must have been wounded to hear it, but she was agitated by the concern that it may have been true.

She had loved Will, loved him all her life - but she hadn’t known him either.  She had gotten to know him, as he taught her how to use a sword, in the last year - but prior to that, she had certainly known James better than him.  And yet at some point James had ceased to be a friend and attained the level of an obligation.

What if she had known him this well two years ago?  Would it have been such an easy choice to make?  What if he had merely made it clear to her he wanted to take her with him when he set sail again?  Would it have seemed like such a dismal and oppressive fate then?

She wanted to stay loyal to Will, even when there was so little chance at being reunited with him; she did not want to deny their love; and yet there seemed like a very real chance that, if fate had simply shuffled the cards differently, she and James Norrington might have made what had once been called a very smart match.

“...Forgive me, James, I didn’t know what I was saying,” she mumbled, her cowardice burning on her tongue.

“I don’t believe you did,” James agreed, still avoiding her by looking anywhere else in the room that he could.  The agitation he had been experiencing on some below conscious level had built to the point of his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

Then he saw the bottle, and realized why.

He stood with a resigned sigh, which was interpreted by Elizabeth as being irritation with her faithlessness until he lifted the bottle and swirled its contents bemusedly. It wasn’t empty; there were a few good swallows left still.

Of course, it wasn’t his, so he extended it toward her with a gesture equal parts brittle and gallant; she was all trepidation as she took it.

“Here,” he said. “Would you like this?”

“I might,” she said, feebly attempting a smile, and failing. Their hands touched briefly on the bottle neck, but he released it as though it were something distasteful - or as if her hand was.  “But if you’d like it, I don’t suppose there is enough there to cause you any pain.”  Any greater pain than I have just caused.

“Take it,” he said. “I’ll only want more.”

He smiled, but it was strained and looked too tight.

Elizabeth felt like hurling herself out of the window.  Perhaps not literally, but in a manner of speaking, it felt like the noble gesture after all of this.  She stood up, took the bottle from him and downed it in one go, wiping her lips on the back of her wrist in an attitude of relish and simultaneous self-loathing -  then she threw it into the corner.  The sound it made as it shattered was deeply satisfying.  Immediately after she turned back to him; he looked stunned by the sudden noise. It gave her a moment to collect herself, at least.

“I’m sorry,” she said after a moment.  “I… I don’t know why I said that.  It was - a mistake.”

“No,” he said. “The greater failure was mine-“

“Not a moment ago,” she protested.  “I never meant to hurt you-”

And yet you’re terribly good at that all the same, he thought, but he said nothing of the sort. Instead, he approached her again. The aroma from the bottle was still kicking around in his head and agitating him, but he had to be stronger than that, for her sake.

“It’s fine, Elizabeth. Please don’t fret on my account.”

“I’m not -” she pleaded, her voice cracking.  She rolled her eyes up at the ceiling in the frustration, willing herself to not do that.  “I mean, I am, but it isn’t - it’s not pity, James. I don’t pity you.”

“I should hope not!” he protested. “Elizabeth, I- listen to me.”

He lead her to the bed again and sat down on the edge, holding her hands between his.

“I have put you in such a dreadful position,” he said. “Chasing after you so soon after your abandonment- it’s shameful, I know. I’m sorry.”

“I wasn’t abandoned! You make it all out to be Will’s fault, it was mine-”

“In your grief, then-“

“I’m doing most of the chasing!”

“In my defense,” he said, “I could easily have refused.”

“Hardly-” said Elizabeth, laughing bitterly through her tears, which was when she realized she’d begun crying again, and stopped herself abruptly.  She wondered if a candle wick felt anything akin to the sudden constriction in her chest when it was extinguished.

“Elizabeth,” James said in frustration, and he put his arms around her.

She gripped his arm as tightly as she could and leaned on him heavily, but the constant support he gave her only made her feel less worthy of it and she pressed her forehead against his chest, shutting her eyes.  Believing she was dissolving in his arms as they spoke, James rolled his eyes and said, rather more firmly, “Your majesty-“

It stung to be seen as little more than an hysterical female - from James, no less.  She had not felt so poorly disposed towards him since before her trip aboard the Black Pearl.  Elizabeth pushed him backward and off of herself and ran halfway to the window before turning around and pacing back again.  The nightgown fluttered behind her in the dim light.  One might have thought she and not Sparrow were the ghost haunting Tortuga.

“So that’s the key to getting your attention,” he said dryly. “You know as well as I do- better, even- that it would do you no good for anyone to walk by and hear you weeping for my sake.”

She looked at him angrily and kept right on pacing.  

Her moodiness quickly drained from the high-blown froth of anger to the bitter dregs of anxiety and despair.  She had to say something.  She realized the only thing holding her back was the fear that if she were truthful enough, he would no longer be here; and that resolved her.

“James, I don’t want to hurt you.  Do you believe that, or don’t you?”

“I certainly don’t believe you intend it.”

“Why are you here!” she cried, knowing he was right, that if anyone overheard this exchange, her currency would go considerably down, but unable to not have it; it had to be said eventually, because it was tearing her to pieces otherwise. She only hoped no one was passing by their door, or that the raucous, drunken joy from downstairs drowned out the shrieking banality of their personal lives.  “Why are you here, if being here hurts you?”

“Oh, please, name one thing in the world that doesn’t hurt-“

“Love is not supposed to hurt!” she shouted, and, realizing that that was the crux of all her own suffering, and having exhausted the energy that preserved her royal aloofness, she found herself weeping with helplessness and fatigue.  

“Elizabeth, for God’s sake-“

He was on his feet and yanking her close to him in a moment, startling her silent, speaking again in a lowered voice.

“Don’t be maudlin. You know you can’t spare that.”

Elizabeth let his eyes on hers anchor her, his thumb brushing tears out of her eyes return her to her spirits.  She sank into his arms again, and after a moment of reluctance, he held her again, and tightly.

It took strength to find her voice again.  “It’s so difficult to maintain,” she said, voice hardly above a whisper, and painfully low; she thought if she tried to speak in her normal register, she might lose control of herself.  “It’s so  - unrelenting.  It never ends. What I have to be, it feels… It feels so much like drowning.”

“Yes,” he said. “I know. To have so many people looking to you, putting their lives in your hands, to maintain that dignity and leadership, to be that figurehead they all agree to throw themselves behind even if it’s straight to the mouth of Hell- it does not leave much room for expression of one’s feelings, does it?”

He gave her a stony, nearly accusatory look, but couldn’t maintain it for long, nor could he meet her eyes anymore when the first hint of understanding came into them.  He put his arms around her and pulled her close again, neither having to look at her, nor suffer the way he felt like an oozing wound when she looked at him.

The stomping and shouting and fiddling and, very occasionally, stray gunfire that came up through the floorboards seemed dim; all Elizabeth could hear was James Norrington’s heartbeat, and his occasional discomfited breathing.  Her own were loud in her ears, too.  Eventually these sounds were joined by a strange pitter-patter that also seemed like a heartbeat, until it quickened into rain on the windows.  

They were clean on the outside, then.  Much like Elizabeth and James, prettied up for their evening plans, the inside remained unchanged.

“Will asked me if I loved you,” she murmured, in the eventual silence of the room.  All of the other noise seemed so far away and irrelevant.

James touched her spine, right between her shoulder blades.  She drew a sharp breath.

“Do you?” he asked.

“I said I don’t know.  That I could have, but perhaps for him.  That I would do nothing about it, for his sake.  I cannot fault him for leaving.  What kind of a wife says that?”  But her voice was flat and merely sad now, quiet and pensive and pained.

“A wife who married for fear of dying unmarried,” he said, mostly against her hair, gently pulling her to the edge of the bed, to sitting. “A wife who has become extraordinary enough to transcend everything she ever wished for but is not yet sure how to be what she has become.”

She snorted.  “James.  In every possible way, I don’t deserve you.”

“When did I say anything about deserving? It’s more to the point that I think you need me.”

“I do,” she said instantly, astonishing herself with the realization that this was the accurate state of affairs and not an attempt at mollification on her part.  She looked up at him in wonder.  He continued on, having seen he was the older and more sober of the two of them and committed with reluctance to being the wiser as well.

“It’s true, perhaps,” he said, straightening up a bit and meeting her eyes too knowingly, “that Elizabeth Swann may not. But the Pirate King?”

He leaned back enough to make a wobbly gesture with one hand and an eh sound.

Elizabeth gave a short, teary laugh at that, wiping at her eye again.

“Elizabeth Swann needs you very much, sir,” she said.

“But do I have her heart?” he asked softly.

At that, she faltered.

“Nobody does,” she said after a moment, realizing with sadness but a surprising lack of shock that this was also true.  “After all of this…. Can I really be said to have one?”

She met his eyes timidly, seeking a real answer.

“But if I might still be allowed to give you mine…”

“I wish I could refuse you,” she said.  “But even thinking of you sailing away from here with Giselle gives me chest pains.  I have no right to you, I know I haven’t; I forfeited that two years ago.  And yet…”

“I don’t think Giselle will cause any trouble,” he pointed out. “She seems to value that I did not ask anything of her and- well, to tell you the truth, she seemed quite keen on matching the pair of us. She has plans, she says.”

He gestured at his discarded cloak with a weak laugh.

“Is she that aggressive with you, or am I just lucky?”

Elizabeth smiled lopsidedly, but she did not answer.  She sensed his reluctance to have this conversation, and shared it.  But she had not said her piece, and if it were enough to provoke his discomfort, it was all the more reason she must.

“...I thought that love was fixed and unbending,” she confessed.  “That, having found the man I loved, our love would be singular and eternal.  That’s how it works, isn’t it?  And yet -”  She broke off, biting her lip a moment before she had the soundness of mind to continue.  “And yet here I am.  I even hoped I would find - even though it would hurt - that I had been wrong about who that man was.”  She focused her eyes on his again, tilting her head and moving as though to speak her wretched apology out loud, but unable to give it breath.  “I think there may be something wrong with me.  Maybe I can’t love anyone.”

