#▌ ⁑╰ i. meta / details & footnotes ∎ ჻ ɐʇǝɯ .

[medusacomplex]

six* little nuggets.

i have great news ... with great discussion and consideration ... jack and i have developed the names of the wheeler-harrington children in the happy, all-goes-right au, as such:

sloane wheeler-harrington ––  softball go-getter and perpetual people-pleaser, an absolute daddy's girl with a strong motivation to live up to what she believes her parents (and particularly her dad) wants for her. sporty, excitable, a little lacking in the math-savvy department, but a sincerely darling daughter. she and nance have a strained dynamic at times as nance has always been fearful of ending up a bad mom; the two get closer when sloane is finishing up high school during a period of time where sloane becomes overwhelmed by her own anxiety. hilariously, having not been close for a long time, nancy sees the change in her daughter and ends up proving a surprising help and grounding voice.

mary wheeler-harrington ––  middle child of the bunch, learned early on how to fill the silences particularly when it was her, sloane and nancy alone in a room. she is first and foremost a talker. she speaks up and sometimes spits out just absolute nonsense if needed, anything to keep the air less empty. another daddy's girl, steve, sloane and mary have the most fun doing absolutely stupid shit together; going to concerns, going to the mall, to the beach, etc. mary is a little unhinged. she's a bit impulsive and often acts first, thinks later, which can get her into some unfortunate predicaments. she's good-hearted, though, and cares deeply for other people.

tristan & ethan wheeler-harrington –– steve was anticipating a couple of sporty boys. at least one. but the twins turn out to be a lot closer to their mother in their hobbies and interests; they're book-smart and school-oriented, both of them, and a bit closer to their mom overall. by the time they're born, nancy's become a bit more used to the whole motherhood thing, and somehow doesn't have the same wound to heal that she had with her daughters. she is, funny enough, a fantastic boy-mom. who woulda thought it. the whole family has a keen sense of justice baked into their bones, but i think one of the twins got it pretty bad –  more to come once me and jack continue discussing but if ur askign ME... hactivist style ethan sounds accurate to me in fact!

* four .... :)

[screwthat]

Dear Barbara,     It’s been a while since I wrote to you. I think about you all the time, so sometimes I still make up letters in my head, and I guess, to me, that feels good enough. It’s not like you’ll read these; they’re diary entries, anyway. And you’re dead. But it felt like a good idea to write today. Do something tangible. I’ve been thinking about your grave, recently. I think because we got this massive surge of rain last week, and I saw this, like, sort of miniature mud slide on the side of the road when I was driving to school. And I was wondering, how heavy would that rain have to be to dig down into your grave and bring you back up. Would you float out from the cemetery, end up in a coffin-boat right outside the general store on Main?

Probably not, obviously. But it’s been on my mind, just how to take care of you. And when I’m not there, who is? Are there flowers at your grave? Has anyone stopped by lately? To make sure you aren’t lonely. Or just to say hello, even just in passing. God, you should’ve seen Jason. He was so... angry, about Chrissy. I couldn’t help but remember spotting him laughing at some dumb joke about the “chemical spill” that everyone still thinks killed you. I know he didn’t realize I saw him, or that I heard. No one ever does. For a while they were mean, like, genuinely, actually cruel. But they stopped after we held your funeral. I always thought that was funny. They stopped making jokes in front of me, stopped asking me out on fake dates and talking about that stupid marquee. But they didn’t care, not really. It was just how they were supposed to act. How they were meant to be.

I’m sorry I haven’t been by lately. With the “earthquake”, with everything... I saw something, a while ago. I haven’t really talked about it too much, because, you know, it just feels like, with everything going on, it feels sort of stupid. It didn’t happen. But I saw it, and it felt real. It was like my old nightmares, the visceral kinds, but more... real, somehow. It’s brought them back, in part, but instead of just being of you, it’s everything. It’s Mike. Mom. Holly. Jon. I almost tried praying the other night, which felt dumb, you know? I used to cry when I prayed, every night. I’d wait until the last moment to go to bed, knowing I’d see you. Knowing you wouldn’t say anything. Knowing how I’d wake up again. And you wouldn’t. 

I had this enormous sense of guilt about surviving, and I still do. But I think I’ve changed some perspective, at least in part. I take the guilt and I let it sort of just build up like some sort of tension, like mentos in soda or something. And I use it differently. That’s helpful, now. It works in crisis, you know, but not really in, like, day to day. I’ve tried to fix it, or bury it, because I mean, what’s the possibility of actually avoiding that feeling? Realistically. I still see you in everything. Everywhere. And that triggers the guilt, and that turns into something else, like, this weird... twisting, gnawing sort of feeling.

