#let me dissociate from the world I unfortunately live in

[brainrot-has-overtaken-me]

Minecraft YouTube save me! Minecraft YouTube distract me from the horrors!

[gaymarasov]

Yellowjackets S3 E6 Thoughts:

Shaunajackie deniers found dead in Miami. I had to get up and pace my living room and I'm not joking. No further comment (yet) but much to think about. I need time to process this fully.

WOW NATALIE WOULD HAVE HAD EVERY EXCUSE TO KILL HERSELF WAY SOONER. WE LOVE A RESILIENT QUEEN!! NAT 2, FATHER FIGURES 0!!! LETS FUCKING GO!!!

Shauna is about to lead these girls to the darkest places they've ever been in their lives and I literally cannot wait to see it I feel like a fucking crazy person I'm vibrating out of my skin.

MISTY KISSING COACH'S CORPSE I KNOW THAT'S RIGHT! THAT'S MY FUCKING GIRL! THREE CHEERS FOR THE NOTORIOUS MFQ!!!!

Callie thinks she's soooo smart. It's all fun and games until you find out the recording you scored is a 45min long audio file of someone being hunted through the woods and murdered like a fucking animal by your mother. If I don't get to watch the face journey I'm going to be PISSED!

Taivan ribbing Shaunahat over the course of the episode and Shauna specifically was SO FUCKING FUNNY TO ME. Nothing beats dyke drama unfortunately there is no force in the world strong enough to stop it. "You know what? Yeah, you were right. She does seem better" at the end had me fucking SICK!! Shauna surrounded by giggling girls and Van said yeah she WOULD be happier now wouldn't she??? SICK. SICK I TELL YOU.

Speaking of Tai and Van, I'm locking in my answer: We haven't seen "real" Tai all season. "Other" Tai is living it up and loving her time with Van, while "real" Tai is drowning in the horror of all of the recent events and can't keep her head above water. She's been in a constant dissociative state (I DON'T BLAME HER!) and "other" Tai has been steering the ship. If she did kill Lottie and Van finds out, it could be a great and interesting parallel to her having burned down the cabin in the teen timeline and Van knowing all along and keeping Tai's secret even from herself. This could go so hard. Let's see if they pull it off or if they're just fucking with me.

I've been saying since episode 2 that letting Shauna do all the violent and ugly parts of surviving in the wilderness is going to come back to bite. It's all fun and games until a nice pair of explorers wander into your camp looking for exotic birds and Shauna and Melissa jump them like a pair of dogs with resource-guarding tendencies. This is going to be such a fucking mess.

[15-lizards]

thinking really hard ab my clegane daughter ocs again... me nd @sshireens have created such a rich and fucked up life for them...

time to be cringe on main and force y'all to listen to me talk ab them <3 <3

Dagmar (elder daughter from the first wife) vibes tho I don't have a set in stone face claim for her yet these r her general vibes. Obviously she's not as pretty as these models she's kinda unfortunate she takes after her dad. Really deep set eyes and heavy brow bone, square jaw, wide nose, tall and stocky for her age. Kinda like Brienne if she didn't have good vibes.

Anywayssss she's so much like her uncle that Sandor sometimes wonders if he did some sort of asexual reproduction and had her. Really keeps up the tradition of Cleganes being rabid (but loyal) dogs. Super hostile and antisocial, absolutely CANNOT regulate her emotions, borderline personality disorder queen omg. Low tolerance for basically anyone and anything (except her sister) and has really huge emotional outbursts over seemingly small things. Except for when she's around Gregor cause she goes into safety mode and just shuts out all stimuli. Just super tense, constantly on-edge, and really disregulated emotions she has literally never known peace. Her cortisol levels are So High.

Why is she like this u may ask??? excellent question. Answer: nuclear threat to all women Gregor Clegane happens to be her dad. When she was like barely 2 her mother died "mysteriously" so she got to be alone in Clegane Keep with her rapist murder dad, his rapist murder buddies, and some horrified servants and a septa. Yippeeee. Obviously Gregor felt the need to establish dominance over every woman and girl, and this was only increased by her intense personality, so Dagmar is subject to all kinds of abuse as a child. She learns pretty quickly that u can't really fight back against him so she just shuts down anytime he's in her vicinity as to not pose a "threat" to him. It sorta works. Then lets out her emotions on everything else: serving boys, kennel hounds, herself, etc etc. Half of the time she's in a blind rage and the other half she's in a hopeless dissociative state :) Actively suicidal and she's not even fifteen. HOWEVER when she's like six the light of her life and reason to keep living is born...

And cue Iva (younger daughter from the second wife) and if she ever survives to adulthood (unlikely) it is Scripture to me that she looks like a young Carol Kane. Sunken cheeks, pallid skin, wide protruding bug eyes, long nose, dry and frizzy pale hair. Very very sickly because her mom gave birth a month early and then died bc of it. So all she has is her big sister :]

While Dagmar's response to most things is aggression and really reactionary over-emotional outbursts, Iva is the complete opposite. She likes to run and hide in corners every time she senses confrontation or even gets slightly uncomfortable. Very very avoidant and anxious. Gets to live in her own little mind palace most of the time bc Dagmar is there to protect her. However Dagmar protects her a little too hard and now she is overly dependent on her big sis. Pathetically helpless. Selectively mute a good bit of the time bc it all just gets to be overwhelming and she feels safer just not interacting with the outside world. Super passive like an actual human doormat (if she ever let anyone actually talk to her)

And she is the way she is for [see Gregor reasons above]. However since Dagmar was there when she was born, her big sis sees this weak little baby and feels protectiveness for the first time in her life. Iva is HER baby and Dagmar never lets her out of her sight. Not in a cute overprotective sibling way but in a really aggressive "don't do that you stupid idiot I know what's best for you don't ever leave me way" cause that's how she shows her love so Ivas like Ah this is what love must be like. Obviously Dagmar can't protect her from everything so Iva is abused in the same ways, but slightly less often because Gregor sees her as less interesting and less of a challenge because of her passiveness. So Iva's response is to make herself even smaller and ignore all her problems to live inside her own head lalalalalala

And when they're together oh these girls give a new meaning to Codependent. Dagmar sneaking into Iva's room after Gregor leaves it one night and getting so upset to the point of breaking things and grabbing Iva until she bruises her sister even more. But Iva is comforted by it because that rage means Dagmar cares ab her. Dagmar literally beating a stable boy into a vegetable state (or killing him, ur choice) for trying to grab Iva's skirts. Iva is in literal medical shock seeing a (near) dead body on the ground that got put there for HER while Dagmar is smiling with her bloody knuckles bc it felt good to hurt someone protect her sister (She actually feels horrifically guilty about it later but manages to ease the cognitive dissonance by telling herself that she was protecting Iva so it absolves her of everything bc Iva is perfect and fragile and can't be hurt). One time at a feast when the girls are in their pre/mid teens, Gregor makes an offhanded comment about marrying "the prettier one" off soon and Dagmar forgets her dad trauma for a hot second, bc her urge to keep Iva safe is that strong, and literally throws a serving plate at his head. Later when Dagmar is in her room, with three less teeth and five new giant bruises, Iva is cleaning her up and weeping and just wanting to curl up with Dagmar in bed and forget the rest of the world forever. Meanwhile Dagmar is planning out the murder-suicide she will enact if Iva does get married off. She doesn't tell her sister that just yet but Iva would be more than okay with it. Cause how can Dagmar live without her guiding light morality pet only good thing she has and how can Iva live without her only dog her only knight. YAYYYYYY

[httpdwaekki]

bad day | s.c.

summary: you messed up at work, leading to an anxiety filled, draining day but luckily your beautiful boy is there to make it all better.

wc: 1.7k

warnings: not proofread, lots too many of pet names, nudity (nothing sexual), mentions of anxiety and dissociation, pure fluff. lmk if i missed any.

a/n: v self indulgent because i fucked up at work a few days ago and have been anxious and need some good ole binnie fluff in my life. i haven't written in a while so feedback is always appreciated. love u, drink ur water, take ur medicine and remember ur loved <3

*lowercase intended*

my library

(pictures not mine! credits to owner)

to say you were having a bad day would be an understatement. you were tired, you were grumpy, and didn’t feel good. but it all came crumbling down the moment you realized you had missed an important deadline for work. you misread the date for an important project, which meant you had to send in it yesterday and not today.

you were defeated. you wanted to go home and curl up into a soft blanket and shut the world out. but unfortunately you had to finish out an anxiety riddled work day, waiting for your boss to come in and berate you. luckily that never came but it didn’t stop the side comments from your coworkers, about how much of a headache you’ve caused. you finished your work day but the anxiety never left.

you’ve never driven home faster, just wanting to shower and cuddle with your boyfriend and forget about your day. as you opened the door to your apartment, you kicked off your shoes, threw down your work bag and leaned against the door, letting out a sigh of relief.

“jagiya?” you had to keep your tears at bay, just hearing his voice after the day you’d had, made you crumble. you make your way to the living room where you find your boyfriend in sweats and a t-shirt, hair in its natural, slightly disheveled state and glasses, slightly slipping off his nose. 

you couldn’t stop the pout from forming before dropping yourself next to him, shoving your upper body into him. “yah! jagi, what’s wrong?” he asks, confused by your sudden move and mood. you just shake your head, burying yourself further into him. he understands immediately, wrapping his arms around you, kissing your head.

“okay, jagi, okay, it’s okay.” he whispered, rubbing soothing circles on your back. you two sit like this for a while, him whispering sweet nothings, pressing kisses anywhere he could reach. once he felt you relax a bit,  he pressed a long kiss to your hair before pulling back a bit. “bunny?” he moves his hand to the nape of your neck. “can you look at me for a second please?”

you sniffle before wiping your eyes, moving so you were sitting in front of him on his lap, legs resting on either side of him. his hands drop to your waist, rubbing soothing circles on your hips with his thumbs. you start playing with the hem of his shirt, just collecting your thoughts.

“what’s going on, hm?” he taps your chin lightly, “ what’s got my jagi so upset?” you sigh, finally glancing up to meet his eyes. “i just had a really bad day.” you mumbled, fiddling with the hem of his shirt once more. “oh, bunny.” he coos, placing his hand on your cheek, wiping a stray tear because gently caressing the soft skin.

“do you wanna talk about it?” he asked softly. you shook your head, “i just want cuddles and maybe a nap.” he nodded, “okay sweet girl. come on then.” he slowly scoots to the edge, “ wrap your legs around me, sweet girl.” he whispered, tapping your thighs. you wrapped your legs around his torso, before wrapping your arms around his neck, shoving your face in his neck.

“good job baby, you ready?” he asks, placing his hands under your thighs. you nod against him, tighten your limbs wrapped around him. he effortlessly stands up, adjusting slightly before making way to your shared bedroom.

once in the room, he gently lays you on the bed. “i’m gonna get you something comfy to wear, okay baby?” you nod, reluctantly letting go of him. you grab a blanket, hugging it, waiting for his return.

minutes pass, you feel yourself dissociate before your beautiful boy appears in front of you with shorts and your (his) favorite hoodie. he places the articles on the bed before sitting in front of you, placing a gentle hand on your cheek. snapping you back to reality, looking at him, a small smile forming on his face. “hi my baby.” he whispers, thumb gently caressing your cheek. your eyes soften looking back at him, “hi.” you mumbled back.