James mulled this over in agonized silence, waiting to hear if she had anything to add.

“...as long as I am needed,” he said, “then I will be proud to stand beside you.”

She reached up and touched his face, as hesitantly as though she feared he were a dream.  What she feared was that she might enjoy it.  Too cruel to enjoy him without allowing him to enjoy her.   “Guilt doesn’t make me feel more amorous,” she said, with the ghost of laughter on her lips.  But she stroked his cheek regardless, and sank her fingers back through his hair.

“I don’t need you to feel more amorous,” he said, leaning into her touch.

It was so dangerous to be here with him, to dress as though for a wedding night, to listen to that rainfall, to listen to that heartbeat.  She could not seem to keep her hands off him, and it appeared he could not stop hoping to feel them.  “Allow me to correct myself; I should say, guilt should be an impediment to amorousness,” she said, all her willpower weakening.  She couldn’t help it, to look at him.  Beautiful, and hers - whether he should be or not, for either of their sakes.  She wanted to let him go, and she couldn’t.

“Sparrow has a way of coming between us,” he said dryly, “and at this rate I think Giselle is biting her nails waiting for everything to be perfect by design should we ever finalize things between us.”

James leaned back on one hand in amusement.

“But her taste in clothes appears to be paying off nicely.”

Should we ever finalize things between us.  Elizabeth’s mouth tugged in gratitude and she threw herself forward onto his neck again, this time toppling him over - he had one arm around her, and had been leaning back to begin with.

“James, I do need you,” she said feelingly, overcome and dizzy.  “And I do love you.  Not like you deserve, not like I should like to.  Can you forgive me for that?  Because I think I shall one day.  I don’t see how I couldn’t-”

“And I will be here when that day arrives,” he said fervently, punctuating it with a kiss.

She pressed against him with an answering kiss, then kissed him on his chin, his cheek, his neck, his chest, and then back again.  She wanted to give him something; if not her heart, kisses then.  If not her promises, he would have her devotion.  If not her love….

Well, truth be told, he did have her love.

“Would that I could give you more,” he said, perhaps a little gloomily, even as he shut his eyes against the particulars of her lips moving up his throat.  She was not listening, and he gently sank his hand into the ruins of her curls, finally drawing her attention.  “I fear I am of more use to the Pirate King than I am to Elizabeth Swann.”

“Are they not both the woman you wanted to marry?” asked Elizabeth tenderly as she leaned back to look on him, rubbing his cheek instead.

“Yes,” he said immediately, doing too little to guard his heart against the radiance of her answering smile, “but the use I hold for each is a matter of some difference.”

“The Pirate King must have her dog, but I must have my James,” she teased.  “I cannot value one above the other.”

He grinned a little at this, more relieved than he felt entirely comfortable showing.  She kissed that grin, and he let her.

“May I ask, then that… as your dog… I might serve less to be cowed before you, and more to do the cowing?” he asked slowly.

“Now you’re getting it,” she said in delight.  “Didn’t I say they all feared you?”

“I think that’s still a pending situation,” he said, “one to be observed for further development-“

“Promotion after exceedingly dull promotion all on account of your rooting out these people like rats, and they remember it,” she practically cooed, touching him on the jaw now.  “That’s why they revel in your degradation.  All because they fear you.”

He smiled grimly, and then finally asked, “How much have you heard about my… presence… in Tortuga, before your arrival last year?”

He’d alluded to some of the seedier aspects of that time in his life before, but he hadn’t had the courage to bring it up directly. His smile fell as he forced himself to meet her eyes.

Elizabeth shrugged awkwardly, hyper-aware of how bare her shoulders were in the nightgown, pretending more confidence than she felt.  “Only what I’ve overheard in your presence.  What you’ve said to me.”

“Well,” he said, “I expect you’re going to learn a lot more of it in the coming months.”

“James,” she said, as steadily as she could, “there is nothing I could hear that would make me think less well of you.”

“...very well,” he said. “I hope you will forgive my concern, if only for how it may reflect on your authority.”

“On the contrary, we make an excellent couple,” said Elizabeth, looking down again, although longer this time.  “I know that everyone imagines I was Sao Feng’s whore before I was his successor. But it doesn’t matter what they imagine, because I shall bring this Caribbean to heel.”  She looked up at him defiantly, lifting her eyebrows in a challenge. “With your help.”

James’s brows lifted in turn, impressed.

“And how would you have me prove sufficiently fearsome?” he asked, reaching for her hand.

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll think of something,” she said, looking at their hands as she twined their fingers together.  “I have every faith in you.”

“With Sparrow… between worlds, at present, I confess to a certain concern as to accusations of infiltration on Beckett’s behalf,” he said cautiously, “so I anticipate that as our primary obstacle.”

“Oh, please.  Half of the people on this island wanted Jack dead.  Bet you in a few days we learn some man shot him after Jack absconded with his wife.”

James laughed at that.

“I suppose as it is in my nature to be suspicious of others, I expect no quarter for myself,” he said evenly, “even as the figure of terror I suppose I must become.”

“You must,” she said proudly.

“It will be a challenge reconciling that with Giselle’s desire to make me into a figure to earn her Instagram views,” he said dryly.

“I doubt it will be.  You said yourself that fearsome pirates need not be unfashionable.”

“I fear we shall be a poor credit to your majesty,” he retorted, with a knowing nod.

“On the contrary, I should consult with Giselle about my own image,” she shot back instantly.  “I don’t know how to be taken seriously, as a woman, without some very calculated balance between men and women’s habits.  Too female and I will be deemed frivolous, and too male and I will look like I am dressing up.”

“How delighted she will be, to have the fortunes of the Brethren at large laid at her feet,” he said as he brought himself to his feet again and then knelt in front of her, which she permitted. “I hope only that I may live up to your majesty’s requirements.”

Elizabeth slid her foot up his thigh and down again, smiling beatifically down at him.  “So does she.” “And I hope that I make an attractive enough figure to maintain Miss Swann’s interest as well,” he added, looking up at her.

“Mmm.  Come up.”

He settled in close beside her.

“Yes?”

She kissed him.

“Elizabeth!” He sounded delighted.

“James,” she breathed in response.  She was sliding her hand inside the top of his shirt, and her tongue inside of his mouth.  

“You taste of rum again, Lizzy,” he laughed.

“I had grief to drown,” she murmured. “Let me drown mine,” he said, kissing her again.

That was very suitable.  If it was still unwise - well, after certain hours of the night nothing is wise.  She wanted nothing more than to be his rum, and to have him for her anchor in turn.  She - surreptitiously, she believed - rolled over onto her back, pulling him with her.

“We can’t now that you’ve been drinking,” James said softly, gazing down at her.

“Can you stay here, at least?  Just for a moment-”

“I’ll stay all night, and gladly so.”

“No…. here,” she said, with a meaningful look.

“Elizabeth,” he said, with a defeated-sounding laugh.

“I dressed up for you,” she reminded him.  “Sat still and had my hair done-”

“I know,” he said. “The attention she gave you has left precious little for myself, when I meant to approach the occasion with equal solemnity-”

“You’ve considerably less hair to style, to my knowledge,” said Lizzy, rubbing his chest above his heart, which might have been innocent itself had she not made certain prior allusions.

“If she has her way, I’ll have even less,” he said dryly, her caresses pausing his descent for another kiss. “She did a fine job with you, though-”

“Oh, James, you’re teasing me,” she said in either delight or agony, eyes sparkling when she looked up at him, leaning up to claim a kiss herself. “As much like a bride as I expect to have now,” he said fondly as he slipped one arm beneath her to deepen the kiss.

As much as this fanned the open flames of her desire for him, it also fueled her guilt.  She kissed him back in a passionate effort to prove her regret - for hurting him, and perhaps, she could not rule out, for refusing him.

“I’m sorry, James - “ she said, out of breath, and suddenly pierced with dizzying unhappiness. “It seems I should have honored my promises better-”

“...it was the only recourse you had at the time,” he said ruefully.

He moved beside her now and released her gently.

“My false hopes were born of my own stubbornness,” he said. “Had I not been so hardheaded-“

All the joy left her at once, but the heart-pounding and trembling and breathlessness of lust remained, leaving her coldly queasy, quaky and a little faint.  Gingerly she moved onto her side, touching him on the arm and then the shoulder to anchor herself, and beg his attention and sympathy yet again.

“I meant what I said,” said Elizabeth, in a small, but insistent voice. “I had had ample time to think on your proposal as an unwilling guest on the Pearl.  It seemed I had held out for the sake of an unachievable dream, that it was time to leave such things in the past - and I knew I would not be unhappy with you. You were a good man; you are still a good man. I cared about you.  I knew I might come to love you.  You might even come to love me - the way I really am. 

“The dream wasn’t Will, though.  I did love him. I wish now… I wish, looking back…. I had had some way to leave Port Royal and the both of you behind, as early as then.  To stop looking for my future in somebody else.  It must be why I’m so cocked up now.” “Right,” he said, though he couldn’t fully hide his disappointment.

She smiled at him gently, touching his cheek.  “Don’t think of it like that.  Perhaps I wasn’t old enough to know my own heart yet.” “I would have ruined it regardless, with where things went,” he said, resignedly. “Though I suppose your freedom and happiness is worth ten of mine.”

“That’s not the world I escaped Port Royal to live in,” she said, making a face.

“Even if you had escaped- Beckett didn’t come to Port Royal as a consequence of anything that had happened previously, except to attempt to use you as leverage with your father and the potential of a hanging against myself,” he pointed out. “Which should have been a firing squad, by the way-”

“Have you ever seen a death by firing squad?” “Once,” he said. “Defoe’s, after the incident with Levausseur.” “Is it really so much better than a hanging?” she asked wryly, curling up against him as though she had asked him to sing her a lullaby.

“If they’ve chosen a few good shots, death is almost instant,” he shrugged. “Seven shots to the heart at once makes quick business of the whole matter.”