I couldn’t tell you if that was smart, or good, or better than whatever it was I used to be. But I’m not sad, anymore. I’ve stopped crying. I don’t dread seeing you in my dreams, or even in my nightmares. They’ve become kind of... easy. That’s not the right word, I guess, but I suppose I’ve just become numb to that sort of fear. That paranoia used to be overwhelming. I still have that coffee machine under my bed, I guess just as a precaution now. Might need it soon again, all things considered. But I don’t want you to freak, you know. Things changed. I used to feel powerless, like the people I loved being taken, being hurt, being killed, like that was all inevitable. But I don’t think like that anymore. 

I hate the person I am now, but I think, since I lived, since I did survive, I had to become this girl. I’m not scared, Barb. I’m not powerless. I’m not a coward. Not anymore. These days, I’m angry.

Always yours, N.R.W.

[screwthat-arc]

       The Red Spot starts in my stomach. I’m sixteen, staring at it in the mirror after its appeared only after a single night. Last night I learned my best friend is dead, so, I imagine there’s a correlation, but it feels unworthy of fixation, and I’m overcome with a heavy sense of dread when I think too hard about it. So I move on. I get dressed. I pretend it doesn’t bother me, though it does seem to spark a sort of aching,  𝘨𝘶𝘵-𝘣𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥  pain every so often. I pretend, most of all, that my friend isn’t dead –– because that’s part of a deal I made.

      𝙸𝚝’𝚜 𝚜𝚝𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚊𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚎𝚗. At eighteen, it moves, slinking over to my side. Like a thorn. I almost felt happy, the morning I woke up and couldn’t seem to find it, but the bleeding edge caught my eye eventually, and the same old sinking feeling returned.    𝑇h𝑒 𝐮𝐧𝐯𝐚𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠   𝕽𝐞d   𝚂ρot.

      I start practicing saying that it’s not there; I ignore it every morning. I cover it and I force myself to forget the pain it induces every so often. It stays under the radar, or so I tell myself, until twenty-one. It’s moved across my back, all the way to the opposite side, and now creeps towards my abdomen yet again, but higher up this time. 

      It begins to split. The first when I leave Jon. The second when Jane dies. It’s made it up to my heart. Xi doesn’t care about it; or she does, but she tries hard to make me feel less ill on the matter. And she’s rather successful, but only ends up provoking a third split, a fourth spot, when I leave her. Steve’s death is the fifth spot. The fourth split.

      At age thirty-two, there are five spots. I die with a sixth one; it’s a quick development, not even taking the full night like the first. It’s  𝑖𝑛𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑡𝑎𝑛𝑒𝑜𝑢𝑠.  A bang, a sharp pain, and then it’s there forever, unmoving. It sits on my forehead, between my eyes. In total there are six Red Spots, spread between my stomach and my heart, and finally my forehead. It feels, at least, as though I am vindicated by the fate –––– I knew all along, from the very first time I saw it, that the  𝕽𝐞d   𝚂ρot  would be the 𝗱𝗲𝗮𝘁𝗵 of me.

[screwcool-a]

nanc’s anxiety and ptsd and tendency to fixate on ppl make moments where she’s worried abt someone like .. really difficult to cope through. like it eats at her. she feels physically uncomfortable, and it gets worse after s1 and monumentally bad after s2. people not being at school make her so scared. she thinks the worst, automatically, and calls them immediately at lunch or during a free period. like a lot of her fears stem from people not talking to her because it reminds her of barb’s disappearance and how quickly someone can go missing. it genuinely is one of the scariest things to her.

[medusacomplex]

CYCLICAL HISTORY: '89, nancy drops out of college and doesn't tell anyone, leaves jon behind without even an official breakup to consider closure. escapes nyc for chicago. '97, nancy goes into hiding, does not indicate her plans to anyone close to her but does try in earnest to do it better this time around. escapes chicago for, ultimately, nyc.

[medusacomplex]

poppy :   what comforts your muse ?

i love this question because i think one of the most interesting aspects of nancy is the fact she lives so consistently in discomfort; she has never, even prior to the events of the series, felt at ease for longer than a moment at best. i think a lot of this has to do with just the general experience of growing up neurodivergent & a girl, it begs a different sort of socialization and reaction to that socialization and it's largely an uncomfortable one if you aren't getting the support needed. everything about her state of being is inherently performative for the sake of others; and this ties, even, into the way i've spoken about her analyzing her own emotions and tending to take the opinions of others as objective fact.