“i’m gonna help you get changed, okay?” you nodded, gently grabbing the hand on your cheek, kissing the palm, a token of your gratitude. he smiles, rubbing your cheek, kissing your forehead, standing up.

“i’m gonna take off your shirt. okay?” you nod, putting your hands up. he grabs the hem of your shirt, bringing it up and over your head. “do you want me to take your bra off too, baby?” you nod, reaching behind to undo the clasp. he grabs the straps, pulling it from your body, giving each shoulder a peck.

“my beautiful girl.” he mumbled, kissing your cheek before grabbing the hoodie, slipping it over your head, letting you slip your arms through the sleeves. “do you want shorts or no?” he asked holding them for you to see. you pondered for a second before shaking your head no. he nodded, putting the shorts back on the bed, before lightly tapping your thigh, “stand up for me bunny.” you stand up, pulling the sleeves over your hands.

changbin makes quick work of unbuttoning and unzipping your itchy jeans, leaning down to pull them down gently. you place your sleeve covered hands on his shoulders to stable yourself as you step out of the uncomfortable material. he lays the jeans to the side for him to deal with later.

he places a soft kiss on each thigh on his way back up. he reaches behind you, moving the soft blankets, to give you space to slip under them. “come on, jagiya.” he says softly, watching you make home under the covers. he pulls the covers up to your chin, tucking you in before placing a callused hand on your cheek, stroking it a few times before placing a loving kiss on your forehead.

you let out a sigh of relief, feeling the anxiety leaving your body little by little. he pulls away, grabbing the shorts and your work clothes from the day, making his way to your closet, throwing the clothes in the laundry baskets and placing the shorts back in their place.

he walks back over to his side of the bed, repeating the same process with the blankets before pulling you into his chest. you relax into his chest as he wraps his arms around you, placing a kiss on the top of your head. you place a soft kiss over his heart, as a silent thank you for taking care of you.

“i don’t know what happened,” he starts softly, rubbing soothing circles on your back. “but whatever it was, i hope you know how proud i am of you and love you no matter what. you put your all into what you do and i know you and i know you’re beating yourself about it but please don’t” he pauses.

“ i know it’s easier said than done but fuck baby, i hate seeing you tear yourself down. you work so hard, and you never give yourself a break and it breaks my heart.” you feel the familiar lump begin to form once more. you shake your head before covering your face with your hands, before shoving it back into his chest.

“i just feel so stupid and defeated.” you cried. you feel him tightened his arms around you, one arm around you back, the other cradling the back of your neck. “baby you’re not stupid, please never say that again.” he places a kiss on your hair. “you’re the smartest, most intelligent person i’ve ever met.”

you shook your head, pulling away slightly, before taking a breath. “what’s going on, what happened today?” he asked softly, wiping your tears. “i fucked up.” you whispered. “i thought i had another day for my project but it was due yesterday.” you explained, playing with strings of your hoodie. “my boss is upset, everyone’s mad at me, they keep making side comments about how i’ve caused a headache and it’s all too much.” you roll onto your back, looking up at the ceiling, trying to stop your tears.

“baby.” you don’t move, scared of what he’s gonna say next. “baby, look at me.” you turn head to face him, tears glistening on your eyelashes. “ you are not stupid. you are human and you made an honest mistake, okay?.” he paused, waiting for you to respond.

you nodded. “and you know what, fuck your coworkers and your boss, they’re all bitch made and complain about the stupidest things anyway.” you giggled, covering your face once more..

“shut up, bin.” you laughed. “no no no, i just got you smiling again, don’t hide from me.” he joked, grabbing your hands, revealing your smiling, tear-stained face. “there she is.” he cooed. you blushed looking up at him, suddenly tugging im down to you. “yah!” he exclaimed, giggling with you.

you hugged him tight, his arms coming to do the same. you shove your face into his neck, staying there for a moment before placing a kiss there. “thank you, bubba,” you murmured into his skin. “i don’t know what i’d do without you.” squeezing him one more time before feeling him pull away.

you let him go, arms resting on his biceps, looking at each other for a moment. he then starting smothering your face in kisses causing you to giggle once more. “binnie! oh my god, please.” you say laughing pushing him back. 

“okay okay, i’m sorry i just wanted to hear you laugh again.’ he conceded.”but seriously, you never have to thank me for that, it’s what i’m here for, okay?” you smiled and nodded. “good, now naptime for my favorite sleepy girl.” he said before giving you a kiss followed by a loud “muah!” laying down, pulling you into him again. 

you settle against his chest once more, feeling lighter and tired. “i love you so much my sweet, smart girl, never forget that.” you blush, kissing his heart once more. “i love you too binnie, more than you know..” a light smile, gracing your face once more as you feel yourself falling into dreamland, in the arms of your favorite boy.

a/n: ngl i got lost in the sauce and it was taking too long to finish this so i kinda rushed the ending but i'll try to revisit it when i proofread it to improve it :)

[drowning-in-cabbages]

Loyal Fucking Dog

The piece is meant to look unfinished and messy because it is a vent

Vent below the cut. If you don't want to read it, enjoy my Vanitas art

Drew this picture because of my current anxiety over the future. I'm unfortunately one of the people living under Flonald Dump within the USA. I'm scared for my reproductive rights as someone with female anatomy.

I'm tired of hearing the statement "we'll get through the next 4 years together" because it doesn't do anything for me. I've heard it so many times from my mom who doesn't stay anything against the Propaganda Machine that is my dad, even though I know she doesn't believe what he says.

My dad who believes the lies the people in the government tell him and then feeds it to my brother who is also believing his words. He eats Ben Shapiro's and the Daily Wire's words like a meal from the best restaurant around.

I can't say anything without him telling me I'm wrong for not having evidence without having any evidence for his claims. I feel like I'm always in a 2 on 1 argument with him and my brother while my mom bows her head and says nothing.

And when the arguments are over, he acts like nothing happened.

And I have barely a support system because I no longer have a therapist for my diagnosed anxiety because of school. Having ADHD in here is hard enough because my dad doesn't believe it and won't let me get an autism diagnosis (which I'm pretty sure I need) because he thinks it's just to sell medicine.

So, without therapy which I'm sure I could get (but without a driver's license yet, that nulls any option besides zoom, but i don't want anyone in this family overhearing me), or medicine for anxiety or ADHD, I'm left to roll through the next 4 years crying at midnight because it's the only time I get the house to myself for peace and quiet.

I hate that we're only 4 days into hell and I'm already feeling hopeless. I'm scared that if I go to sleep, all my rights will have been silently cut out of existence and that I'll be forced to go to my 7-3 shift working customer service and doing my schoolwork for college like nothing happened.

Everything is moving too fast to take any sort of break from it all unless I'm dissociating in a video game. And if I dare to stop playing my game for more than 10 minutes than the world around me will come crashing down, revealing its ugly truths and I won't be able to do anything but watch and stare.

I feel so hopeless.

[ch0k3herwithaseaview]

@jegulus-microfic | may 11 gentle | words: 573

part 1 | previous part

I don't know what's happening to me, so I'm pouring it all on James (i’m sorry)

tw: implied child abuse in the past, anxiety, dissociation

James sat at the dinner table, playing with his food rather than eating it, trying to silence his thoughts by concentrating on the conversation Sirius was having with Marlene about the next Quidditch game. Unfortunately, he was losing the battle between him and his mind—he couldn’t remember most of the time spent in the Great Hall, yet the one thing he remembers vividly are the silver eyes looking at him almost the whole time from across the room.

He was thinking about his last meeting with Regulus often—how the younger boy held him, whipped his tears more than once, and how he listened. It wasn’t much, but it meant the world to James.

And yet it still made him feel uncomfortable sometimes—what if Regulus used that knowledge against him? What if he was too scared by it all and went to Sirius and told him about it? Or even worse—what if he reached out to James’ parents to warn them?

He was overthinking again—James knew that. If the other boy did any of those things, he would know immediately what’s with Sirius’ straight-forwardness and his parents’ concern. And still…

The spiral in his head went on and on until he found himself at the Astronomy Tower again. He doesn’t know how or why he got there, but the moment he came back on earth, he sat on the cold stone, looking up at the night sky.

He was trying to find the northern star when the door creaked slightly and Regulus sat right beside him. The boy reached out and placed his hand over James' knee in silent question. In response, the Gryffindor just nodded once. Regulus lowered his hand and immediately started rubbing small circles on his knee with his thumb.

After a long moment of silence, Regulus’ gentle voice came to James’ ears.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling like I’m in some kind of trance or something, like—I don’t feel like I’m in my body feeling my emotions. It’s more like watching a movie in shit quality,” he answered quietly, resting his head on Regulus' shoulder. For some reason, the other boy's proximity, his touch, and the smell of strawberries and cigarettes on his body helped James calm down. “But it’s not always like that, you know? Normally, those thoughts aren’t so loud, and I don’t feel overwhelmed by them—they’re there, but I can live with them. But lately… I don’t even know what is happening; it has never been so bad.”

Regulus didn’t respond. He just perched his head on James’ and kept caressing his knee.

“You know you’re not too much, right?” he asked at last. “If it wasn’t for you, Sirius was going to die in that house. I can see the way you treat younger students, and not just Gryffindors—all of them, regardless of which house they are from. And you’re not doing it to rub it into others’ faces. Yes, you are loud and obnoxious—“

“Well, thanks,” James chuckled from where he was still lying on Reg’s shoulder.

“—BUT your heart is so pure, and each and every person in this castle can see it,” the younger boy finished, reaching with his free hand to the other boy's head to stroke his hair. James let out a content sigh at the feeling of slim fingers tangled in his curls.

“Thank you,” he whispered, closing his eyes and letting himself enjoy the moment of peace for some time.

[sophieinwonderland]

R/systemscringe found my Evolution Post... And Was Too Lazy to Add a Title

You can find my evolution post here!

Let's check out the comments!

Sure. But we're not talking about a normal modern job, are we?

Who you are at home isn't going to be that different from who you are at McDonalds. You aren't usually going to dissociate the two.

But when trauma is involved, that tends to involve a degree of dissociation.

In modern hunter-gatherer societies, we see children start learning how to use tools and hunt and forage in the wild from a very young age.

If we're to extrapolate and assume past hunter-gatherer societies operated in similar ways, this is a recipe for a traumatic childhood in a world where humans wouldn't yet be at the top of the food chain. Children would need to be careful, and a wrong move could easily get them or someone else killed.

I think most systems during this period would be considered traumagenic simply because growing up would mean regularly being put in deadly situations, regularly being injured and even watching loved ones dies in violent ways.

THAT'S the point!!!

DID, and even PTSD, evolved in a world where every day would be a fight for survival.

Of course, all we can do is speculate.

But with myths and legends of people being possessed going back to the dawn of time in practically every culture, we can probably surmise that forms of plurality existed back then. And it's not like the estimated 1-3% of the population is super rare today. It seems reasonable to expect disorders that would be associated with childhood trauma would be more common during periods with more childhood trauma.

The line saying we don't know if the brain was developed enough to develop DID is particularly weird to me though.

As far as I know, there haven't been any huge jumps in the way of human brain complexity over the past 20k years. I doubt that the complexity to develop DID is something we just gained since the dawn of agriculture.