“I wish you a better death than that, but if Beckett catches us all I promise you to be very jealous,” she said, her hand creeping down his body affectionately in pursuit of his hand, which she brought to her lips and kissed.

“Oh, don’t tell me you want me to die at home in bed,” he scoffed. “Surrounded by relations, I suppose? We have the Admiral to do that.”

“I don’t want you to die at all,” she said softly, touching his fingers with hers, looking at him intently in the dark.

James looked at her, startled by her sincerity.

“I’ll try not to,” he said, in a rather flat voice.

“I’ve commanded it,” she reminded him, with half of a smile.  She lifted her hand and gently ran her fingertip over his lips instead.

“Yes, Your Majesty,” James laughed wearily.

“Oh, James-” she whispered, and the smile went out like a light. “Tell me you love me.”

“Of course I love you,” he said, even with a hint of a scoff at the idea that he didn’t.

“And I you,” she said, and pressed her lips to his.

James froze up, too taken aback to even close his eyes, let alone properly return the kiss at first. It belatedly kicked in that he’d better get on that, and he put his arms around her and returned it deeply enough to push her back.

“...oh,” he said, as he parted the kiss just enough to catch his breath. “Excellent.”

And with that, he was back at it.

[cometkins]

OC Asks: Silver Edition

I need to figure this character out pls hold while I fill out 50 oc questions

What is your OC’s favorite color?

It is definitely NOT silver what would make you think that

Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect?

Silver jewelry primarily. It’s the only really indulgent thing he has.

What kind of things is your OC allergic to?

With his luck it would be a spice of some kind like cumin.

What kind of clothing does your OC wear?

As little/exposing as possible. He doesn’t wear a shirt and his coat has no sleeves anymore. His pants are pretty baggy and they have laces on the sides that he also leaves fairly loose to show of the leggies. He does wear pretty sturdy boots though.

What is your OC’s first memory?

Sitting by the ocean near his house and collecting sea glass.

What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite?

Favorite is probably sea turtle bc they’re gentle friends. Least favorite is SEAGULLS. HMM. STOP IT NOW.

What element would your OC be?

Water for sure, maybe fire.

What is your OC’s theme song? 

Fucked with an Anchor by Alestorm

Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC?

I draw his face myself so no face claim. I’ve liked the lead singer for Black Veil Brides as his voice (though not his accent) since it’s so husky

What deadly sin would best represent your OC?

Pride or Wrath

What are your OC’s hobbies?

In his free time Silver prob goes to flea markets and shops to collect silver trinkets. He prob goes in combat arenas to train himself and earn coin as well.

How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they?

He’s less patient than he used to be, but he’s not super impulsive. He’s much more calculating, and he thinks through the consequences of his actions. He has little patience when it comes to nobility and royalty though.

What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.?

Male, very gay, wood elf.

What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods?

He likes fruit, he likes curries and other spiced/spicy dishes. I think he actually can’t stand fish because he has to eat so much of it out at sea and it’s tiring.

If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why?

Probably a big dog since he likes having a travelling companion.

What does your OC smell like? 

Probably rum, the ocean, salt, and gunpowder.

How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job?

Silver probably most does mercenary work or goes into fighting rings now that he’s a solo pirate. He might nick coin here or there from wealthy people with too much. He’d probably be happy captaining his own ship again eventually.

What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths?

His greatest fear is being found by Captain Ansaf and facing his wrath for his past theft. Silver is extremely skilled in combat and is VERY good in combat due to a background of military training and the ruthless nature of pirates. His greatest weakness is also that ruthlessness; he tends to get caught up in violence and finds it difficult to stop once he gets going, almost like a trance.

What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song?

I think any kind of shanty he’s fond of since he and the crews he was on would sing them a lot. Anything upbeat really.

If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do?

Assuming he’d be in roughly the same time period pirates were around I think he’d adjust just fine to a world without magic and krakens trying to kill him lmao

What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves?

Silver is still very hurt by the sentence he received for a crime he did not commit. It lead him to his life of crime, and then to his life of solitude. He clings to his past in the form of objects he still carries. Nobility makes him angry, and he’s keen to flee from a beau if they express wanting commitment. His biggest pet peeve is authority treating their subjects like trash.

What kind of student were they/would they be in high school?

Silver was actually very studious in school. He wasn’t the smartest, but he managed and studied as hard as he could.

What is a random fact about your OC? 

Silver is not his real name.

What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living?

Silver is very much a “do shit and have fun before you die” kind of person in his current character. He doesn’t particularly take care of himself well and he’s definitely more about living fast and hard and passionately and without remorse, but he very much is full of remorse and regret.

What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fancharacter? What was their personality / design like when you first made them?

I wanted a pirate character an started with a swashbuckler rogue since that was the recommendation from the dnd community. I tacked on the gunslinger subclass from matt mercer since pirates also had guns and it was fitting. Silver’s personality hasn’t changed much but his design has been refined and made more ostentatious than it was.

Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact and why?

The most and least impactful person are the same, because they are the reason they turned to piracy. He tries to claim they don’t matter, and he tries to live as if they don’t matter, but deep down he still clings to their memory and what they could have had.

What kind of childhood did your character have?

A fairly decent one. His parents weren’t dirt poor but they weren’t by any means rich. He lived by the sea and played in the ocean constantly and always bugged the local sailors and he was kicked into the navy as soon as he was old enough.

What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions?

Silver might be a bit of an alcoholic and might impulsively sleep with people a lot. He probably clinks his rings together as a nervous habit.

If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose?

“Wish I were buried at sea”

Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why?

Maybe? I think he’s pretty burned by romantic love in general so it would take the right person to convince him.

What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory?

Most traumatic memory is being falsely convicted of murder and being exiled by somebody who he cared about. Favorite memory is probably swimming for the first time.

If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be?

To have the people who conspired against him in his false murder case be hanged for their crimes.

Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? 

Silver isn’t above killing someone and by nature of having been a military officer he had to do so regularly. He wouldn’t do it in cold blood necessarily, more because he felt he was defending his country. There was a point where he killed for fun and to feel any semblance of power, but he’s since dropped that mindset and tries to do it only out of necessity now.

What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?

Silver keeps to himself most of the time due to paranoia. He does like drinking socially and he’ll usually be the kind of person to get a party going.

How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories?

Definitely constantly living in memories and paranoid fantasies. He’s constantly thinking about revenge and about escaping the pirates he betrayed.

What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?

Silver wants closure. He wants to prove his innocence and bring the real criminals who framed him to justice. He wants an apology, he wants his life back. He wants a life.

What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do?

Silver is a very precise and skilled killer, and that’s not something many people are as good at as he is.

What would your character do with a million dollars? 

Buy a ship and pay for a crew and go out sailing for ancient treasures.

What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can?

If he were in a modern era he’d probably have a bunch of beer and leftover pasta. Bedroom floor would be lots of pants, but probably not his own. His nightstand is full of condoms. Garbage can is full of NONSENSE.

Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with?

Probably a club of some kind. He’s wearing a nice jacket with his tiddies out, and he won’t be with anybody immediately but he will find somebody veeery quickly.

What does your character do when they’re angry? Why?

Silver shuts down. He hyperfocuses on what’s making him angry and does whatever he can to get rid of it. He does it because he hasn’t learned any healthy coping mechanisms.

Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from?

He has dozens from various fights and attempts on his life.

What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said?

He doesn’t go out of his way to be offensive so idk yet

How does your character react/ accept criticism?

He’d be very blase about it depending on how it’s said to him. He’s not unwillingly to listen but if he’s talked down to or scolded he’d ignore it.

If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza?

He would hate every moment of it but he’s not above doing things out of necessity.

Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works?

He’d definitely stab himself a few times.

Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle?

Nah. Maybe some amount of cartography though.

What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult?

His parents aren’t terrible people but they shoved him into the military as soon as they could because they got tired of him an his obsession with water. He has no idea what they think of his sentence and exile. I think he’s definitely sensitive to people tiring of him quickly and he has a tendency to not commit to things much.

Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush?

He’d probably like sweets occasionally, but not big enough to get sugar rushes.

If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count?

He’d be very upset at this point in his life. He has so much he hasn’t been able to do. He’s had no closure of any kind. He’d struggle against it and then probably fall into the inevitability of it and drink too much.

[mysticalmindblog]

Today's society with the prevalence of Social Media and personal blogs has led to a glut of fake personalities, narcissism, and overindulgent bullying egos. How do you keep yourself in check without bending to peer pressure?

How Many Layers of Mediocrity Did You Add to Your Shell Today?

For most, the above question would be deemed offensive and condescending. It implies that by default the person being asked leads a mediocre life, and generally acts rather than being genuine.

Some context is needed for us to properly break this down into something profoundly meaningful.

So let's just get you to do a simple 5-Step Mind and Memory Challenge.

Think back to last Tuesday.  Take a minute or two, and remember your day, as much as you can, from the time you woke up, until the time you went to sleep.

Now, think back to the Tuesday before that, and also try to remember the day from start to finish.

And again, cast your mind back to the Tuesday before that - so now you are looking roughly 3 weeks into your past. Try hard to remember the day from start to finish. Are you having difficulty yet? Can you remember anything especially significant about that specific Tuesday?

Now go back in your mind to the Tuesday before that. You are trying to remember the Tuesday approximately 4 weeks ago.

Finally, using your memory again, ask yourself what distinguished each Tuesday as being different from the other. What stands out in your mind?

Such Challenges are especially useful for getting mentally prepared to prompt your thought processes into a type of internal investigation that it rarely, if ever, does.

I actually did this challenge quite some time back, and I was more than hard pressed to remember any differences. Sadly, all I could vaguely remember was that there was no break from the same routine for those Tuesdays. That's it, that's all I could say, I knew I had carried on the same routine for those Tuesdays that I always did. In fact, practically every day was indistinguishable, repetitive, and I couldn't name the day or date of the last thing that occurred that stood out as being a significant positive occurrence.

Negative occurrences..? That was another matter. I always had a lot to groan about.