knowing that, the thing which nancy finds most comforting is, hilariously, being alone –– she has routines which she performs in the privacy of her own room and it can often help ground her even in the worst of moments. this becomes more of a liability post-s1, her self-soothing care becomes much more of an insidious festering of thoughts and self destructive tendencies – being alone is no longer a comfort.

i think for a while she's constantly in this prolonged fight-or-flight state which is rather horrifying to experience, and so until probably a little later on in her life comforts are bandaids at best. but for those salves, things like being listened to and for someone to appear to really hear her words is something she finds soothing. it could be mundane, even, a short conversation. more material or stimulus-based i guess, i think she'd be the kind of girlie who watches ocean or aquarium livestreams in the modern era (rip nancy wheeler you would have loved monteray bay livecams).

things she is distinctly not comforted by: touch and words of affirmation. she finds the sensation of either awkward and puts her into a headspace of self-awareness that breeds extreme discomfort.

[medusacomplex]

THE BUG AS AN ANGEL ( part i. ): an excerpt from "burn it down" (1997) ... "Looking into the bottom of the glass was a lot like looking into the eyes of Barb's parents. A desperate, empty mess of grief which gave me this feeling of uneasiness at the base of my stomach. I wanted more to fill that cup so that I could drink it and drown in the same pool she had."

[medusacomplex]

what i love about nancy is that she is not made lighter by love, but made heavier –– she holds so firm to those she cares about that it consumes her. love is not a release but a holding on. a gripping so fervent and wild that she'll bite the hand that tries to free her from it, including her own.

[medusacomplex]

hibiscus :   how does your muse view the gentler ,   daintier things in life ?   as things worth preserving   &   caring for ,   or things only bound to wither   &   disappear ?  

very fascinating q for nancy because there's a multifaceted answer to it, certainly, on the one hand she has a strong sense of justice that necessitates protecting that which is "weaker" – on the other hand she is a logical realist in all her glory. and then there's another part of her, albeit a little buried, that resents the daintier, kinder things in life because she used to be that. the image she meticulously crafted as a child into her teenagehood was as close to picture-perfect, gentle (meek) girl-next-door as she could get to, because that appeared to be generally palatable. it was only with barb's death and her own socially ostracizing experience which followed that she found the truth was that she was a far cry from that image. that she had been acting the part by force (force from her own hand). so, i'll break it down by feeling :)

protector ... to answer either/or, this would be the idea of preserving and caring for that which is at least perceived as "weaker" than yourself ––  in nancy's case i'd say the kids, for example, though i suppose that's not exactly what the question is asking. i will say i feel like the way we see her protect others, she's often not going out of her way to protect the gentler of the crop, she's at the forefront to protect kids who think they can win. max is not dainty, for instance. dustin isn't either. lucas isn't. yet she keeps these three safe throughout s4 in particular in some fairly tangible ways. all to say i'm sort of talking myself out of this one, ha – i think nancy respects when she sees herself in others, and she herself is not dainty, even if she once seemed meek she's no longer that. she sees herself in max, in lucas (i think she sees steve in dustin but that's a conversation for another day). that is to say, she protects them because they're strong, because they are kids who are trying to be fighters; and that's exactly what she was just a few years back. if she's saint jude, her lost causes put up a fight.

realist ... in this regard, for example, nancy would easily step on freshly bloomed flowers to make it to the other side of the road if it was the surest and necessary path, she wouldn't even hesitate. gentle, dainty, sweet, are all fine and well until they get in the way ––  and at that point, they're useless, and serve no purpose. that's not to say some sort of extreme like she'd leave someone behind who embodies those ideals, but i think she'd be visible and vocally frustrated by them, and it would be a begrudging sense of duty (in most cases). at the end of the day, a flower wilts, you can't fight nature –  she's tried!

resentment ... the girl nancy used to be was perfect: she wore beautiful pink dresses, she kept up with her schoolwork, she smiled at the right moments and she cared what people thought of her. the girl she is now is none of those things, and has long since realized that to be that girl-next-door that she once was is not only a pipe dream after what she's been through, but she doubts it was ever feasible. to see things which are gentle and dainty bring about a sort of grief for what she's lost, a mourning, but also a festering sort of anger that she'd ever been foolish enough to believe in the very concept of softness. this is not very feminist of me so apologies to everyone, but i definitely think she is the sort who holds a bitterness towards girlish women now  –  which is her own internalized shit that she needs to work through. but i think the very concept of meek girlhood disgusts her now, and in part it's that resentment bred from the fact she can't have that anymore (enter the t-swift line, overplayed as it is, give me back my girlhood it was mine first).

[medusacomplex]

how did nancy feel when steve told her he was fine with them splitting? while he tried to reassure her it was okay, was it actually? what was she feeling in that moment?