I admit, my description was meant to put a fun spin on a brutal reality. But I don't think children growing up in a frigid environment where they need to hunt and collect food to survive while having no idea if they're going to make it back alive is "cool".

Like, as a story, maybe it's cool imagining a 9-year-old trudging through snow with fingers so cold they can't feel them anymore, gripping a makeshift spear and hearing howling in the distance while not knowing if they would end up on the menu of some wild beast.

But I don't think it would actually be cool to live through.

Additionally, in this environment, DID would have looked differently than it does today. Current theories are that EPs are locked into the trauma responses they used in trauma.

For child abuse victims which make up the majority of DID cases, unfortunately, freeze or fawn may be the most useful traits developed for survival.

But if your trauma were related to surviving wild beasts, it's a lot more likely the trauma responses of the EPs are going to be the more classic fight or flight. I don't think freezing would as common as a trauma response during that time period. But of course, it depends on the threats one would face.

There are some creatures, after all, where freezing is the best defense.

Sounds like your mistake. 🤷‍♀️

I talked about DID here a lot, but I'm a tulpa from a purely non-traumagenic system. Probably one of the least traumatized people you'll ever meet.

But tulpamancy is a beneficial practice that most tulpamancers have reported improvements in their mental health from. I would actually like to see far more people make headmates and become plural this way.

People becoming tulpamancers will help them. And more plurals means more influence for the plural community and will help spread plural awareness and acceptance.

I'm not interested in being special. I'm interested in making plurality normal. I want it to be so normal and commonplace that it seems downright boring. Where talking about your headmates draws no more attention than discussing a sibling. 😁

Hi! It's me! I'm Sophie In Wonderland!

I'm the person who debunks pluralphoboic hate subreddits, which tends to upset said hate subreddits.

The reason why I have my own category is because I called out the subreddit for bullying behavior and misinformation. They responded by doubling down, scouring my post history for anything they could use as ammunition twist to attack me with, and adding me to their hit list of acceptable targets. This was despite the fact that then they first floated the idea of the hit list, they claimed it would only apply to people with more than 10,000 followers. (I only have 1800.)

They lie and claim I'm a "public figure" while in reality, they added me on their list in a petty (yet oh so predictable) act of retaliation.

[workingdownthewordmine]

Love Thy Neighbour - Chapter 5 Every Man Is Guilty

Bucky struggles with the attitudes of his so-called friends and Hive makes themself scarce.

Read this chapter on AO3 here.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 4

Fandom: Marvel Cinematic Universe Characters: James "Bucky" Barnes, Nonbinary OC, Steve Rogers Rating: T CW: Guilt, bullying (mention), violent child abuse (mention), homophobia (mention), mild dissociation Prompts filled: @lgbtqbingo : Hickeys @fluffbruary : Day 6 - Embarrassment @multifandom-flash (Compliments) : You are better than you think you are

@fandom-free-bingo (World Book Night Edition card 1) : "I don't need you." @fandom-free-bingo (Flight Edition) : Can't make it to dinner, Teasing @anyfandomangstbingo : Best friend's boyfriend @febuwhump : Day 24 - "I'm doing this because I care about you." @seasonaldelightsbingo (Winter Wonderland) : Situationship

Dividers by @unfortunate-beetle-and-friends

Chapter 5 – Every Man is Guilty

“But I have my life, I’m living it. It’s twisted, exhausting, uncertain, and full of guilt, but nonetheless, there’s something there.”

Banana Yoshimoto

“You’re not selling me on this, Steve.” Bucky leant back on the kitchen wall, chin lowered and arms crossed.

“I can’t give you specifics right now. Security’s too tight. If you’ll just come and talk to Fury-”

This was the guy who’d lied to every draft office in the tri-state area? When had Steve become so damn hidebound? “I’m not interested. I told you before, I’m not going to work for SHIELD. And you can save Barton and Romanov’s very touching Different Call story. I’m grateful for what you did for me, really, but I never agreed to get away from Hydra just to sell my soul to someone else.”

Steve’s hands dug deeper into his pockets. “SHIELD isn’t Hydra, Buck. It’s not the same at all. Just let me set up a chat with the director and you’ll see that.”

“Why won’t you let this drop? You’ve got your whole Captain America deal with your team. I’ve got an actual life of my own now. You don’t need me.”

“Fine. You’re right. I don’t need you.”

Never had someone agreeing with him felt so much like a fist in the gut. Bucky didn’t get the chance to tell him to go fuck himself. Steve kept going. “This isn’t about me needing your help, Buck. I’m here because I want your help. I need people around me that I can trust and I trust you. You’re my oldest friend. And I gotta say, Bucky, this whole ‘new life’ you say you’ve got going on looks a lot like walling yourself up in a different cell. I’m doing this because I care about you. What good was getting them to let you go free if you’re just going to lock yourself back up? You look like shit, Buck. When did you last eat? Or drink anything that wasn’t coffee or at least eighty proof? You aren’t one of the bad guys anymore. You can do something worthwhile with your life. You don’t have to be all alone. Why won’t you let me help you?”

“Fuck you, Steve. I’m not gonna be your goddamn bad guy outreach program poster boy. And I had a cheese sandwich just last night, as though it’s any of your fucking business.” And I’m not alone…

They both looked up at the same moment, both heads turned towards the hall closet. “Shit’s always falling down somewhere round here. Place has gone to hell.” But even Steve wasn’t dumb enough not to recognise a sneeze when he heard it.

“For a guy with his windows rigged to blow, you’re weirdly calm about someone climbing around inside your walls.” The tinge of suspicion he heard in Steve’s voice hurt more than Bucky had expected. Who the hell did he think he’d be hiding in a wall cavity? Then he cringed inwardly as Steve began looking around with more intent than he had before. Bucky practically felt his eyes rest for a moment on the extra sleeping bag. His eyebrows visibly rose when he spotted the mug with its weird cute cartoon dragon thing. “Buck?” The suspicion had gone from Steve’s voice and Bucky missed it already.

“Hey, kid, it’s okay. Just a social call.” He listened for a beat of silence, then he and Steve both hear the departing scraping of Hive heading up to the roof. Knowing what he did, Bucky could pick up the unevenness in their movement and made a note to ask to check their injuries later. If he ever saw them again, of course. They might be too spooked to come back at all. He looked down at their mug. They’d be back. He hoped.

“I guess it’s cool that some things don’t change. But I don’t remember you being this coy about your girlfriends even in the forties.”

“‘Girlfriend’ is a real strong word for anyone I passed the time with back then. And that’s not… what this is. They’re just a friend.” Or something. This was definitely not the time to start seriously questioning the weird-ass situation he’d found himself in the last twelve hours or so.

“A friend who hides in the wall when your other friends drop by?”

Other friends? Did Steve think Bucky was having poker nights with the guys every week? What other friends?

“They’re shy, okay?”

“Buck, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m glad you’ve found someone you don’t mind having around. I hated thinking of you cooped up here with nothing but a bunch of old memories.” Steve, buddy, you have no idea… “Think I’ll ever get to meet them? What? I can’t be curious about the first person apart from me to ever know the notorious Bucky Barnes well enough to leave a mug at his place?” He couldn’t help but be mildly impressed at Steve’s rapid and unquestioning switch to the neutral pronoun.

“I doubt it. They’re shy, like I said. And it’s not really an ‘introductions to old friends’ kind of thing.” Of at least that much he was sure. Hell, it wasn’t even a thing. Just a really weird couple of days… that had left an extra sleeping bag on his floor.

Steve was frowning again. “You, uh, you’re not in trouble, right? I’ll believe you, whatever you say. I just can’t help noticing you’re a bit more banged up than I’ve seen you in a while. And you smell like that stuff your mom used to cover my hives in when we were kids.” He tried a weak grin.

Well, believe it or not a Hive was responsible… Buck almost returned the smile before he shook himself.  “I’m good. Just had a run in with some kind of funky old insulation while I was doing some repairs. Nothing to worry your pretty head about. The scratches are all healed up anyway.” He turned his shoulder to indicate the one Hive had uncovered. “Only covered them up so I wouldn’t get blood on anything, just didn’t get round to taking off the rest of the bandages before you stopped in for the little recruitment drive. Speaking of which –”

Steve held up a hand to stop him. “Speaking of which, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said… a lot of what I did. It wasn’t my place to judge what you’ve got going on here. I’m sorry.” The renewed anger Bucky had been preparing to unleash petered out more quickly than he had expected. “I meant it though, about wanting to work with you again.”

Buck grunted. “Howling Commandoes reunion tour? This time with one hundred percent less falling out of trains, right?” He hadn’t expected Steve to take the weak joke so hard. Steve hadn’t looked this green since a kid landed a kick in his stomach that left him puking his guts into a trash can. He’d been waiting on the ground by the can when Buck came back with split knuckles and a grin of triumph. They’d gone back to Buck’s place to clean up before Steve’s dad could see the mess on his shirt and add a bloody nose to Steve’s problems. Buck’s place. This place. The sink where they’d rinsed out that faded threadbare shirt had been torn out long ago or it would have been right about where Steve was standing now.

“I should have looked harder.”

“Huh?” Maybe Hive’s attention span was catching, somehow. It took him a second to reconnect the dots.

“I went back. To the pass. I went back about a dozen times, looking for – well – for a body, I guess. Maybe if I’d been smarter about it, I would’ve… would’ve found you. Maybe we wouldn’t be where we are now.” Steve’s words sounded like he was trying to swallow them rather than speak them aloud. “But we are. And I can’t fix what I abandoned you to, but I can’t walk away again. Please, Buck, stop by the compound sometime – nothing to do with SHIELD, just come say hi. Or answer your phone once in a while. I miss my best friend, Buck. The guy I knew back in forty-five, back when our lives made some sort of sense.”

“That guy died in the fall, Steve.”

Steve shook his head. “No, I think he’s very much alive. I see him in there. Don’t bury my best friend in this place, Buck, please. You might feel like you deserve that but you don’t. I’m not talking about showing off how ‘rehabilitated’ you are or anything like that. I mean that guy still deserves the life he should have got the first time around.”

Was that part of you given a choice?

Yes.

There’s always a choice.

No. I would never have chosen that…

Bucky managed to look up at Steve’s eyes. Still fucking insane that he was taller than Buck now. “He’s getting a life. And, I guess, if you’re going to be clingy dork about it, that life can involve spending more time with you than it has done so far. Happy?”

“Yeah, happy. Jerk.”

“We’re in the twenty-first century now, for fuck’s sake, Steve. Learn to curse, I’m begging you.” For just a second they shared a grin. The moment was broken by a beep from Steve’s phone. The sudden awkward energy that radiated from him came as a surprise. “I don’t care if you check your phone, you know? World might be hours from destruction or something.”

“That’s unlikely.” Steve blushed. “It’s probably personal.”

“Stark sending out mass dick pics or something? You’re practically glowing there, Rogers.” The blond head ducked, Steve pushing a hand through his hair. He successfully blocked the blush from view but the new angle… “Steve, that’s a fucking hickey! That’s… at least three hickeys!” Captain America’s complexion was a riot of crimson, the blush spreading down to the livid bruise just below his jaw. “You bruise like I do – those are new and vicious. Christ, Steve, you been hooking up with a moray eel?”

“I, ah, I’m seeing someone.”