I have tried this on several individuals also, and had pretty much the same results. It makes you think, and can make you uncomfortable in a deep and unfamiliar way. Why is that..?

Obsession with Happiness without knowing what True Happiness is

It all comes down to catching a glimpse of the preposterous nature of our lives which can be summarized as follows: A Pursuit of Happiness through a competitive obsession to obtain pleasures and comforts via the acquisition of impermanent consumables, which serve as addictive yet unsatisfactory finite attachments, prompting a compulsive, repetitive, and exponential drive to seek an ever greater amount of impermanent consumables by any means necessary, at whatever cost, without any limits; often compelled by a herd instinct to imitate the actions of others in an attempt to manufacture a corporately approved shell of ego while seeking an agreeable sense of individuality and self validation in addition to a perpetual quest seeking positive peer affirmation.

That's quite a mouthful, right..? Can I simplify it down a bit..?

I sure can.

Basically, we are indoctrinated from a very young age that stuff, and lots of stuff, can make us happy, feel mental and physical pleasure, and be comfortable. To be attractive to others, the more stuff you get and show off, the better it will be. Especially the stuff that gets advertised to you as being the most essential, trendiest and most in-demand stuff. So study hard, be someone who is competitive, get a good job that pays good money, and get good stuff. Don't stop there, be more competitive, get a better job, get more money, get more stuff. Be a winner, and don't stop there, don't let anyone be above you, just fight hand, tooth, and nail to get what you want. Just do it. And do it again, and again, and again...

And then, maybe when you least expect it, you will find yourself drawing in your last breath, and in that moment - do you think you will FINALLY be happy**..?** It will all have been worth it**..?**

The above is the reality for billions of people worldwide, so, it's got to be OK, right**..?**

It's not like anyone has an option, unless they are born into wealth and don't have to endure all the struggling and suffering in the pursuit of happiness, right**..?**

They say that money is the root of all evil, but I do my best and work my hardest to get the things that me and my family need to be happy and comfortable, so I will be happy one day, right**..?**

No pain, no gain, right**..?**

Fake it until you make it, right**..?**

Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.

The precise thing that is wrong with these assumptions, and the nature of life described above, is that from the level of the individual, all the way through to entire populations spanning the world, they all have been sold on the concept and blind pursuit of FAKE HAPPINESS. That's it.

A terrible misconception of what the True Happiness in being Alive really is.

Sufferings, trials, and tribulations of life

Entire generations being born, pursuing materialistically based happiness that they see normalized by the majority, enduring the sufferings, trials, and tribulations of a life dedicated to that pursuit, sometimes corruptly, and many times at the expense of others, to never actually experience true bliss - even to the moment of their last breath.

It is this lack of understanding that can be found at the root of every conflict, every war, genocide, famine, and crime. Whether seeking power, wealth, fame, notoriety, or just trying to live a decent, *normal* life, the desired bliss can never be found, because once you have made the attachments, they will bring you suffering.  

The more 'stuff' you have, the more possessive you will be about guarding that stuff, while always looking for bigger, better, newer versions. The chase will not end in your lifetime.

Without truly understanding what Happiness is, mankind blunderingly assumes it is to be found in the taking on of the role of a mindless drone, following the herd instinct, earning and spending, attaching to the idea that the more stuff you have, the happier you will be. What a perfect deception that ultimately only benefits a select few whose hands are all over the money made from giving you the proverbial 'stuff'.

Youth Mind and the Societal Programming

We aren't created as mindless drones. We humans come from the womb wide eyed and with a pure mind, pure consciousness,helpless and dependent for a time on our parents love, nurturing, and nourishment. It's not long after that we begin to choose to accept what is thrust in our faces throughout our younger years by the Corporations, by the Mainstream Media, by the Movie and Pop Music Industries, the Fashion Houses, by what we see our friends wearing, what we see our parents buying. It's like kids are shuffled through Elementary and High School learning as if they are drones being built on an assembly line of indoctrination. By the time they leave high school, the ink has dried, the glue has set, and with raging hormones and a magnified desire to stand out in a crowd they launch into early adulthood wishing to be years older already and on top of the game. It doesn't take too long for the metamorphosis to occur, and the routine to lock itself in place, before they are no more than mindless drones following the beat of a silent drum.

We humans complain. For every challenge and every problem in life, we complain. About the challenges and problems in our society and governments, and those around us, we complain. We call for change, but are unwilling to change ourselves. We stay as mindless drones on the path that we think will take us to happiness. We humans get so self-absorbed in our own little worlds, our own little melodramas, that we ignore the true issue of knowing what is true happiness, and because we want to stay on our path, we complain about the problems around us, but do nothing except blame others.

So, if the problem is not having an understanding of what Happiness is, what can be done..?

First, recognize that you have to do a clean-out of the mind. It has become noisy, disordered, and littered with a lot of useless junk.

We spend a lot of attention, time, and money - for grooming our outward appearance, be it the hair, clothes, shoes, accessories, or even in some cases modifying through cosmetic surgeries.

We also spend a lot of time caring for the appearance of our vehicles, our homes, and in recent years, a huge amount of time and attention to crafting our online profiles through various social media platforms... But what about our mind..?

At the end of the day, when we feel tired and somewhat dirty, we go to the shower or bathe to cleanse ourselves, using pleasant smelling shampoo and body washes. We like to then dress in clean clothes or nightwear. All clean, all fresh, all sanitized.

But what about Your mind..?

How do we clean and sanitize our mind in such a way as to begin to have clarity to accurately contemplate what it means to be truly happy..?

Peace and Quiet

Make time, even a few minutes, to retreat away from the noisy world and be alone, and sit down. Close your eyes. Imagine a volume dial in your mind that controls all the noisy thoughts, and begin to turn it down. Quieten those thoughts. Actually, dismiss those thoughts. One by one, just like you are closing the window panes on a computer, shut off the thoughts. If a thought like "I wonder what I will eat tonight?", for example, pops up in your mind, dismiss it. Finding it difficult..?

A 'FIND YOURSELF' MEDITATION

Try concentrating on slowly counting down from 10 to 1. Regardless of how long you spend on focusing on a number, forget time, just focus ONLY on the number. See it in your mind, hear it in your mind. Don't have any other thoughts except that number. Quite quickly you will find yourself in a very peaceful state of mind; and actually for the first time in a very, very long time, you will begin to feel a sense of deep, inner peace. What you are doing is cleaning your mind through meditation. If your are counting down, then you are meditating, and contemplating numbers. Your mind is 100% switching on, your mind is taking a beautiful shower of its own, and any brain fog will be washed away.

As you sense this inner peace, your very essence, your 'pure mind' (consciousness without noisy thoughts) will emerge. You will begin to perceive a sense of deep inner satisfaction - almost as if for the first time you experience yourself, you, the REAL you, to the point where you will almost want to say "Here I am..!!  After all this time, I have found myself..!!", and this perception, this feeling, can be profoundly satisfying and life-changing. It is the proverbial mirror on the wall which you will see clearly as you have now cleansed your mind in the moment of the noisy thoughts and distracting concepts.

There - did you see them..? The keywords I used..?

PROFOUNDLY SATISFYING and LIFE-CHANGING

It is a state of mind then, that most amazing feeling.

You see, the capacity to know true happiness is already within you. You will not meet it somewhere outside of yourself, and you cannot buy it. It must well up like a fountain from deep within your heart - and it will seem like a rushing torrent of purpose, and it will be a compassionate heart..!!  How so..?  Because you will suddenly feel like you can save the world, that you have found the secret to save many from suffering - and indeed you would be right, because it will just be the very start of an amazing journey, a pilgrimage to know the essence of who you are, and to be able to release others from the same suffering you endured for so long.

The capacity to know true happiness is already within you. You will not meet it somewhere outside of yourself, and you cannot buy it. It must well up like a fountain from deep within you.

Instead of rushing out to trade in your 9 month old cellphone for the latest version, take time to sit quietly, and contemplate what you have to do to see yourself as a member of the human race; and that race, gender, wealth and status mean nothing to the fact. You are not above, or below, anyone. You are unique as the person you are, but you are simply a member of the human race. Look at all others with compassion, as equals, the majority of which are suffering their own daily ordeals and tragedies.

Acts of selfishness and greed are not positive things, even though many encourage the 'Do what you want, when and how you want to do it' mentality, to find happiness - they are negative things, and provoke ignorance, arrogance, and suffering. Cause and effect will always balance out your actions by repaying you what you give. Promotion of ego, and acts derived from attention craving, will lead to rampant narcissism and put you far away from having a compassionate heart.

Clear out the Clutter of the Mind

Pretty soon after cultivating more time to yourself to meditate and contemplate like this, you will see how so much of the junk you have accumulated around you is just that - junk. You'll begin to see how much worrying, stress, anxiety, and suffering you have gone through for just obtaining unrewarding impermanent junk. You will begin to instinctively feel the artificial distractions as just that, junk that is so unnecessary, and will want to begin trashing it, or donating it. You clear out the clutter in your mind, you better believe you will begin to clear out the clutter around you. Life changes will occur, as you begin to live clear minded more and more. It's a most fascinating and wonderful journey that guarantees you will see yourself, this world, and all people differently, and in ways you could never have previously imagined.

The Core of Life is the Struggle for Survival and the Suffering in-between

Will there still be suffering in your life..? Of course..!!  

The world, and this life, is guaranteed to bring suffering, but finally you will have a method to master how your mind deals with that suffering, how to recognize it, and how to transmute it into something else, not just lessons to learn from, but lessons in compassion to help others who you perceive and observe going through the same crises that you have already emerged from.

Remember that Suffering is also Nature's hard-wired way of teaching us essential lessons. We cannot effectively avoid it our whole lives, but it is better to learn from it so as not to repeat the same mistakes over and over.

Don't settle for mediocrity, or living as a mindless drone for the Materialistic World

Make a pledge, a vow, an irreversible promise to become a new person by cleansing the mind and finding the supreme satisfaction of meeting the person you really are in essence, and take the most noble of journeys to be compassionate, clear minded, patient, loving, honest, and satisfied. It's not too late. All it takes is you, to get the journey started.