Long answer incoming :)

I've spoken before on the subject of Nancy not feeling very comfortable with more abstract sorts of thinking which would include things like putting a name to her own feelings, which is important context for how she feels about not only this moment but the entire s2 arc of her and Steve's relationship, even her and Jon's. When it comes down to it, Nancy is smart at logical, structured plans & action – solving a puzzle, however convoluted, setting up traps and looking ahead to the possibilities, etc., all are well within her skillset. Outside of battle-readiness, she has trouble trusting herself because she just isn't very well-suited to emotional analysis; she can't always tell what she's feeling. Sometimes, in fact, she doesn't feel what she's feeling and only will be able to realize the full brunt of it after the fact, much later on.

So, when Murray says "you don't love Steve", and even earlier when Steve says "you said our love was bullshit, etc.", and so forth, she does not find her own thoughts or feelings trustworthy – they are malleable and gullible and shift according to the lens she views herself, which often times is that of other people's perspectives. External forces have often been what drives her self-perception, good or bad, because it's the only way she can make sense of more complex internal wants, fears, desires. So, knowing this is how Nancy's brain works, knowing this is the way she makes sense of things and that other people's opinions often color her own, it makes, firstly, a lot of her actions regarding her personal life make a lot more sense, but also gives us an idea of what she felt when Steve later assured her of their breakup being okay.

Firstly, the word breakup or the concrete idea of them splitting wasn't used before this moment, in her mind, so even if she felt that they had moved irreparably past amends, she wasn't in the mindset necessarily that everything was cleanly done. I say this because I think that there's something to be said about the way Steve and Nancy, do, after all, are at ends during this period of time in terms of misunderstanding each other – the way Steve treated Nance throughout their relationship after Barb was largely not what she needed, but it wasn't bad, either. He worked as a salve, whereas she wanted the wound to be exposed and acknowledged. Steve knows even if just instinctively, because I doubt he'd have the ability to vocalize it, how Nancy thinks, and the fact that saying things were okay would potentially just make things okay. That's his strategy overall, I think, and it extends even to this moment. Steve saying "it's okay" gives her this sense of permission and closure, assures her that they're done, and that he's not upset. Which is all fine and well. She should want it to be over, and she should be, and is, grateful that he says so and is trying to make it okay.

Nancy sees things through the perception of others, through their reactions –  but what happens when that disagrees with her own feelings, on a deeper level? Even if she can't define those feelings, she still has them. Murray might say she doesn't love Steve, and she might think that must be true because he and Jon are probably better objective observers than she is, but that wouldn't change the fact she loves Steve.

Steve says it's okay, Nancy knows it's not. But Steve said it. So it must be true, and he must feel that way, and this is their closure, this is the moment the door's been shut. In the moment, she feels a sort of twisting of her stomach, a dread weighing on her chest where she ought to feel a sense of relief. But Steve said it. So she realigns her perception of those feelings, makes them relief, colors this sensation lighter and "for the best". You don't love Steve, and you do love Jonathan (that you could love both of them and have a complicated idea of love, that maybe some love is platonic and some is romantic and some is a third strange thing that you can't quite name, those are diametrically opposed viewpoints – you love one, you do not love the other, that's how this works).

It's truthfully not okay, she just doesn't have the words to describe that sensation, and she certainly doesn't have the argument. And what does she want, anyway? Because she's not sure if she wants them to stay together, even if she were able to pinpoint that she does still love him. And wouldn't loving him require her to not love Jon? This girl has two friends left, she's going to lose one of them inevitably, how could she possibly make that choice herself.

This is such a long jumbled response, but I guess the answer at the end of the day is very complicated because she has trouble feeling those more truthful things and tends to bury them for the truth as seen by others. I think there's a sense of dread and uneasiness, disguised by relief and gratefulness. I think there's also a deeper set sensation of appreciation that Steve knows her well enough to know that she couldn't say this herself. She would not make anything definitive. He would have to be the one who chooses for her, and he made the choice in such a way that didn't leave her utterly alone. I think he does this because he loves her, deeply, and before all else wants her to be alright.