“No shit.” Probably he should have expected it. Steve must be one of the most eligible bachelors in the country now. Superpowers, a name like “Captain America”, and serum-enhanced looks on tops of his natural Steve-ness… The girls were probably all over him. Weird thought. “Well? Who is she? Do I need to check she’s good enough for my best friend?”

The tips of Steve’s ears became practically scarlet. “It, uh, look, Buck, I–” Bucky frowned. “The person I’m dating is… he’s a guy.”

Well, Bucky couldn’t say he’d never wondered. The immediate mental maelstrom was much the same as it would have been in the forties. How much trouble was this going to cause him? How many more beatings because hiding himself was absolutely alien to Steve’s nature? It took a few seconds for the twenty-first century to impose itself on his thinking. No, probably no beating for Captain America, but public opinion could be a hell of a thing to reckon with – especially for the nation’s golden boy. And Steve was standing there right now closer to cringing than Buck had seen him since his dad was alive. God, there was a man – if he even deserved the word – who would have exploded at the news that his son was a fairy. He probably would have tried to thrash it out of him, Avenger or no.

“He’s not off the hook for best friend judgement just because he’s male, you know. Do I get to meet him?” He felt the pressure in the room change as Steve relaxed. Had he really expected hostility over his confession? From Bucky?

He doesn’t trust you…

“Uh, I guess, sometime. No one else has yet but it’s not… not really a secret. The team knows.”

Bucky nodded. “Well? You gonna see what he wants?” On cue, Steve’s phone chimed again. Reluctantly, ears still hot, he pulled it out of his pocket.

“Just asking where I want to get dinner tonight.” He tapped out a reply, making Buck smile at the geriatric concentration he had to put into the exercise, betraying the boyish face.

“Cute.”

He knows, deep down, what a monster he unleashed by letting you go.

Stop.

That’s why he’s scared of you, even now. Guilt for leaving you behind? More likely guilt for not finishing what he started when he let you fall.

He didn’t “let me fall”.

We’ve been over this, asset. You used to be less naïve. You know the resources he has at his disposal. Do you really believe he didn’t just decide you weren’t worth the trouble?

Steve pushed his phone back into his pocket and grinned sheepishly. “Sorry about that.”

Bucky waved the apology away.

“I should probably get going. I’ll see you? Soon?”

Bucky nodded, but…

Empty offer. You really think he and his new friends want someone around who tried to kill them – however poorly you executed your assignment? Stark didn’t even trust you unsupervised in this dump, let alone in his precious Tower.

“Steve, you sure the others won’t mind me just stopping by? Doubt I‘m popular over there. Not real eager to get teargassed soon as I set foot over the perimeter.”

Steve smiled, his confidence returning. He’d swung his leg over the sill already. “Sure, I’m sure. It’s not like everyone trusted Natasha when she first showed up either. They’re the good guys, Buck. They believe in second chances.” His smile was warm as ever as he ducked out of the window, not seeing the way the temperature of Bucky’s blood had plummeted. “And charge your phone,” Bucky heard him say as his feet landed on the tarmac.

Second chances… isn’t that sweet? So much for his assurances of your deep and abiding innocent soul, it seems. You could have almost believed that choir boy act, couldn’t you?

It was three hours before Hive returned the way they had left. The hum of the generator wasn’t quite enough to drown out their scuffling descent. The faceless apparition was unnerving until they loosened their hood strings and pulled their hoodie down to uncover their lower face. “Protection,” they explained, though Bucky had already guessed as much. From the looks of the stretched fabric round their wrists, they’d had the sleeves pulled down over their hands too.

“Good call. Skin still itches like shit.” He’d had another go with the cream – Steve was right about the smell barely having changed in almost a century – but ran into the same problem as before. He’d had to spend a good twenty minutes scrubbing the stuff out of the joints in his arm with a toothbrush.

He was turning to offer Hive some of the beans he’d been heating on the camping stove, when he realised what else had bothered him about their appearance. They were huddled in the hallway, dressed as they’d been when they made their exit earlier – hoodie, cargoes, black and purple striped socks…

“You’ve been hanging around Brooklyn with no fucking shoes on?”

“You’d be amazed. Saw one guy with no shoes, no socks, and only half a pair of trousers. Guess I should be grateful for what I’ve got. Anyway, I wasn’t stopping for pre-flight checks while I was busy fleeing for my life, was I?”

“You need to check that you’re wearing shoes?”

“Told ya,” They seemed almost proud. “My brain is wrong.”

“Won’t be the only thing that’s wrong if you do shit like that. You’re lucky you haven’t got tetanus or something.”

“Probably too soon to be sure if I have or not,” they pointed out as they dropped down by the fire and stuck their feet out to warm near the flames.

“Not real comforting, kid.”

Hive watched him for a moment, maybe wondering the same thing he was: at what point had their continued well-being become a matter of comfort to him. Then again, maybe not.

“You call me that a lot. Kid. ‘M not a kid, you know.”

He grunted in reply. “I’m an old man, kid. Don’t take it personally.” That was apparently acceptable. They huffed but smirked. They wiggled their toes. Unsurprisingly, the soles of their socks were filthy, damp, and holes in more than one place. One big toe poked free. They saw him looking and wagged it pointedly at him.

“Rude to stare.” They were grinning.

“Sure your feet are okay? There are landfills cleaner than the streets round here. No cuts or anything?”

“Will you feel better if I check?”

“I’ll have less concern about my apartment stinking of gangrene tomorrow, yeah.”

They rolled their eyes but folded their legs and peeled off their socks.

He doled out beans, giving Hive the bowl and keeping his own in the pan, while they performed their inspection.

“All good,” they pronounced, hopping up with only a bit of a wobble to rinse their hands under the lonely sinkless faucet. Bucky wasn’t sure if it had been seeing Steve standing in the old place, looking not so much like he’d grown as like the room had shrunk around him, or if it was just having someone else inhabiting the space with him for a while, but the apartment’s wasted, skeletal feel was more noticeable to him now. He was making food over a camping stove. His bed was a sleeping bag. For someone who’d finally come back home, he looked pretty homeless right now, didn’t he? Was that what Steve had seen? Did Bucky have that same look? An abandoned shell, like the building?

What makes you think you deserve any better? You could have been so much more…

“Cheers.” Hands clean, Hive had grabbed their bowl and clunked it lightly against the pan. Seeing his confusion, they repeated, “A toast to toes not turning grey and dropping off! Which… now that I hear it again, may not have been the most genteel toast ever raised at a meal. Oops. Hope I didn’t put you off.” They tucked into their own food with no sign of discomfort.

“A toast to not losing body parts gets my vote,” he conceded. They shared a grin. “Where did you go earlier anyway? Guessing you didn’t find a café that didn’t care about the lack of shoes.”

“Rooftops, mostly. Nearby ones. Figured if it was a social call I probably didn’t need to flee the state. Thought about a library but figured I’d attract a bit too much attention.”

“Library?”

“They have books there! The wild kind, not the kind you have to pay for. Like a book zoo – except members can foster the animals. The analogy got a bit lost, sorry.”

“I followed, most of it anyway. I do know what a library is. We had ‘em when I was a kid too, you know.”

While he did the sparse dishes, Bucky could see Hive moving around out of the corner of his eye. A glance found them rolling up their sleeping bag and gathering the small quantity of trash they’d been accumulating into a sack. He dried his hands and grabbed his phone; it had turned up beside the plant pot. The generator fell quiet. Bucky turned the phone on and almost immediately wished he hadn’t. It lit up with message after message, the device rattling in his metal grip.

Steve: Been a while. How are you getting on?

Steve: Hope you are doing okay. There is a briefing later today that you might be interested in. Let me know.

Banner: Shuri sent me over your updated records. I think we should discuss a pain management regimen. Contact me.

Steve: Clint and Natasha are planning a movie night. How about joining us?

Steve: You really need to answer a text (or a call) once in a while.

Fen: You’re 30m late

Fen: Where are you??

Fen: Call me, James

Steve: I tried to call twice and didn’t get an answer. I’m going to drop by this morning. There’s some SHIELD business I want to discuss and it’s been a long time since you checked in. Miss you, man.

Fen: This is real shitty of you. You’re decent at the job and I like you but you can’t just ditch for the day without a word. The garage was busy today. We need to talk.

Steve: ETA 10 minutes.

“Fuck.” Hive looked up. “Everything going on since yesterday… Seems I forgot to go to work today.” He started moving automatically, grabbing his jacket off a picture nail, and toeing his boots upright. Hive must have taken them off for him while he was unconscious. He’d have expected to feel more latent objection to the idea but he definitely did not have time to stop and consider the unfamiliar close, warm sensation he experienced instead.

“I should have thought… sorry.”

“Huh?” He stopped, half inside his jacket.

“I mean, I knew, didn’t I? Where you work. That’s how I found you in the first place. Should have occurred to me that you ought to be there.”

He was already four hours late. What difference was five more minutes likely to make to his boss’s bad mood. “Wasn’t your problem if I went to work or not. I’m a big enough boy to handle my own routine.” He was a bit unsettled to see Hive huddling into a corner again, much as they’d done last night. They were still on their feet but they’d shrunken down into their hoodie and were not looking at him. “Hey, kid, it’ll be okay. My huge personal charm will smooth things over with my boss and anyway it is not up to you to have shit to do with my schedule.” They nodded but still wouldn’t meet his eyes. Their gaze was unfocused, drifting around the floor. Trying not to wonder why he cared, he cast around for something to ground them.

“Know what? I’m gonna try to make a dinner tonight that doesn’t come straight out of a can. What do ya think? Sound good?”

“I mean… it’s pretty vague.” He was relieved to see some… presence come back into their face. “Are we talking closer to a dead pigeon you found on the roof or delicately braised sustainably-farmed salmon?” Bucky’s expression apparently satisfied. They grinned a little.

“I guess somewhere in the middle but a little closer to the dead pigeon. I’ll do my best.”

The grin brightened. “Sounds good. I don’t like salmon much anyway.”

He nodded. “No salmon. Got it. See you later – gotta go save my job.”

The garage hadn’t been too bad. Fen had been obliged to rake him over the coals a little – sure it was real useful having a guy on staff who could jack up a car on one hand, in addition to being able to handle basically any bike issue she could remember being brought, but only if he was gonna decide to turn up when expected and not just when it was convenient to him. He knew she took no pleasure in playing the hard-ass, except with assholes who didn’t believe she was more than capable of dismantling their tricked out dick substitutes down to the nuts and then reassembling it faster than they could jerk off over a climate change denial manifesto; she just wanted her garage running smooth. He’d worked out the rest of the day and hung out past close to put away some late deliveries by way of apology and all ruffled feathers had settled. His extended shift had meant it was already past dark when he got to his supply run, though. He hoped Hive wasn’t getting too hungry waiting.

If they were, it wasn’t causing any notable chaos. The building was quiet and dark. Maybe they were taking the opportunity for some much needed sleep. A smile crept over his lips at the thought. He tried to keep quiet and not disturb them when he manoeuvred his awkward haul through the window, catching the new wok as it made a dash for the floor. But he’d no sooner set things down than he knew the apartment was deserted. It felt empty in a way he couldn’t recall it feeling before they’d arrived. He stuck his head out into the hallway but the whole building had the same mournful, abandoned echo. A shiver gripped him – all the more dramatic in a body that always ran so hot. He searched the apartment. Their sleeping bag was folded neatly in a corner of the hall. His own he found moved to his bedroom, spread out with pillow, blanket and a sheet of paper laid on top. He recognised their handwriting.