[darklydeliciousdesires]

Without you I’m Nothing - A Ronnie Radke/Original character story.

Summary: Ronnie always thought the age old saying of don’t hate the player, hate the game could never be applied to him unless it was used as a personal description. That was, until he met Alex...

Disclaimer: I do not know any real persons mentioned in this story, which is a complete work of fiction and product of my imagination. No monies are being made off this story, and no true claims are made either. Again, it’s all just fiction, baby!

Warning - Explicitly detailed sexy time ahead in the coming chapters. If erotica isn’t your deal, turn the car around and drive back the way you came. If however it is, keep on driving ;)

Tag list - @teggles07 @fyeahproudglambert @jayded-reality @kimmwilliams79 If anyone wants to be added to this, let me know! Updates will be every other day, my lovelies!

The illumination of the light, blazing through the darkness draws the moth near, who no matter how many times finds its wings singed, cannot resist the urge to bask in the alluring glow. It’s a compulsion, an urge, a need to attach itself to the bright light, no matter how blinding or how harmful, no matter that it knows it’ll get burned time and time again, it cannot help be drawn to it over and over. Perhaps it’s the burning heat that makes it so addictive in the first place…

  “Jeez, that girl in the leather pants over there, wow,” Nick commented, nodding in her direction.

“Dibs,” replied Ronnie, making his friend blow up in an instant.

“Oh fuck you, man! You always pull that shit on me. Asshole!” he shouted, Ronnie laughing loudly.

“Well you need to learn to call it first, don’t you? From dibs to shotgun, you’re always tardy with the call, dude. Ain’t my fault.” He continued laughing at the disgruntled look he received, his friend of almost ten years still staring at him as he muttered words under his breath which were not audible over the loud music blasting through the club they were in.

“It isn’t like you’re not over there drowning in pussy as it is either, with all he chicks your male ‘ho ass has on speed dial,” Nick pointed out to him, Ronnie laughing as he caught an ice cube from his glass of soda between his teeth and crunched on it, shrugging nonchalantly.

“I could always make room for another.” Looking over to where the gorgeous, tall girl with the wavy brown hair danced with her friends, he stared at her for long enough to catch her eye, winking before looking away. He could see through his peripheral vision that she was looking right at him, which was exactly what he wanted. He looked again fleetingly, smiled and then got up and headed to the bar. He anticipated she’d be at his side in three…two…

“What are you drinking, pretty lady?” One. There she was. He’d curse the charm that radiated out of his every pore if he didn’t enjoy being a chick magnet as much as he did.

“Jack over ice please, big fella,” she replied, turning side on as she leaned down on the bar, picking up a beer mat and fanning her slightly clammy face with it.

“That, a soda and whatever the hell that floppy haired bastard over there ordered last time he came up,” Ronnie told the bartender while pointing at Nick, who held the bottle of imported beer high in the air so she could see. She poured the bourbon first and fetched the beer, the girl at Ronnie’s side picking it up and taking a sip.

“Thanks, see ya,” she told him before turning and making a start to head back through the crush of people at the bar.

“Hey, I buy you a drink and that’s all it gets me, a thanks and see ya?” he asked a little incredulously, turning her back to face him.

“I came to you, now it’s your turn to come to me,” she replied with a little smug pout.

“Ahhh, so she’s a game player, huh?” he commented, the girl downing the rest of her drink.

“She is. She always wins too. You’ll have fun trying to keep up though.” Handing him her empty glass she gave him an approving up and down look, her mouth flickering into some semblance of a smile before she turned and walked away.

“Well, that worked out well for you,” Nick told him when he arrived back at their table, Ronnie giving him the kind of pissed off side eye he knew he’d likely receive for such sarcasm.

“Fuck you.” This spat exclamation only made Nick laugh more. There was no way in hell he was leaving his seat to pursue her again, it was very much a pride thing with him. Despite the fact he’d only just (and barely) met the girl, she wouldn’t have the upper hand over him.

In fact, he chose to ignore her presence dancing in the near distance and not give her the satisfaction of even glancing at her once, even though again he could see out of the corner of his eye that she was vying for his attention. ‘No, honey. I’m not that easy to lure’ he thought, letting his eyes land on her for a split second before continuing his conversation with Nick and two other friends who’d joined them.

In fact, he forgot all about her until crossing the dance floor to head to the restrooms on the opposite side. He was about halfway across when he suddenly felt two sets of fingernails glide down his back.

“So you finally came to me then,” the girl spoke in his ear before he turned around, shaking his head as the pleasant shiver her nails had invoked continued to run through him. “God, these arms. I didn’t notice how big they were before.”

“Would you have hung around instead of being rude if you had?” he asked, leaning in close to her, feeling her hands rest against his shoulders. The scent of her perfume was much like the way she looked, he noted. Mostly quite sweet, but with a dark, alluring undertone that he couldn’t help but allow to pull him in a little.

“Cat and mouse can’t be played if the cat just sits there. There’s always got to be a bit of a hunt first or it isn’t any fun.” She drawled languidly, blinking at him slowly and showing off her ridiculously long, dark eyelashes. They weren’t the type that you could glue on either, he noticed.

He could have given her a smart quip of a reply, but he chose not to. Instead, he gave her no reaction other than to turn and walk away, sensing she was the kind of person who wouldn’t expect him not to show one flicker of anything and simply walk away from her.

Ronnie got the measure of people with the kind of speed not many possessed, deducing that she was a shameless attention seeker with a massive self-importance complex and because of such, she wouldn’t like what he’d just done at all. One thing she’d learn very quickly was that if she intended to play games with him, he’d play his own right back. The bait she was dangling? He wasn’t going to snap at it.

Normally he wouldn’t put so much thought into his actions regarding some random, cocky girl like her, but there was something about her attempts to play with him that made him feel uneasy. If he was honest with himself, it was probably because he was also used to having whatever woman he wanted fall at his feet in an instant. This girl, she’d done the exact opposite of that. This made it all the more surprising when he walked out of the restroom to find her waiting for him.

She didn’t say a word as she took him by the biceps and walked him back into the wall, pressing her chest to his as she stared him dead in the eye, not blinking, not flinching, just giving him the kind of look that conveyed the measure of how much she wanted to eat him alive. “Tell me you don’t want me.”

“What?” he asked, both befuddled and amused by the way this baffling girl worked.

“I bet you can’t.” Was she for real?

“I don’t want you, you seem like way too much hard work, darlin’.” He told her, shaking his head. She just smiled at him, leaning in closely and tickling his lips with her tongue before tilting his chin upwards with her hand, her tongue running up his neck in a slow, sensual glide, tasting the bitter but not off putting traces of cologne that scented his heavily tattooed skin, his dark stubble prickling it when she reached his chin.

She then parted her lips like she was about to kiss him, pressing her body against his fully before turning her head at the last minute. With her fingernails slowly tickling their way up his arms, her hips rotating into his crotch along to the beat of the dull roar of Sick like Me by In This Moment coming from the main room, her mouth glided over his neck once more in a series of well placed kisses and licks.

He couldn’t deny it even if his life depended on it, this girl, she had him entranced. It was like she’d cast a potent spell on his senses, his body bending to her will in how it reacted, beginning to move against hers as his arms locked around her.

She paralysed any kind of need for one-upmanship with her breathtakingly powerful allure, his heart hammering in his chest as she made arousal pulse through him so wildly it was unlike anything he’d ever known. He sure as hell had never, ever been turned on so heavily before while he still had all of his clothes on, that was for sure.

Feeling her lips at the side of his neck, her tongue then darted out to lick his earlobe, her body still moving against his in an all-consuming serpentine motion as her fingers finally ended their ascent at his shoulders.

“Now tell me you don’t want me.” She stated through a lustful purr before pushing herself away and sauntering off, leaving him standing there catching his breath, absolutely staggered by her. By the time he actually made it back into the main room though, she was nowhere to be seen. Of course, she’d engineered it that way entirely, to drive him out of his mind and then leave without a trace.

For the first time in years, he felt like he needed a shot of something alcoholic to recover from the residual feelings of arousal she’d left him with, but walked straight past the bar and kept his sobriety in check. Passing the bar wasn’t the hardest feat for him though, it was resisting the urge to leave the club and hunt her down proving the most tempting desire to quash.

He managed it though, in the interests of knowing such would be falling into a very deliberate trap she’d set. That would be playing her game and no matter how much she’d made his loins burn with the kind of lust he’d only usually experience from actually having sex with someone, he was determined not to be a participant.

It didn’t occur to him that this was exactly what he was doing though, for the mystery girl who had entranced him so thoroughly would be on his mind a lot over the next few days, exactly as she’d wanted to be. He might have said he wouldn’t play her games, but he was yet to realise he’d find himself falling into the trap of doing such without even realising. The girl? He’d soon find out she was like no one else he’d ever experienced before.

[complexmagrparchive]

                       EVIL IS WHATEVER DISTRACTS

NAME › Natalie Eunseo Howard/ Natalie Kim   D.O.B. › 08 17 1991 (25) OCCUPATION › Freelance Photographer/ Receptionist INSTA › @dysofbngwld​

content warning: alcoholism

PORTFOLIO

( Basically her style is based on JDZ Chung’s work so in no way am I claiming credit for any of the work but that’s who the actual photographer of these pieces are.)

Portrait A, for Dazed Korea

Portrait B, for Complex

Portrait C, for personal portfolio

Landscape A, for personal portfolio

Portrait D, for unreleased photobook

Portrait E and Portrait F, for Complex

Portrait G and Portrait H, for Nylon Korea

DETAILS

born to an american soldier and a young korean woman in busan.

father leaves the family, is never heard from again.

mother remarries, gives birth to siblings. natalie gets lost in the mix.

gets into art high school in seoul for drawing, stands out little among peers.

drinks for the first time as a teenager, likes it more than she should.

takes photography up as a hobby, posts to blog and slowly gains notoriety.

gets into hongik, continues to not stand out among peers, drinks more.

begins freelancing as a photographer, drops out of college.

spends too much time drinking/partying and not enough time working. sets foundation to ruin her own life.

comes to the realization that she’s probably ruining her life with destructive behavior.