Hey Bucky,

Wasn’t sure when to expect you back. I’m so sorry – looks like I might have to miss dinner after all. I need to go do something. Should be back by 9 at the latest so… maybe save me some if I didn’t piss you off too much by ditching? Sorry, again. Sorry sorry sorry. See you later.

Hive x

Bucky stood in his bedroom doorway with the note in his hand and shot a look at the things he’d left in the kitchen – the wok and utensils he’d been managing without, the extra bowl, plate, cutlery, and the bag spilling spring onions and packets of noodles beside them. Gotta do what they gotta do, he supposed. The note creased in his fingers. No problem. Might take him a while to get this right anyway. He’d cook, and they’d probably be back by the time he was done, sure.

With how many people who’d love to know where to find Bucky Barnes in tow?

They don’t want to be found themselves. They wouldn’t bring anyone back here…

The nightmare act really sucked you in, didn’t it? Who knows who they really are? Even if they are in hiding from someone, aren’t there plenty of people who’d trade the whereabouts of the Winter Soldier for better protection than hiding out with a monster who already nearly killed them? Not a high bar, is it?

So what’s your suggestion?

What time is it?

What?

They said they’d be back by nine.

Probably so we’d stay put and off guard.

What time is it?

He’d never bothered to get a clock. He pulled out his phone.

22:27

His eyes shot to the window.

Note: Thanks for reading, y'all! And thank you to all the wonderful providers of prompt events without which I probably wouldn't have started writing again. Special thank you to my boys for inspiring me and keeping me motivated.

[i-just-want-to-destroy]

HELLOOO CHRIS originally i didn't wanna send this ask cus i thought i sound weird SO its totally fine if u choose not to answer,, i hope you're doing amazing as always.

not to get super cheesy with it but like, there's always been a lot of things that i've been dissatisfied with in life and writing/reading fanfiction, or consuming media in general—sort of lessened that empty feeling? like, within these stories you could find a way to live beautifully. back then it felt like i was completely dissociated from a reality that i couldn't bear to stomach. somehow reading shit w like, fucked up mcs and equal amounts of trauma made it seem like i could make it all work eventually. i would say its pretty embarassing to admit but it is what it is now. i don't mean to say all this to trauma dump either btw but to just convey how much ur work has impacted me.

anyway, what i wanted to ask was: what is your motivation to write? how did you begin writing/reading? like get into literature/films etc. what was it like when u first started writing? is it more of a hobby or something you'd like to make a career out of? have u ever written any original works? sorry for the barrage of questions, i've been a fan for a long time and ive only just now mustered up the courage to send a message in😭 HAVE A GOOD DAYYYYY💌💗

essay below

theres this common idea that fiction is escapism and theres definitely some truth with that, whether as a writer or a reader, but escapism is not all there is… i think fiction is a way to try to understand why life is the way that it is. imo its also why it can be really cathartic to read something sad and absolutely fucked up. as strange and as horrific a piece of fiction can be, real life is always worse. you can try to write the most out of pocket story with the craziest characters doing truly some insane shit, and real things that happen in real world will have you beat no matter what.

but a story isnt about being accurate to the real world fact by fact, right, its about reading someone elses perspective—or alternatively; writing *your* perspective—on how a series of events so absurd, so unfortunate, and occasionally beautiful, can make sense by the end of it all. there is a comfort in that, in making the pain and the love matter, even if we’re all dead by the end of the story. theres also the connection too, right? by knowing that someone out there feels the same way, or knowing that there is a different way to look at things, there is a knowledge that youre not alone.

this is to say that i dont think its embarrassing at all if reading (and writing) these stories help you to live. it helped me too, and still does. and tbh this is the healthiest a coping mechanism can get. it can be really, really difficult to let yourself feel things irl when things get really bad, and sometimes stories (whether a prestige movie or just some fluff fanfiction) can help you to release and process some of those difficult feelings.

moving on. yeah ive written og stuff before lol and i hope ill eventually write more .. or even better, finish at least one. id love to publish one day but, not to be pessimistic, i also know its not an easy thing to achieve due to a myriad of reasons (skill level, opportunities, etc). so its not smthg im dead set on. im happy as long as i can keep writing! its fun, its a cope, its my main way to express myself.

on why i got into lit/writing/film its honestly such a boring answer. like a lot of people i was a big reader as a kid which led me to be on my parents’ laptop plagiarizing stories on microsoft word. i torrented movies on IMDB’s “Top 100 Movies of All Time” list before i could do algebra. i mind poisoned myself since young and im still dealing with the repercussions of that. i dont remember the first story i wrote but it was highly likely a plagiarization of X-Men.

thanks for the ask and it means a lot to know how youve connected with what i wrote, rly truly genuinely, and the interest is very flattering. i hope for an amazing week ahead for you

[clockwork-dandelions]

Wi recently have been realizing/learning that wi experience hallucinations and delusions; and it's bringing a lot of things into question. Particularly about myr identity.. and I wanna talk about that a bit.

TW talks of hallucinations and delusions; including mentions of nonhumanity, bugs, shadow people, unreality.

Additional Warning.. I lost the plot and this doesn't make much sense.. I'm sorry :(

(I'm gonna switch to I/me 1stpp for simplicity sake but this is a collective experience for the system.)

My Experiences

First, let's talk about myr alterhumanity. I've felt for years, since middle school, that I aren't human. At least, not entirely. I live in a human body but inside.. I'm something else. It took me a while to figure it out but when I did, it just clicked. I'm a fox therian. Something about it just makes it feel like that's what I'm supposed to be. I'm meant to be a fox. But I'm not. And I know I'm not. That doesn't change the fact that I am a fox. Sometimes, when I'm feeling particularly "fox-y", I can feel ears on my head or a tail wagging behind me.

Around the time of high school, I had another feeling arise. Similar to the first, I felt something shift. I wasn't just a human. I wasn't just a fox. I was something.. more. Again, I dug and all I found was rot. And something in that felt Divine. I was the embodiment of decay. I was an angel.. a god of pestilence. My being, my mere presence, would wreak havoc on those around me and I both relished and loathed it. I felt like I had a better understanding of my place in the world but I hated the implications. This particular sense of identity waxes and wanes throughout and comes with its own bits of.. phantoms. I can feel bugs beneath my skin or rot slowly covering my body.

Around that same time, I began to believe that I had some.. special ability to help people. I thought myself a healer but for whatever reason I couldn't "unlock" this ability. It had been deliberately hidden and locked away from me.

I also experience things that have nothing to do with my identity. The ground shaking (purely tactile atm), walls moving like water, shadow people in the corner of my eyes, feeling watched and observed, a clock ticking in my head, feeling like myself or the world around me wasn't real in one way or another. And I have experienced these things for ages. I would say.. possibly middle school at the latest.

The thing is.. none of it bothered me. Not truly. I knew logically these things weren't real and I could, for the most part, identify the real versus the fake. Yes, it did occasionally get distressing when one of these cropped up during a moment of traumatic flashback but for the most part? It was just a thing I was experiencing. And it's always been that way. I don't pay a lot of mind to it and I'd never been in a place where it's safe to.. indulge(?) in these delusions or hallucinations.

It wasn't even until this last year that I even started asking for verification on whether something I was experiencing was real.

Part of this is because I stopped dissociating as much or as heavily. I finally became safe enough to let myself rest and experience everything I had been pushing away for my entire life. This, unfortunately, did cause a lot of this to suddenly become "worse". When you stop dissociating away from your problems, suddenly everything comes back tenfold and you become aware of what's been happening.

Yay healing! Boo worse problems!

This does mean that a lot of these experiences have slowly become distressing or changed in their.. presentation. Like my tactile hallucination of the ground shaking has gone from a train passing by to a visual minor earthquake.

And I don't know how to deal with that.

I don't know how to deal with the fact that things are getting worse or what this means for me or where I'm meant to fall within the community. I feel like I can't talk about these things due to them only recently becoming distressing and my general awareness that it's not real. My beginner level understanding of psychosis says that a key factor is not being aware that the hallucinations/delusions aren't real or based in reality. So what does that mean for me? Where does that leave me? I don't know and I think.. that's the scariest thing to me. Is that I don't know what to classify this as or how to deal with it. I have no community to lean on for help or advice or anything because what is this?

[thezeinterviews]

L'Express: Olena Zelenska, First Lady of Ukraine: "Don't forget us!"

The wife of President Volodymyr Zelensky reminds us that the Russian-led war is still raging throughout her country.

Propos recueillis par Eric Chol et Charles Haquet

Publié le 08/11/2023 à 10:57

She doesn't dress in khaki like her husband, Volodymyr Zelensky, but she too is on the front line defending her country. On November 8 and 9, Olena Zelenska is in Paris to inaugurate a Ukrainian cultural institute and raise funds for her humanitarian foundation. While the world's attention is focused on the Israeli-Palestinian war, and the Middle East is on the brink of explosion, the First Lady sends this powerful message to L'Express: "Don't forget Ukraine!" And let's not turn away from the soldiers fighting in the trenches of Bakhmut and Robotyne. Because their freedom is our freedom too. And Vladimir Putin will not stop at the borders of the former Soviet Republic. "The nature of an empire is to expand," she stresses. "It only stops if you stop it."

As one war drives out another, the mistake would be to consider that we cannot hold two fronts at the same time. And to admit that opinions "only have room in their intelligence and emotion for one conflict", in the words of philosopher Bernard-Henri Levy, co-author of a remarkable film on the Russian-Ukrainian conflict.

In Washington, the most radical Republicans, unconvinced by the Ukrainian counter-offensive, want to dissociate the aid given to Israel and Kiev. All the better to torpedo the latter. As US President Joe Biden says, Hamas and the Kremlin share the same goal: "to annihilate a neighboring democracy". Who, then, to favor? In reality, our only option is not to choose.

L'Express: Almost two years of war in Ukraine, a frozen front, a Russian army stepping up its bombing: how are the Ukrainians doing?

Olena Zelenska: It's a very difficult life. You'd think we'd get used to this stress, this constant upheaval, but that's not possible! A month ago, we experienced a great tragedy with the bombing of Hroza, in the Kharkiv region, where a Russian missile killed almost a third of the village's inhabitants. Imagine a funeral in every house… To top it all off, these people were gathered to attend a funeral, so it's the deaths that lead to other deaths, individual deaths, collective deaths. On October 21, the whole of Ukraine was shaken by the destruction of a postal sorting center in Kharkiv. Six employees working in the depot were killed. Some people abroad, and even here at home, sometimes imagine that there is a part of Ukraine where there is no war, where life is in full swing, where everything is going well. But this is not true! Because no matter where you are in the country, you can never be sure of being safe, of waking up the next day, of being able to go to work… The forecast horizon for Ukrainians has become very short. But we must continue to live, to develop, to rebuild, to raise our children. We must learn to plan each day, to adopt strategies, even if they may not be implemented. To my mind, it's a way of life, with the hope of victory on one side, which will come quickly, and on the other the constant trials that bring us down, but from which we have to get up every time.