A guy tells her about a condensed version of the twelve step plan, for new year’s she tells herself she’ll give it a try.

Step one; admitting that one cannot control one’s alcoholism, addiction or compulsion.

“Hi, my name is Natalie and I’m an alcoholic.”

The group greets her back as a collective, and it’s only when she looks around the room desperately searching for kind eyes to connect with that she realizes she’s the only person under thirty in the room.

Alcoholism, she notes, is not an issue faced by the average 25 year old.

“I like drinking because it makes me feel invincible, and I don’t get that when I’m sober.”

There’s the distinct throb of her own heartbeat that drowns out any noise. The group claps and Natalie takes her seat but her heart echoes too loudly in her ears and she can’t begin to focus on the next person speaking or anything that happens during the intermission.

She only knows two things for sure: she’d kill for a drink right now, and she’s never coming back to this circle of fucking losers.

Step two; recognizing a higher power that can give strength.

JESUS LOVES YOU!

It’s a gaudy sort of flier, with the words written in bubbly rainbow and a teenage girl all but shoves it in her hands as she tries to make her way past the ensuing crowd of forceful christian teens trying to spread the good word in some shit-stain sidewalk in Hongdae.

“For God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son, that whosoever believes in him should not perish but have everlasting life” The rest of the flier reads, and it’s enough to make her laugh.

For God so loved Jesus he sacrificed him for the sake of the ungrateful humans who turned their backs on his majesty.

For God so loved Natalie he had her father abandon her physically, and her mother emotionally.

For God so loved Natalie he gave her younger half-siblings more wonderful than she could ever be and a group of friends with more talent than she could ever hope for

For God so loved Natalie he made her a jealous, insecure woman who self-destructs the moment anything remotely good begins to happen.

God doesn’t make mistakes, and the bible says he loves her as much as he benevolently loves anyone else. But Natalie’s ready and willing to call bullshit.

The flier crumples up in tight pale fists and she chucks it into the street, praying a puddle destroys it before God’s love has a chance to ruin someone else’s day.

Step three; examining past errors with the help of a sponsor (experienced member).

“Do you think I’m a fuck up?”

Phone cradled between her shoulder and her face she swears she can hear the hesitation in his breath as he sighs loudly into her ear.

“This is really what you want to talk to me about at 3 a.m.? Shouldn’t you be editing photos right now, not indulging in an existential crisis?”

His voice is still rough and raspy, and Natalie is sure that before she called he was nearing his REM cycle and dreaming about something wholly more pleasant than spending the wee hours of the morning talking to a girl with a lack of boundaries or consideration for others.

“I’m editing the photos right now. But I started thinking about it and I got curious.”

He sighs again, more softly.

“Natalie go to sleep. The photos can wait, you’re ahead of the deadline this time. Hang up your phone, put the wine bottle away, turn off your laptop, and go to sleep. Don’t worry about stupid shit this late at night, you’ll only stress yourself out.”

“I’m not drinking.”

“Really? Well good for you. Now go the fuck to sleep.”

It’s her turn to sigh.

He’s too damned nice and she hates him for it. Maybe that’s why they could never work out romantically, maybe that’s why they barely work out platonically. He’s beating around the bush avoiding the ugly truth that they’re both very much aware of.

“I’ll hang up after you answer my question.”

The line goes dead for a moment, and it’s only the steady subtle sound of his breath that makes her realize he’s still there

“I don’t think you’re a fuck up— ”

“ —Bullshit.”

“Shut up and let me finish for once. I don’t think you’re a fuck up. Do I think you’re a person who fucks up a lot? Yeah, anyone with eyes can see that. But do I think you’re a fuck up? No. You’re just some girl who’s kind of selfish and likes to make herself suffer and cut herself off from people who care about her. You’re also a girl who doesn’t respect my sleep schedule, but no I don’t think you’re a fuck up. Now will you let me go to sleep.”

The total honesty of it shocks her. Granted, it’s what she asked for (what she craves), but the reality of it catches her off guard.

“Okay.”

Her voice is small and timid and suddenly she can’t seem to be bothered about the pictures staring back at her from her computer screen anymore.

“You’re not a fuck up, you’re just a person who needs some work. Don’t get yourself so down, just go to bed and don’t forget to send me those pictures sometime tomorrow. Good night.”

The line goes dead before Natalie can muster a reply.

Step four; making amends for these errors.

After a decade, her mother’s house is more or less the same.

The same family portrait of three handsome children paired with two proud parents and an awkward gawky girl standing alongside adorns the living room wall. The same cream colored couch with hard, uninviting immaculately clean cushions. The same god forsaken coffee table whose corners only serve to gouge and bruise Natalie’s skin.

She’s been gone from Busan for ten years, and yet nothing’s changed; her mother’s kept a time capsule all of these years.

“What’s this?”

The satoori that her mother spits out so incredulously sounds all too familiar and all too foreign in the same breath. They talk every now and again on the phone, but the power of her mother’s accent gets lost in the distance. In person it’s powerful and a glaring reminder of how far from a Seoul-girl Natalie really is.

“It’s money, Mom. I got a second job because I wanted to pay you and your husband back.”

The envelope sits on that damned contraption of a coffee table untouched, but Natalie can’t miss the way her mother’s eyebrow perks up in disinterest and the way her lips purse. It’s an expected gift,  unwarranted as it is. Her mother spent fifteen long years raising her and another ten sending monetary support to encourage reckless habits. It’s the least Natalie can do even if her mother isn’t interested.

“I’m making japchae for dinner. Your father and your brothers will be home soon, why don’t you stay for dinner. It’d be nice to have a full family dinner for once.”

In the reflection of the coffee table, she can see that fucking family portrait she’s spent years forgetting existed. Her mother sits on a chair and smiles brightly, with a cherubic looking baby sitting on her lap. Her mother’s husband stands behind the chair, one hand resting on the wicker, the other resting on his young son’s shoulder. Another boy stands to the side with the same twinkle in his eyes as the older boy and the beautiful baby. Then, off to the side, stands Natalie in all of her awkward gawky teenaged glory. Her features don’t match up with the children who mirror each other so well. Her forehead is too wide, her ears stick out too much, a face too exotic to fit perfectly amongst a family so proudly and obviously Korean.

She’d like to rip that potrait off the wall and smash it into the ugly table her mother adores so much.

“Can’t stay. I gotta catch a train back to Seoul today, I’ve got work later tonight.”

If she doesn’t look, she’s sure she’ll be able to avoid the guilt that undoubtedly will attack her if she meets her mother’s gaze.

“Okay then. Call me when you get to Seoul and let me know you got there okay.”

She’s out the door before her mother can dare say anything more.

The guilt finds her in the end anyways.

Step five; learning to live a new life with a new code of behavior

Knees caked in dirt and gloves now soiled, she can almost understand the appeal old women find in maintaining a lovely little garden. Her roses are starting to bloom well, and the lavender look nice in it’s lonely little corner. It’s a patrician hobby;  for those with enough money to afford the time to spend tending to pretty little flowers and enjoying the simple pleasures of life.

The sun bears down too hot on pale shoulders, and Natalie can’t help but sigh at the way her knees ache when she pushes herself up as she assess her work. It’s nice, but not nearly enough. If she works hard, by mid August the rooftop might look like the secret garden she’s got in her mind.

Her phone starts to ring the second she pulls her clammy hands out from their lycra and leather prison. Temptation has impeccable timing.

“Natty! Where are you, baby girl? I miss your crazy ass!” the voice on the other end clings to every syllable and there’s a familiar itch in the back of Natalie’s throat suddenly.

“Right now I’m on my rooftop putting away gardening tools.”

Laughter on the other end rings somewhere in between bemused and condescending in Natalie’s ear and she tries not to notice the way her fingers clench into a fist as her nails dig into the rough material of her gloves.

“What the fuck. Did you magically turn into an eighty year old while I was gone?”

“Something like that, yeah.”

“Okay well Miss Howl’s Moving Castle, come turn into a beautiful young girl again and come to my birthday party tonight. I know you couldn’t possibly forget.”

Her teeth clench tightly, and critical eyes begin to assess the garden again. The lavender looks to far off and lonely in the corner, she thinks she ought to plant some celosia nearby.

“I don’t know. I’m kind of busy.”

“Oh boo, I’ll be so sad if you don’t come. Don’t ruin my birthday Natty, I won’t forgive you if you do. It’s at that one club in Itaewon, our favorite one.”

“I’ll uh think about it.”

“Good.”

The line goes dead before she has a chance to give another half assed denial. Slipping her gloves back on she makes her way over to the corner of lavender. Another couple of hours in the garden won’t kill her, and neither will one night in Itaewon.

She’ll make one last great hurrah about it.

[brooklyn-queer]

Alright, below the cut is a long thing that I want to put somewhere in the web abyss but since I don’t really use my tumblr anymore/don’t really know anyone on tumblr I figure this is as fine a place as any to put it

Some people knew I used to get too fucked up at parties but did they know about the constant weed smoking, the straight everclear shots alone in my room, the Valium, the keyboard cleaner, the paint sniffing, the LSD, the binging and purging, the sex and love addiction, the Adderall, the snorting caffeine pills?

How every other Friday, I would spend my entire bi-weekly paycheck on booze and drugs?

How I pawned my camera, my most prized possession, for drug money?

How I borrowed cash for food and spent it on booze?

or the nights i drank rotten hooch stored under my bed when I didn’t have money?

the nights i drank vinegar because I didn’t have any more hooch?

the nights i drank vanilla extract because I ran out of vinegar?

the nights I drank hand sanitizer because I ran out of vanilla extract?

Did anyone know that I hadn’t had a sober conversation with them in years?

Who am I kidding? plenty of people suspected I was an addict. the only people bold and caring enough to address it with me had to face my drunken angry tantrums.