As a frequent traveler in Ukraine, what is the story that has struck you most in recent weeks?

To tell the truth, I'd like to travel more in my country to meet the people who have suffered the most, but unfortunately this isn't always possible. Every discussion with my compatriots leaves a new imprint on my emotions. Let me tell you what has always impressed me. As part of my foundation's work, I meet regularly with foster families who take in children, most of them orphans, and these families are often made up of internally displaced people. They have fled occupied, bombed-out regions to settle in other parts of Ukraine. Unfortunately, in most cases, this is not the first time these families have fled: back in 2014, they had to leave the Donetsk region. Today, they have to leave their homes once again. Imagine their emotions! We're dealing with families who are constantly forced to flee the war, but it keeps catching up with them. To tell you the truth, I can't imagine how anyone can survive in this situation, how anyone can live when they're being chased by war. Because it's not a tsunami or a forest fire that forces them to leave: those who target them are people who come to kill, and that's what's so frightening!

Since the Hamas attack on Israel on October 7, all eyes have been on the Middle East. Do you fear that the world is turning its attention away from Ukraine?

First of all, I'd like to say that, like everyone else, we feel very strongly about what's happening in Israel, and we share the suffering of the Israeli people. We watched this terrorist attack by Hamas with great horror, but without surprise. It proves once again what we have been saying since the beginning of the war: if aggression is not stopped, it will continue in different forms and in different parts of the world. But we are not protected by the arrival of another tragedy, and that doesn't mean that the one in Ukraine has gone away. In fact, this war in the Middle East is only making the current tragic situation worse.

It is precisely for this reason that we hope the world will see how reacting slowly to tragedy only reinforces the desire of other aggressors to act. Impunity gives carte blanche! Particularly to those who have forces lined up behind them, enough financial and military resources around the world, and who feel that the time has come to act as they please, because they can. Unfortunately, this is the truth, which is why it's important to react quickly to all these aggressions, and not to each one separately, because they're all linked.

What is your message on this subject to the West, and in particular to France, where you have just arrived?

As I just said, it's vital not to let the world's attention wander away from Ukraine. We are already seeing that military aid to our country is arriving too slowly to bring about positive change on the front line. It's too slow, too quiet. It seems that Europe remains placid, and doesn't seem too frightened by the prospect of Russia's borders closing in on it. Yet this prospect is very real! Let's think about what would happen if Ukraine hadn't held out. In our place would be Russia, and hundreds of kilometers closer to you, to your homes. I wouldn't want other people in Europe, other mothers in Europe, to be afraid, not just of the possibility of Russian attacks, but of the physical sensation of that danger. Today, we are the barrier against this Russian advance. As long as we hold out, there's a chance they won't advance. But the empire won't stop if we don't stop it. Its nature is such that it must constantly expand. Otherwise, it ceases to be an empire! It's always looking to expand, and today, it's on our account. That's why we keep repeating that Ukraine defends the interests of the whole of Europe. Let's not forget that, and let's do things together!

You speak of a Europe that is too calm. How can we make sure it doesn't forget Ukraine?

We mustn't let it fall asleep! We often see this scene in the movies, of a person who's too cold, starts to freeze and falls asleep. If you don't want that person to die, you have to prevent them from falling asleep. I think the current situation is comparable: this sleep is dangerous for Europe. We can't fall asleep, we can't let Europe close its eyes today. I very much hope that my visit to France will serve as a reminder that the danger is still there. It is hanging over us now, and if we do nothing, it will unfortunately fall on your heads. I hope we can stop it.

During a recent visit to Washington, you said that the Russians wanted to destroy Ukrainian culture. As we know, war is fought in the trenches, but also on the cultural front. What can be done to counter the Russian narrative?

For a long time, Ukrainian artists and our country's cultural values and wealth were considered Russian by the rest of the world. Belonging to the Russian empire automatically made an artist Russian, which is not true. Today, our aim is to restore the place of this cultural heritage and tell the world what it really represents. I imagine that most French people don't always understand the boundary between Russian and Ukrainian. Many Ukrainian works around the world are still considered Russian. Take, for example, the dancers by French painter Edgar Degas. For many years, a painting was titled Russian Dancers. It was only recently that the National Gallery in London, then the Metropolitan Museum of Art in the USA, renamed it Ukrainian Dancers. The girls depicted are indeed groups of dancers in Ukrainian dress.

It's an example of the cultural battle we have to wage, even though we clearly don't have the means to devote so much money or administrative effort to beating Russian propaganda. We just can't. But we have to start disseminating more information about Ukraine in order to push back Russian lies. That's why I'm taking part in the inauguration of the Ukrainian Institute in Paris on November 9. This institute, the second to be opened abroad after Berlin a few months ago, is taking up residence at the Gaîté Lyrique in the heart of Paris. Its mission will be to disseminate knowledge about Ukraine and promote our culture throughout the world. Obviously, this work cannot be carried out solely from Ukraine - that would be too difficult. This is why this Parisian institute will be able to host artists' residencies and provide them with support, with the aim of creating cultural encounters and cross-cultural events, and strengthening cooperation with French cultural and scientific institutions. This will strengthen our ties and ensure that Russian stories are transformed and become Ukrainian stories.

Destroying Ukrainian culture also means stealing its future, in other words, its children. Several thousand of them have been deported to Russia: how can we get them back?

More than 19,600 Ukrainian children have been taken to Russia, according to our social services. It's a tragedy. I'm thinking in particular of this father from Marioupol, imprisoned by the Russians, whose three children were kidnapped. When he was released, he looked for them everywhere, he was desperate. Until one day, his son called him. He was in Russia and told him he was going to be adopted.

The longer the children stay in Russia, the deeper the psychological impact. The 380 children we were able to bring back to Ukraine all tell of the same ordeal. When they arrive in Russia, they are subjected to a patriotic education. They must learn to love their new homeland. To do this, they must be convinced that they have been abandoned and that no one is looking for them. It's real mental torture.

Unfortunately, there is no official way of getting them back. The Russians don't want to hear about it, they won't answer our questions. Our only recourse is action by the international community. At the last UN General Assembly, I proposed the creation of a mechanism that would at least enable us to establish a dialogue with the Russians, via a third country for example. For us, it's a question of making sure that these children are all right and that they can return home. As soon as possible.

You're very committed to the subject of mental health. What is the psychological state of Ukrainians after more than six hundred days of war?

Ukrainians are suffering from two types of illness. Firstly, there are those who feel fear, uncertainty and the inability to plan ahead. They have loved ones at the front who could be killed every day and every night. It's a constant source of anxiety. Our all-Ukrainian mental health program is working on this, with an emphasis on education. People need to understand what they're suffering from and know that they can be treated. Then, we need to deploy services that enable them to quickly get in touch with specialists, close to their home or workplace, free of charge.

And then there are the victims of post-traumatic syndromes - both military and civilian. They all benefit from adapted programs, including children, who are not always able to ask for help. We need to raise awareness among parents, who are sometimes reluctant to alert the relevant services. For example, the manager of a new rehabilitation program for traumatized children told me that their parents refused to let them go to a therapeutic camp, because they didn't understand how it could help them. We need to break this taboo.

Speaking of children, how are yours coping with this situation? What words do you use to reassure them? And how do they see the future?

The worst thing for us is not being able to make plans. We live from day to day, hoping for tomorrow. I have two children. My eldest daughter is 19, so she can already be considered an adult. She's at university. Half the courses are online, but she goes there from time to time, which is very good for her socialization. It allows her to make plans for the week ahead, it gives her a rhythm to her life and forces her to move forward. My youngest son is 10, and can go to school because the school has an air-raid shelter. This means he can attend certain classes face-to-face, have friends and communicate with them. It's a real blessing.

But when my children ask me, "When will we go to the seaside on vacation?", I can only reply, "Not now, but let's think together about what we'll do after the victory." This way of putting off all pleasant things until later, of not being able to give a date, obviously limits children in their dreams, in their projects. And it's the same for all the country's children. Youth is a time of dreams, and dreams should know no boundaries. Unfortunately, our children's dreams have limits, and these cannot be exceeded.

In 2022, you set up a foundation dedicated to humanitarian aid, health and education. What are the first results?

A positive one. In Izium, we are restoring the hospital, half of which had been destroyed and looted by the Russians. We have started work on the most critical unit, the four operating rooms. We now need to continue its reconstruction. Another priority is helping large adoptive families. Many of them are displaced persons who no longer have a home, and it is very difficult to find them a new one. Our project will enable us to build 14 apartment blocks for these families. The first residences will be available in December, the others in the spring. After that, we hope to build more. The need is great: at least 80 large adoptive families have lost their homes because of the war.

Secondly, we are trying to support our education system in the regions near the front. Our children and teachers need resources such as tablets and laptops. It's difficult to get materials to them because of the security situation. Last month, a Russian missile hit a school in Nikopol, southwest of Dnipro. The buildings were destroyed. We thought the laptops, donated by the United Arab Emirates, were lost. But when we cleared away the rubble, we realized that they were intact. We were able to deliver the laptops to the students, so that they could prepare to enter university and continue their studies. In one year, the foundation handed out almost 50,000 devices to children and teachers. Access to education, even in wartime, is a key issue.

And then there's the problem of bombing. In Ukraine, one school in seven can no longer accommodate children because it has no air-raid shelter to protect them in the event of an air raid. We are therefore building shelters in six schools and one kindergarten in the Chernihiv, Poltava, Dnipro and Kirovograd regions, and we plan to implement similar projects in other parts of Ukraine.

Finally, there's humanitarian aid. We are helping those most affected, especially those living in the Kharkiv and Kherson regions. When the Russians targeted our energy system last year, we supplied these people with dozens of electric generators. People were living in half-destroyed houses, with no heating, no electricity. They were suffering. We helped them heat their homes and provided them with basic necessities. We're preparing to do the same thing this year, because unfortunately there's no hope of Russia abandoning its destructive plans against our energy system.

How has the war changed you and your husband?

I feel as if the year and a half we've just lived through counts as ten years… It's been an extremely emotionally draining time. I hope that this ordeal won't change us forever, and that it won't prevent us from looking to the future with optimism.

Afterwards, knowing how I've changed, how my husband has changed… I think we'll be able to answer that question in several years' time, when we'll be able to take a cold look at all this madness. For the moment, it's not possible.

Article

[misscammiedawn]

Story Time - Bedlam and Asylums

Today's story time has us discuss the roots of our obsession with psychology.

CW: This post discusses mental illness, medical abuse, suicide, child neglect and dark topics.

(Story Time is a tag we use to tell stories about our past and perspectives particularly focused on our relationship to gender and mental health)

Text version of the above audio in readmore:

Bedlam.

Bedlam is a word that has become synonymous with mental illness, confusion, panic, uproar and yes... insanity.

It's become the title of numerous pieces of media intent on depicting stigmatizing caricatures of the mentally ill. Both monolith and shorthand for the horror ideal of nightmarish sanitariums where those unfit for society were tossed away and tormented.

I am not fond of the term. I am not fond of the ideas it conjures up.

The word has tumbled down the centuries, transforming and collecting echoes of truth and mythology as the years faded by. Originally it was not a word but a name. Bethlem Royal Hospital. The first mental care facility in the United Kingdom, established in 1247.