I was sick. I was so fucking sick. In highschool, my friends nicknamed me “Sunshine” because I radiated joy and optimism. I laughed until I cried, I was always there for my friends, I was a good listener, I was kind. I had many skills and I worked tirelessly to perfect my crafts. Once I started using everything began to unravel. I desperately entered competitions to prove that I could still perform. A blue ribbon meant I wasn’t worthless, right? I obsessively sought romance and sex in places I shouldn’t have because I needed to prove I was still lovable. I compulsively badgered my friends to prove that I wasn’t isolating myself in my using. All the things I did before for enjoyment or for others became about Me and gaining validation that I wasn’t losing my fucking mind.

I thought about my rapist and my rape every minute of the day. Everything triggered the thoughts: cars, mens bathrooms, belt buckles, Owl City songs, glasses, haircuts--it was fucking insanity. When I wasn’t reliving my rape, I was mentally playing out future rapes, 

dreaming about my loved ones assaulting me, 

obsessively imagining my loved ones dying over and over and over and over 

picturing my cats mangled squished dead body

imagining my fathers death over and over and over and over 

walking along the road I was terrified I was going to jump infront of a car without thinking about it and I replayed my death over and over and over again

every morning i checked my body for bruises or signs of a rape, every night i made myself listen to that Owl City song 8 times in a row even though I always had panic attacks during it, before sleeping I would lock and unlock my door over and over and over at least 10 times until i could get my brain to shut up for 30 goddamn seconds

I see now why I wanted to hide from my brain. I see now that I only made it worse by doing so.

The closest I got to a quiet moment was when I was high, but apparently the thoughts didn’t stop after using. All I did was shove the burden of my broken brain onto whomever was my caretaker for the night. If I was blackout drunk someone else had to take care of my brain for a while which is a pretty fucked up thing to do to someone else. Since I spent so many days blacked out, I’m sure that the worst pain I have caused others I have absolutely no recollection of. 

I was simply in a lot of pain. I had a lot of trauma and resulting mental illness that I refused to deal with. I wonder how I got addicted but when I think about it, someone who treats their body and problems like I did was bound to seek comfort anywhere. Weed was my drug of choice but alcohol was right behind along with pills and self harm and sex and unhealthy relationships and extreme risk taking. 

Who knew that within 5 years I would have morphed into a complete monster entirely unlike the person I was before? I wish I could adequately describe the horror of addiction, how it is a disease that eats who you are, that it is a sickness that attacks your soul. That the person I had become last year had nothing in common with the person I was before using. How in hindsight it is so fucking obvious I am an addict but in my active addiction it was impossible to see. 

I used to devour multiple books a week--I took pride in my love for knowledge. By my rock bottom, I hadn’t finished a book in over a year. I could barely bring myself to skim the articles I had to read for school. My brain was so fried I couldn’t read for more then 5 minutes at a time. I once cried because I got an A- in an honors class but a mere few years later I used so much I lost the ability to read.

Not saying that I was a great person before using because I still had a lot of shit I was working through but the addiction dug out the worst disgusting parts of my brain and brought them to the forefront. All of the good qualities within myself were masked by the addiction. By the end, I didn’t do anything other than use. If a person in my life didn’t want to get fucked up, they didn’t matter. If an activity didn’t involve drinking, I wasn’t interested. Anything or anyone what didn’t feed my addiction was disposable. 

Now I’m in recovery. I’m drawing. I’m painting. I’m writing. I’m baking. I’m cooking. I’m listening to my friends and supporting them. I’m gardening. I’m sewing. I’m reading. I’m meditating. People want to be around me. I know how to give them space because I’m not afraid of being alone with myself. I just moved in with an amazing friend. I walk our dog daily. I care for our cats. I cook dinner for us. I am able to support their dreams and aspirations the same way she supports mine. I laugh. Genuinely. I smile in real life and not just in facebook photos. I go to meetings and listen to the stories of other addicts. I do service. I am learning how to be confident without being arrogant. For god sakes, people are paying me to create art! What??? How lucky am I? None of this would have been possible without my sobriety. I have a hell of a long way to go and a lot of catching up to do but I am so grateful to be sober today, in this moment. 

I believed that I had to be cruel to the world before it could be cruel to me. I thought being mean and brazen meant being tough. I’m now learning how wrong I was. I was an immature hurt child who played myself off as threatening and mean because I was so scared and insecure in myself. I am learning now that true strength comes in gentleness. It comes with a firm and calm “no” when a boundary needs to be set while being open and understanding of others. True strength speaks for itself. It does not need bravado. 

If you think you might be an addict, you are not alone. The first step is walking into a 12 step meeting. The first step is just considering that you might have a problem. You can stumble into a meeting shit faced if need be. If not using seems impossible, its okay. It seemed impossible to all of us in recovery and we are here for you. Getting clean is hard as hell but I guarantee it’s worth a shot.

If you love an active addict, you are not alone. Please remember to take care of yourself. Addicts are sick and they need to be treated with compassion and professional help but that does not mean that you have to destroy yourself to save us. Alanon meetings are a great option to consider--they are support groups for the loved ones of addicts. They can help you work through hurt and resentment. They can help you come up with tools to protect yourself while supporting the addict in your life, or if necessary, give you the strength to walk away from them.

Trauma is hell. Addiction is insanity. Most people I have met in meetings are trauma survivors like me. We are sick and scared people who are afraid to be alive. Unfortunately most of us can’t break the habit until we have lost everything. Luckily, recovery is possible and for that I am endlessly grateful. 

“Rock bottom became the solid foundation on which I rebuilt my life.”

12 step programs are saving my life right now. I am currently on Step 2 and I am really taking my time with each one. I’m not at the steps where I write out my character defects, resentments, and make direct amends to the people I have hurt--that will come later when I have enough sober time to make sure that I can actually back up my words. In the meantime, this is a prelude that no one will probably read. I needed to get it out there though. I’m grateful for my clean slate, my new name, my new home, my fresh start. I think a huge change was necessary but I am aware that I left my old life violently and full of anger. Luckily those resentments are starting to melt away and it is making space for forgiveness and understanding. It is giving me the space to reflect on my mistakes and the pain I have caused others. When I get to Step 8, I will need to make amends to just about everyone who ever got close to me during my active addiction. For some addicts it takes years to get to that step so in the meantime please know that I am sorry, I am changing, and I genuinely wish joy and happiness in your life.

[sarah--writes-blog]

For the OC asks, do all the odds for your favorite female OC, and all the evens for your favorite male.

Favorites? I love all my children equally, but we’ll do Zuki and Luka because they’re super fun. Also this is a cool way of organizing questions!

What is your OC’s favorite color? She loves turquoise

Does your OC collect anything? What do they collect? He collects bracelets from all the places he’s been. He only wears his favorites, the rest are in a box in his room

What kind of things is your OC allergic to? Only vaguely allergic to cats, when they scratch her.

What kind of clothing does your OC wear? Most likely anything. He doesn’t ascribe to “gendered” clothing very much. He’ll buy a woman’s shirt because it’s extra soft, stuff like that. He won’t go so far as to wearing a dress or a skirt, but he’s gotten very close.

What is your OC’s first memory? Getting a puppy for her birthday.

What’s your OC’s favorite animal? Least favorite? Loves salamanders, hates mice

What element would your OC be? Already answered :)

What is your OC’s theme song? For some reason, Delight - Original Mix by Jamie Berry and Octavia Rose pops into my head. I wouldn’t call it his theme song, but it’s definitely on his playlist. He’s a big electro swing fan.

Do you have a faceclaim / voiceclaim for your OC? Nah, I like to draw them myself. As for voice, I can never pin those down.

What deadly sin would best represent your OC? Actually, Lust. He’s pretty good about the rest of them, but sometimes that boy can just get…carried away.

What are your OC’s hobbies? Cooking for her friends! Likes to make at least one homey meal a week for them.

How patient is your OC? How hot-headed are they? He can be both. He can be very patient when he needs to be, but hot-headed if something is really rubbing him the wrong way.

What is your OC’s gender / sexuality / race / species / etc.? Female, lesbian, Japanese, human!

What foods does your OC like to eat? What are their least favorite foods? He’s into all sorts of foods after traveling around the world. Which gets super unfortunate, because he’s super lactose intolerant and that eliminates a lot of things. Doesn’t like licorice.

If your OC could have any pet, what would they choose? Why? She’d either have a dog or a tarantula. Dog is more plausible - none of her roommates would allow the large spider.

What does your OC smell like? Very nice shampoo, and him? You know how all people have their own smell? Luka smells like Luka and I don’t know how else to describe it.

How do they make a living? What kind of job do they want / not want? What is their dream job? What do they think of their current job? Already answered :)

What are your OC’s greatest fears? Weaknesses? Strengths? Really doesn’t like mice. Weak when it comes to lying and saying no to certain people, strong when it comes to mathematics.

What kind of music do they listen to? Do they have a favorite song? She’s very into modern pop music.

If they came from their world to ours (if not already in our’s) how would they react? What would they do? He’s already in this world!

What personal problems/issues do they have? Pet peeves? She really sucks at making sushi, and she’s internalized thoughts of being a failure because she’s a Japanese chef that can’t make sushi. But she’s working on it. A messy kitchen will drive her up the walls. This doesn’t apply to when she’s actually working in it.

What kind of student were they/would they be in high school? The daydreamer. His mind is always in a different place, but he still got good grades.

What is a random fact about your OC? She’s a Scorpio!

What is their outlook on life? What is their philosophy / what do they think in general about living? He’s like a little ray of sunshine (for the most part). He thinks life is worth living and you should live it to the fullest!

What inspired you to create them / how did you create them? Were they originally a fan character? What was their personality / design like when you first made them? She truly just popped into my head one day. That’s how most of my OCs happen. She hasn’t been around long enough to evolve very much. She was a bit more sporty when she first appeared.

Who is the most important person in their life? Why? Who is the least important to them (that still has an impact) and why? His best friend back in Germany is so very important to him. He’s helped him get the positive outlook on life that he has. He keeps the belief that everyone is important, so no one is truly unimportant.

What kind of childhood did your character have? Already answered X)

What kind of nervous habits do they have? Do they stim? Do they have any kinds of addictions? He’ll tap when he’s nervous, bordering on a stim. No addictions, but has gotten close to a drug addiction once. He’s learned to be much safer now.

If they could choose their epitaph for their grave, what would they choose? If it had to be serious, something along the lines of her spirit going on. If it was not serious: “Died doing what she loved - setting the kitchen on fire.”

Do they want to get married? Why or why not? Would they ever want kids? Do they have kids? Why? He’d consider it down the line, but enjoys being single and having that freedom of one-night stands and nothing tying him down to one place. If he ever got married, he probably wouldn’t have kids.

What is their most traumatic memory/experience? What is their favorite memory? Most traumatic moment was when her father died of cancer. Favorite memories are with her father.

If they could have one thing in the world, what would it be? A passport that is completely full.

Would they ever kill someone? What would someone have to do to push them to kill someone? If they would kill someone, why? She would in self-defense within a heartbeat. Otherwise, someone would have to push her very very hard.

What social groups and activities does your character attend? What role do they like to play? What role do they actually play, usually?

How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories? She can be pretty creative when it comes to foods, but that’s about it. She doesn’t daydream very much, and she’s not a huge worrier.

What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain? He very much wants to travel the entire world and experience life as much as possible. He needs adventure in his life, and will sometimes turn to drugs or doing reckless things.

What’s something that your character does, that other people don’t normally do? Already answered :)

What would your character do with a million dollars? He’d travel the rest of the world.

What is in your characters refrigerator right now? On their bedroom floor? Nightstand? Garbage can? Respectively, very tasty leftovers, laundry that needs folding, melatonin and a phone charger, and old homework.

Your character is getting ready for a night out. Where are they going? What do they wear? Who will they be with? He’s going out with Zuki to see if they can get some action. Even if they don’t get laid, they enjoy spending the night out having fun. They’re wearing nicer clothes and are ready to fuck shit up.

What does your character do when they’re angry? Why? She has a tendency to break things, but will take it out on ripping paper or something that can easily be fixed. It’s easier for her to express it physically than verbally.

Does your character have any scars? Where did they get them from? Answered in a different ask, but I’ll summarize. Got into a fight with his little sister when they were young, she had a fork on her hand, it got violent, and he has scars on his right cheek.

What was the most offensive thing your character had ever said? Things that I probably cannot repeat here. It was once, and she regrets it.

How does your character react/ accept criticism? He’s usually pretty cool about it, unless it’s actually insulting to him as a being. Then he’ll get angry at their face and sad when he’s alone.

If your character was given a slice of pineapple pizza and they HAD to eat it (or something bad would happen), how would they react? Do they even LIKE pineapple pizza? She doesn’t prefer it, but isn’t a hardcore hater of it. She’d eat it.

Your character is given a voodoo doll of themself. What do they do with it? Do they see if it actually works? He’d test if it works first. If it doesn’t, he’d absolutely burn it because the concept of voodoo freaks him out. If it does, he’d hide it somewhere and make sure no one got their hands on it.

Can your character draw? What do they like to draw? Do they doodle? Already answered :)

What were their parents like? How has that affected how they are as an adult? Parents were very stressed but also loving. He just hopes to not be as stressed.

Does your character like candy? Do they get sugar rushes? What are they like when they get a rush? She bakes and makes her own candy all the time. She just gets even more energetic, which is hard for others to deal with.

If your character was presented with imminent and unavoidable death/fatality, how would they react? Would they try to avoid death anyways? Would they try to make their last days count? He’d go back home to Germany and spend the last days trying to finish off his bucket list. He’d probably take a day to be sad and say goodbye to everyone, but try to live it up.

[simondriverlove-blog]

Information Overload is a Weapon of Control

by James Corbett corbettreport.com July 20, 2019 

Do you feel confused? Listless? Overwhelmed? Have you ever found yourself scrolling through news feeds and flicking mindlessly through social media posts with a strange mixture of outrage, dread, and boredom? Is your disgust at the thought of going online consistently overwhelmed by your compulsion to pick up your fondleslab?

Don’t worry. You’re not alone. More and more people are finding it harder and harder to put their devices down even though it leaves them feeling restless, angry or empty. As a result, some are seeking ways to disconnect and unplug from the 24/7 siren song of never-ending news feeds, instant messaging and social media distractions, whether by ditching their smartphone in favor of a “dumb” phone or taking device-free holidays.

Yes, we all succumb to information overload, and yes, we all need a break from the online maelstrom every now and then.

But what if this state of information overload—the malaise we experience when we find ourselves paralyzed by a ceaseless stream of noise and nonsense—is not a mere byproduct of this vaunted “Information Age” but the actual point of it? Has it ever occurred to you that these devices have been weaponized against us? Or that the confusion and exhaustion we feel after spending an hour mindlessly scrolling on our smartphone is the effect that this weaponized technology has on our psyche?

And, more to the point, what can we do to protect ourselves from these daggers of digital distraction?

First, let’s examine the problem.

Suppose you start your day by checking your friends’ social media profiles. The stream of dream vacation pictures and posts about happy relationships and fun parties leaves you feeling miserable as you head out the door for work.

Later that morning you take a break from your desk job (entering information on a computer, of course) to check the news. Clickbait nonsense battles with atrocity porn for your attention in the news feed. You finally find something interesting and informative only to scroll down to the comment section and find it populated by trolls bent on starting flame wars and disinformation operatives deploying every trick in the book to derail thoughtful conversation.

Closing the browser window you get back to work and discover an angry email from your boss in your inbox reminding you that your latest report was due yesterday and several messages from your coworkers asking for your help with their own projects.

Running to the one place you know you can get away from it all—the washroom—you lock the stall door . . . only to feel a buzzing in your pocket. You got a new message on Facebook! You pull your phone out of your pocket and start the whole process over again.

The worst part is that you know that this constant flow of information is making you miserable, but you can’t help yourself. It’s harder and harder to leave the phone at home when you go out to the store or turn the TV off when you’re eating dinner. You’ve become a slave to the technology that once promised to free you.

Now this may not be a description of your average day, but we all know people to whom this description applies. And if you use electronic devices on a daily basis, it’s getting harder and harder to deny that you’ve experienced the strange mixture of compulsion and depression that those devices bring.

This is not even controversial at this point. We hardly need a scientific study to tell us that social media is making us dumb, angry and addicted, but in case you missed it here’s a scientific study telling us that social media is making us dumb, angry and addicted. As you might expect, people who compare their mundane, humdrum existence to the idealized lives that people present online—fun parties, great food, perfect vacations, happy families—are more likely to develop depressive symptoms.

But it’s important to note that this state of affairs has not come about by accident. This technology has been weaponized against you. This is not conspiracy theory or conjecture; as I pointed out in my podcast on The Weaponization of Social Media, many of the founders of the social media giants don’t even use social media themselves and they actively keep it away from their children. If you haven’t seen it yet, watch Facebook co-founder Sean Parker admitting that they designed their product to keep you addicted by exploiting vulnerabilities in human psychology.

When you realize that all aspects of our online experience—like the red badges and phone buzzers that alert us to new social media notifications—have been precisely fine-tuned to keep you clicking indefinitely, you can at least appreciate that it is not merely a matter of weak will that has led you to this spot.

It is also important to realize that this is not merely a ploy to earn more advertising revenue for the big internet companies. It does do that, of course, but this addiction to (and, ultimately, enslavement to) the very source of our unhappiness if part of a much more insidious agenda. We are being groomed by the hucksters and charlatans of our era to accept the coming integration of man and machine. Or, worse yet, to embrace it.

Never mind that the Borg-like vision of the future propounded by these transhumanists is a nightmare beyond comprehension. Never mind that free will will be rendered meaningless in a world where we are nudged by devices along pre-determined paths. Never mind that privacy will be unthinkable when our every thought will be monitored and analyzed in real time. Never mind that dissent will be impossible when our ability to access the networks upon which our lives are built can be turned off at the flip of the switch. We’ll be able to surf the internet in our head! Where do I sign up?

If you think information overload is bad now, wait until you’re interacting with avatars of your friends in augmented reality while listening to music that only you can hear and ordering your Alexa to adjust the thermostat and order you a pizza for dinner.

So what do we do about this?

If this were just another clickbait listicle designed to give you some trite pieces of warm and fuzzy advice and keep you coming back for more, this is the point where I’d give you a few bullet points about setting a screen time limit on your phone or practicing mindful browsing (searching for something specific instead of scrolling and clicking aimlessly). These things are all well and good, as far as they go . . . but they don’t go far enough, do they?

Because if we really face up to the fact that these devices have been weaponized against us, and that they are leading us into a transhuman future, then we arrive pretty quickly at a conclusion that might put you into a cold sweat: Every time you pick up your device, every time you check that news feed, every time you scroll through your social media notifications, you are putting a loaded gun to your head.

Or, even worse, you are ingesting a little bit of poison. One or two doses won’t hurt. A thousand doses might make you sick, but you can probably handle it. The fatal dose might be the millionth. And if the poison is sweet enough, then, like any addict, you’ll convince yourself that it’s OK to keep taking it; after all, we’ll be able to quit before we get to that millionth hit, won’t we?

And what’s the alternative, anyway? Giving up on this tech altogether? Is that even possible?

These are not rhetorical questions. They are very real questions with answers that have very real consequences for our lives. And I’m not posing these questions from up in the clouds. I make my living online. My life right now revolves around the very information overload that I’m writing about. Will I know where to draw that line in the sand and stop using the tech before it becomes an implantable brain chip? Will you?

Feel free to tell me that I’m being overly dramatic and that there’s nothing to worry about here. But the next time you feel yourself reaching for your phone in a moment of silence or scrolling aimlessly through a news feed with a gnawing sense of emptiness in the pit of your stomach, take a moment to reflect on that sensation. And then see if you can put the phone down.