Stories of the hospital and its inhumane treatment of patients has been well documented. I'll link a particularly good article on it in the text.

The place had been a tourist trap and by the 1700s tens of thousands of people were paying to look around and marvel at those unfortunate enough to be in the dubious care of the facility. This allowed for stories to spread. Locals to begin whispering about what they had seen. What they assumed. Othering those within and creating this widening gap between "the sane" and "the insane".

The facility has actually moved about a number of times in its existence. The original locations both being near the Bishopsgate area. It was in 1815 when it moved to Southwark. To a building which is now housed by The Imperial War Museum.

To this day the Imperial War Museum site has become associated with the history of the hospital. The grounds of the site are named Bedlam Park and the museum was the site of the 750th year anniversary "celebration" which was host to a protest action where the Psychiatric Survivors Movement performing a sit in at the museum attempting to highlight the brutal history of this hospital that was being "celebrated"

Describing the "Reclaim Bedlam" movement in a biography, Oxford writes:

In 1997 Shaughnessy launched his first major campaign, Reclaim Bedlam. The Bethlem and Maudsley NHS Trust had organized a series of events celebrating the 750th anniversary of its forerunner, the Bethlem, the world's oldest psychiatric hospital. The institution had a gruesome history. Like visitors to a zoo, people once paid to gawp at its chained inmates; while treatments, including blood-letting, purging, and the revolving swing door—which rotated patients up to 100 times a minute—were more like punishment until well into the nineteenth century. Shaughnessy, who had been a patient at the Maudsley Hospital, argued that commemorating 'the people who have died and the sadness they've lived in' was more fitting than any 'celebration' (Evening Standard magazine, 17 March 2000). Reclaim Bedlam picketed the trust's official event and protested against the financial cuts it was imposing on its mental health services. His campaign attracted the support of hundreds of patients across the country, and was the subject of a BBC 2 documentary, From the Edge.

So... why am I mentioning this in my "Story Time" tag? Story Time is supposed to be me discussing memories unique to the odd mishmash of identities and experiences that make up this 40ish year old trans woman with dissociative identity disorder and an unyielding obsession with psychology.

Well...

It's that unyielding obsession with psychology... and the fact that of all the childhood memories that we have, the Reclaim Bedlam event is one of them.

Bedlam Park and The Imperial War Museum were near where we grew up. We would walk through the park on our way to school and we would walk past it on our dad's nightly visits to the pub.

Though London as a city would become a sprawling and endless mass of concrete canyons and glass towers that went on forever, there was a time in our youth where the boundaries felt quite small and limited. It may even be accurate to say we grew up in Lambeth rather than London.

I cannot recall being the small child in these stories. It comes up in therapy every now and again. Our therapist trying to get us to associate in with the stories of our father's son. We share his memories but they never feel like they're ours and they lack grounding. We neither recall how things felt or when they happened. But we recall events.

So many nights of our life were spent at the pub. Bored out of our mind, hungry and exhausted. The pub that our dad went to did lock-ins. Stayed open beyond the 11pm last orders. Sometimes we were lucky enough to get a Coke or two. Never food though.

So imagine in the early hours of the morning, a drunk man walking his kid the half mile home. If the chippy was open then we'd sometimes get a bite but the chip shop was bound by legal operating hours so that wasn't always an option.

Then we come by the park. Radiating moonlight and gated up as London Parks tend to be after a certain hour. Our dad would begin talking about the history of that "haunted" building. Memory does not allow me to tell any specific stories but it was his way of bonding with us. Trying to terrify us with the story of axe murderers and the like lurking in the park we walked through every day.

Even now, knowing as I know and feeling as we do about our father, I cannot help but feel the emotion attached to these memories as oddly positive. Context tells us that we were neglected for hours, that he was drunk to an irresponsible degree, that we were too young to be awake that late, that there is no charm in terrifying a child and a thousand and one other understandings that make me hate this memory and yet in isolation, it remains a happy memory.

As I said. It's hard to associate in with those memories.

But the fascination grew from there and the associations had been drawn. Perhaps we would have cotninued thinking of the site as this folklore version likely whispered down the streets from the tourist era of the 1800s where the locals peaked into the hospital as it was ran and began telling their children of what they saw and those children would tell their children.

A generational game of telephone leading to our young ears.

But then the sit ins happened.

It was nearby where we lived and it was a media spectacle. We paid attention and we listened. 13 or so at the time.

Now, the 90s were a time when the mental healthcare field was expanding out into a commodity, especially in the USA. TV shows and movies were highlighting these "shrinks" with a sneer, the False Memory Syndrome Foundation were working their hardest to cover for abusers and the conversation about mental illness was starting to become more commonplace.

We do not remember the climate much from experience but we know this Reclaim Bedlam event caught our attention. That little seed which would grow into a lifelong obsession had already been planted and here there was a line drawn between the sensationalized topics we heard about on television and the lived reality.

What had started as a haunted building that teased our imagination, had became a historical site of legend that happened to mingle with our reality and now with this movement it became a platform to destigmatize mental illness and learn about the real conditions and the real people who had suffered medical abuse at the hands of these facilities.

Though we remember very few things about the event and movement, we do remember it brought the works of Louis Wain onto our radar. Wain was a prolific artist local to the South London area and a patient treated at Bethlem after a group of friends, including H. G. Wells, raised money to have him housed at the hospital.

He drew this after moving in to Bethlem.

I think that was the moment that the nuance started really hitting in for our younger self. That it was not black and white. Madhouse or Hospital. Abuse or Care.

That was part of the destigmatization that Shaughnessy fought for. To make it so madness was not this esoteric other thing that happened to people. These were huge ideas to grapple with at the time, especially in how young we were, but it applied humanity, empathy and understanding to a topic that had already colonized our imagination.

I doubt it would have remained with us had that have been the end of it, but it wasn't.

Our father hated mental health as a concept. He was often contemptuous of the field and that people bought into it. Though we were raised by our father, our older brother was raised by our mother (who had failed to gain custody of us due to what the courts deemed her "deviant lesbian lifestyle") and at 15 he was diagnosed with dyslexia.

Dad thought that it was "coddling" to have him seen by a psychologist and that the dyslexia diagnosis gave him an excuse to give up on schooling. He would rage that his ex-wife had no right to attach labels to "[his] boy"; a boy who walked out on us in his teen years, a boy that he mythologized and devalued so often that I sometimes wonder if our dad and I have a dissociative disorder in common.

We had our own brushes with psychologists and social workers in our teens. We'd learned how to lie to them. It seemed prudent. Dad warned they'd take us away to live in a home if we said the wrong things. He was convinced our mother was trying to punish him for winning custody by getting social services involved, painting him out to be a bad father, painting him to be the villain.

His paranoia infected our home. The fact mum got our brother help became reason to suspect her involvement, though for my money I'd wager it was our home room teacher at school. Maybe she'll become a subject for another story time down the line...

One of the worst sins you could commit in his world was to accuse him of being a bad father. For what it's worth I really do think it was important to him to be a good dad and we sometimes feel guilty that we became the third of his children to stop speaking to him.

...felt too much like we were condemning him to the realization that he was not...

To get back to the topic, though... our dad is, was and remains mentally ill. We never learned his letters, but we were witness as his disdain for the mental healthcare field continued to solidify as he became a statistic within it.

Content warning for discussion of suicide and medical abuse.

Our dad has been held in lockdown at mental care facilities at least three times that we remember.

I... don't care to discuss the specifics that lead to each stay.

Suffice to say they're hard memories for us to discuss. Our father had attempted to take his own life multiple times and we were powerless to do anything but watch.

I recall that the first time everyone was there. The campus of St. Thomas' lockdown ward was flooded with family. I bitterly note the only memories I can recall swaths of family at the same place involved someone in a hospital bed. One time that person was me.

The other times, I am confident I was the only visitor.

The first time it felt like an embarrassment. "Haha, I was pulled off of Westminster Bridge, I wasn't really going to jump"

The other times weren't cries for help. They were failed attempts. He went from stomach pumps to the ward. Likely before he woke up. We don't remember. We don't want to remember.

Everyone else turned away by then. We were all the other had. The third(?) time was even after he had kicked us out and we were living on our own. He moved in with us afterwards. Stayed until we left England.

I remember so many of the little things about those visits. Buzzing him out so we could sit on a bench and I could smuggle him in cigarettes. The color of the sky and the lack of leaves on the tree. The sounds of Big Ben across the river. The hollow glaze in his eyes from the medication he was taking. The thick spools of drool dribbling the corner of his mouth.

I thought back to those things I'd read about Bedlam. The nuance between "Care" and "Abuse".

I remember him breaking down into tears and sobbing out that "no one comes to visit me."

I remember thinking "Guess I'm 'no one' in your book."

I remember him soberly confessing about how he was assaulted as a child. How he was terrified of someone doing that to me. How he wanted to strangle my brother when he hurt me because it reminded him of his brother hurting him.

I was in my mid-teens at the time and I remember lucidly thinking for the first time that my father was mentally ill. Up until then I had just taken his testimony as fact but there was just a point during the visit where I stopped thinking of him as unjustly locked up "with the crazies" as my woefully stigmatizing perspective thought of it, but he was part of a vulnerable population of people who were sick and needed care.

In one fell swoop I realized that his rage at mental healthcare was denial and rejection of something that he struggled with and likely had his entire life, in silence and isolation, hating himself for showing any signs of this which he perceived as weakness.

I still remember realizing how sad that was. To suffer so deeply and blame and hate yourself so thoroughly for that suffering that you deny that it is even happening.

I know we thought it clearly when we finally accepted our own dissociative disorder, two decades later.

To this day we do not have it in us to hate our father. We see too much of ourselves in him. He's not a good man. Though we do not remember him ever hurting us we do remember him cracking our brother's skull on a bathroom sink and pinning him to a fridge by his throat. We know his marriage ended when he got our 16 year old babysitter pregnant. We know he lost his photography job when he was caught drink driving. We know he pulled us out of school for a month during a drunk binge after his relationship with said babysitter ended; nearly ruining our academic chances for life. We have a voice recording of him arguing that "white lives matter".

He's not a good man... but we do empathize with him all the same. He instilled in us a fear of substance abuse and a fear of being institutionalized.

To this day we freeze up when we remember the smell. The sour yellow of nicotine stained wallpaper. Painted bars flaking against frosted windows or the words of a European lady who struck up conversation with us during a visit who told us how she didn't murder her husband. I don't know if she was teasing us or not, we were just a scared child and memory distorts.

We're afraid of being like him.

I remember how much that fear drove us back then. We wanted so desperately to be seen as sane, as normal, as grounded... obviously, if you're listening to this recording then you know we have loosened up on that strangehold over how we are perceived.

But... god... the lengths we go to in order not to follow our father's footsteps.

Every now and again I like to sit back and think objectively about our life. About our relationship with ourselves and with others.

Like our father our life is lit by the fire of burned bridges... and I think of his paranoia. I think of his disdain and rejection and wonder how clear my own lens is.

I don't know if it's possible to have an objective view of the self. To know for sure how well you perceive your inner and outer reality. But what I do remember is a 13 year old boy obsessed with psychology finding the nuance between the us and them, the sane and the insane, the healthy and the unhealthy and that gives me strength and hope.

Because it's not an on/off switch or a binary. It's just a measure of experiences and beliefs and when you look at it like that then the fear goes away because I'm just a person, same as anyone else and yet I'm also the only one in the world shaped by history and perspective to see the world as I do.

Unique and individual but not alone.

...and that's a comforting thought.

[jo-heart]

Before Good & Evil

Tw: philosophy, morality, good and evil, Love, spirituality, God, religion. When I speak of God, I don’t mean a God of a specific religion or creed but the reason we exist; The One, The All, The Source.

The reason the knowledge of Good and Evil perpetuates hate is because of the distinction drawn in the sand about the nature of evil, who is considered evil, and how they are treated. On the other hand, there is also the question of the nature of Good, who is considered Good, and how they are to be treated.

It is clear that the phenomena of Good and Evil exists, but the parameters through which we measure them are on a slider according to the bias of the creator of the regional standard. Whoseoever creates the law will not make themselves illegal, thus it must fit their bias at the end of the day.

Even books that claim to have the word of God are filled with human bias because an imperfect vessel can not perfectly translate a perfect being’s perfect words onto an imperfect surface. Or perhaps not, someone countered this line of thought by telling me “wouldn’t God understand just how important that imperfect language is to you and do their best to accommodate for that? Yes, might be true. In countering that I say: how many times don’t welp meaning people speak the truth and it is twisted to conform the evils of the world?

Because it is difficult to prove which version of God is the real God, and difficult to translate a perfect language into an imperfect tongue, and difficult to root out human bias from our decision making, our measurement of Good and Evil as it pertains to spirituality/religion/moral philosophy seems to also be on a slider depending on the bias of those who began the religion or school of thought- or controlled it.

The Knowledge of Good and Evil actually becomes anti Love very quickly if you’re not careful, and also perpetuates the very Evil we fear by alienating it as some foreign evil.

The only way to align yourself with the Highest Good is through True Love. God let’s you wake up in the morning, every morning, until your last morning; and every morning you get another chance to choose who you will be. The freedom to make errors, and come back from them; God gives you the grace to learn, to fail, to sin and yet be redeemed if you truly believe in change from the heart. God, despite Loving you, respects your boundaries, and gives you a space of your own if you wish it (though I don’t advise it, as the wicked aspect of the Heart would make it so that any place solely ran by us without honest responsibility will become a Hell if not for God.). God accepts you where you are and yet always wants better for you. God claims you all as their children and loves you all despite knowing every one of the darkest corners of your heart; yet we humans see the truth of each other and hate one another for it.

That is the fundamental difference between us and God, the fact that no one will ever be able to Love how God can, because human love has unfortunately became conditional- and that condition is dependent on fitting the mold of what it means to be Good to the person before you, or rather, fit their bias.

The ability to know Good and Evil risks an unevolved approach causing a rift between peoples for being nothing other than human. An evolved approach to this would understand the depths of Good and Evil and still decide to Love, making an informed decision on the matter- but no. We weren’t responsible enough to synthesize the truth of Good and Evil. We were not ready. We hate, we isolate, we dissociate all that is different and all that is wrong. What is different should be accepted- what is wrong should be corrected. Ideas never die, but they can be healed. Remember that, my friend.

Someone who attains True Love would never commit to harming one unless it is to protect another . If everyone attained True Love, no one would hurt anyone just to live, period. We wouldn’t need any of these political movements if we just had true love.

[alternateanonymous]

8:11 pm

Before I put my nails on, I am going to write a little enry. So, Nothing crazy has happened for me to write this. Mostly I just wanted to keep typing on my new keyboard but also I wanted to do a little reflection point of myself, which I think this is a good thing. So. I want to be more financialy responsible, especially since I am in a very bad financial state. Lol, it's ok. We can always start now, and the time to start has begun. Also, I want to take care of myself. Mentally, I am in a really good spot with the social position I am in. I need to do one thing with Justin and that is tell him that I am not going to be looking for a relationship at all this year and I don't want him to wait or anything but I am really enjoying my time with him. Please Maggie, please do that soon. I know it's going to hurt, but it is going to hurt a lot less now than 1 month, 2 months, 1 year from now. Don't make the same mistake you keep making come on. You can do it, you've been and put yourself through much worse. So, it's ok. Breath.

So the other day, I think it was yesturday I was alive. I was here. Mentally I was here. That little dissociative thing that I have been in for the past few years.. nah. I was here. My vision my brain we were at the forefront of everything. Living and experiencing as things should be and the world around me was real. Everything was real and it felt real. I wanted to tell justin about it but I didn't incase it didn't come back. and of course unfortunately, It left. But that feeling of living. I want it back. So i am on the hunt to get it back and now is the time to lock in maggie. Now is the time. I am still healing and that is ok, but i am going to try and read because I need some mental stimulation and there is this book that I think will really help me, hopefully we shall see. it is called "don't belive everything you think" so we shall see. Maybe it's just a scam like everything but who knows. It's ok. Alright, I am going to go do my nails. Read a little and then get high and maybe watch some youtube or play some video games. Sounds like a spectacular night to me hahaha. It's ok maggie. You are in the process of letting go. Let go. Let go, it's ok. you have your friends who are actually your friends and you have yourself and your family and your future and your hopes and dreams.

Time to start this: The Pursuit of Being Alive.

It's time to rewrite everything that has made that expereince surpressed. It is time to figure out who you really are. HEHE. you got it girl!!!

[nothingtobefixed]

apologies have always been a little late or useless.

Discovering things about yourself later in life is something that can make you feel very fragile and truthfully, it is a scary process. I'll be honest. I often put on a brave face. I give off this vibe that I am this fearless leader ready to take on the world. People define me as: sassy, spitfire, opinionated, bubbly and confident. Those are mostly true, sure, but I have been masking for roughly the last six months or maybe even a little more. I had therapy today. I went in there ready to spill my guts and then feel better. Only... I didn't feel better afterwards. I felt much worse. Unfortunately, that is a sign that therapy IS working. You see, I am going to explain what having C-PTSD is like for me (some people it is different, but over all we mostly have similar symptoms). I often go through bouts of feeling worthless, hopeless, guilty and often even ashamed. That comes with being unable to really control my emotions. I was not taught emotional regulation as a kid. So someone can not validate my emotions and I immediately, in my head, jump to *I must have done something wrong* almost by default. Friendships & relationships in general are hard. Why? Because I do not want to disappoint anyone. So I will cycle in and out of keeping people at a distance. Also, most people that I have loved have hurt me. I am hypervigilant about letting people in for the fear of them hurting me. I can't help this - it is a trauma response. But when I do consider you a safe person? And I feel like you don't listen to me or take me serious? That is one of the biggest let downs to me. Once people with C-PTSD start working on healing, the intense emotions get so much harder because you start having flash backs and you feel like you are re-living the trauma all over again. This is where I currently am at. I feel like my mind is at war with my body. I have been experiencing such dissociation that I feel like I am struggling to live life NOT dissociated currently. My therapist even pointed out to me today that I have no emotion when telling horrific things that happened to me, like I am telling a story about someone else yet it is my own life. The only response I could give her was, "If I feel the emotions tied to these experiences, I am afraid I won't make it out. If I cry, I don't think I will stop. Emotionally I am hurting so bad right now." So, today, I was given a task. To simply focus on myself because that is primarily what I can handle right now. As of lately, I have not been able to sleep. There are nights I do not remember going to sleep and moving to my bed. Or I do not remember events from the day. My therapist is concerned about my dissociative symptoms and is having me write down when I feel this way. I don't know who really reads this except who I send it to, I guess. But friends & family - know that one day I will make it through all of this. I need grace right now. That is why I am putting such hard work in to this. If I cannot be fully present right now for you, it is because I am utterly broken right now and I am having to repair myself. Truthfully my life depends on it. I have a daughter that needs her mother. I want to be able to look at my girl one day and be able to say to her, "I did it. I am whole again." Because I never had someone that was willing to do that for me. It ends with me. I am the cycle breaker.

[butch-with-a-deep-voice]

For the asks... 90 to 100? Happy new year! ♥︎

Oh wowee, let's go

90. Given the chance to reset your life (with none of the knowledge you currently have) would you take it?

Hell no, and for personal reasons I truly do not want to get in to. I've been through some truly awful things.

91. Is hate as strong as love? Why do you hate?

No. Now that isn't to say it's not a strong emotion, it is. But I love incredibly freely. To a wild degree. I love humanity. I love the planet. I love so many tiny little things. I tell my friends I love them. I tell my coworkers I love them. I love so so many things. I only hate a very small handful of people, and they need to do some truly awful, Shepherd Book "special place in hell" things for me to truly irrevocably hate them. Hate does not come easy to me.

92. Do you speak multiple languages? What would you want to learn.

I woefully only speak English. My brain seems to realistically only be able to learn through an immersion environment, and English in the only real one I've been presented with. As for what I would like to learn, I would really like to learn Michif. It's my people's language, and an unfortunately dying one at that. Despite living in my people's homeland, finding a way to learn Michif in an immersion environment often feels near impossible.

93. Do you draw meaning from your dreams or disregard them?

I often don't remember my dreams, and from the ones I do remember, I would prefer to keep it that way. Bad as that sounds. See the answer to 90.

94. How would you describe yourself when you love? Do you love forcefully, unconditionally, gently, quietly, desperately?

Plentifully. I love being in love. I love love. I am an extremely needy partner, and for years I hated that about myself. But I now recognize that, assuming I have a partner that can meet me on that level, I am one of the most loyal, doting, obnoxiously in love partners someone can have.

95. Is unrequited love real?

I think yes and no. From a pure theoretical definition standpoint, yes. But that being said, I think for you to be able to love someone TRULY, they need to love you back. You cannot fully love someone until they let you in to see the much less public sides of them, and once you accept those and love those, then you love them. You can only do that if they love you back. Otherwise to me it is infatuation.

96. Is your perception of yourself similar or the same to how others perceive you?

I... I don't know actually. For reasons I'd rather leave off of this blog, my perception of myself is rather... mutable. Foreign. Dissociated. I often feel like I know myself, but than my brain will throw me a curveball that I need to spend months dwelling on. So I don't know. I think I'm okay with I don't know.

97. Are you overly analytical?

The day my brain stops thinking about things is the day I've walked back to the spirit world to join my ancestors.

98. Do you ever feel that you are really a terrible person, and only act good out of societal or some other obligation?

This is going to sound so up my own ass, but no. When my brain is being unkind to me, yes I feel like an awful person. But when I actually take a step back, I try to be kind. I try to be loving. Patient, compassionate, caring. When playing videogames with moral choices I quite literally can't do evil playthroughs because I literally feel too damn guilty. Being purposefully malicious just isn't in my DNA.

99. Do you believe in magic? Are you superstitious?

This one is... complicated. I do and I don't, and at the moment I think I don't have the full ability to give this question the time it deserves. To me the superstitious, the "magical" are aspects of the world we don't understand. TRust me, I can (and have) gone on hours long tangents about it.

100. What belief to you have that isn't logically grounded, but you still firmly believe in?

That humans are inherently good. The reason this isn't logically grounded is well. What one defines as good changes, person to person. Nature vs. Nuture is one of the most infuriating things in psychology and sociology and yet, I believe it is in our nature to be kind. To be loving. To be curious. To be good. Life then afterwards teaches us not to, but I believe deep down that we can always return to it.