[screwthat]

–– barb’s absence

i. barb’s death as a means of understanding what she went through.     for starters, in terms of the guilt, it’s very easily heavily associated with what nanc saw during s1 because of obvious reasons (the monster that attacked barb was the same one that nancy was almost killed by twice, the realization of the lab being there and the threat by her own government which, up until that point, nancy would have had no real other reason to question very heavily – she was previously not very politically inclined, especially because her parents rarely talked about what was happening and it certainly wasn’t the Girl Next Door thing to be, so she would have felt uncomfortable putting herself into that sphere as is). but anyway, this is to say that barb and the experience of s1 are very concretely linked, so it’s difficult to separate the two as is. they’re both difficult concepts to come to grips with but the one that i think is hardest is the very core issue of world-shaking change. nancy lost pretty much everything that had to do with her prior identity in s1. 

but the thing is it can be very hard to pinpoint what is so upsetting about trauma that isn’t concrete (even concrete trauma like …. the point is trauma as a whole in any capacity is so hard to analyze especially in terms of your own personal reaction to it, and nancy has a lot of problems understanding things that aren’t logical and tangible as is). it becomes easier to focus on the tangible loss of barb, and how that affects her. again, this becomes a question of what is easier to feel and understand. the best logic follows: barb is dead. why? because she was killed by the thing from the upside down. why? because she was at the wrong place at the wrong time. why? because i’d invited her to come with me to a party. because i told her to go. because i ––

blame is easy to place and so it becomes her fault (though, it should be noted, also the lab’s, also the police, also hopper’s –– the easiest thing for her is to trace fault in the situation, and to get angry about it). anger and rage is an easy surface emotion for her to process. it’s probably the least complicated out of all the ones she’s feeling. and so that’s the one her brain goes to first, and it fuels grief and self-hatred, because it’s just easier to process that way. it actually takes nancy a long time to come to terms with the fact that barb isn’t around (a long time as in, a year probably –– i think the idea that barb is Really Genuinely Dead settles in after the funeral). 

ii. barb’s societal standing and the reaction of the town to her disappearance.        the way the town treats barb’s sudden disappearance makes nancy extremely agitated, which would relate the point i made in i. that her anger is the easiest emotion to process and, therefore, would take precedence. 

that said, something else important about the town’s reaction is that the town not only ignores barb but focuses, instead, on nancy in terms of the right moves scenario. this is a particularly difficult moment for nancy to handle. ive talked about it a lot w. @exjerk and with his steve it’s particularly developed in a way i feel like is Very Canon for this blog in that nanc really just … refuses to bring it up. like she gets very weird about the whole concept. she doesn’t like talking about it. she very sincerely avoids it, which is difficult considering the serious ramifications it held for her reputation and the way people she previously thought to be her friends treated her. and no one lets up on it. she gets in several fights with karen about it because she just keeps Asking and Asking and nanc shuts her down each time.

she doesn’t like to think about it but she sort of has to think about it because of the way people look at her in the halls, the way they talk to her. what she ends up doing is compartmentalizing this and breaking it down in a way that’s a little easier to process, in that they’re the others. it’s her versus them, because it was them versus barb, and they were always all so mean to her friend, and they never cared when she disappeared. they never looked. she adopted that pain as her own and made it easier to distance herself. even as things calmed down in school, she never felt the ease she once did when talking to people.

this is all to say the way she viewed the town’s treatment of her is linked, too, to barb’s experience. she begins to really see it as a very black and white issue where hawkins didn’t give a shit about them and so in turn she wouldn’t give a shit about them. this worsened with the lack of outrage for barb’s confirmed death and the fact that any outrage at all died out quick and was replaced by mundane, uneventful issues. particularly the mall being built, and the organized outcry from the folks of hawkins that could only land as thoroughly, truly offensive in the aftermath of barbara’s death. so trivial a hill to die on,  and nancy’s friend was dead. why didn’t anyone care about that?

iii. barb’s absence in the wheeler household.         barb was a big presence in nancy’s life all around, so of course she feels it to a thousand varying degrees, but one that hits strangely hard is the silence in her own home. which comes because of a few things. one, the most obvious, and therefore the most clear-cut to nancy herself, is the silence of the phone. the two of them used to talk for hours. they’d either be chatting or, on the weekends, sleeping over and giggling until morning. they really were childhood best friends and they cared so much for each other. they spent all the time they had with each other. that was beginning, very subtly, to change with age and with steve being around but, for the most part, they really were still such a huge part of each other’s lives. that silence was undoubtedly felt.

the second silence came in the form of her mother. this was partly on the doing of nancy’s own isolation, but also right moves and the fact she had her first boyfriend now was a big part of it. karen got less and less vocal about questioning nancy’s life, where she was going, who she was with. i think karen viewed this as a natural drift and a part of growing up. nancy saw it similarly in some ways but in a lot of other ways she lumped her mother into the us vs. them mentality that i mentioned in the last section. and, on top of that, she also viewed it as a type of abandonment, one that she would never really forgive her for, because on the one hand, she didn’t want to open up or tell anybody what was going on, but on the other hand, she has always been acutely aware of the fact she’s not a good liar, and it hurt to see her mother give up when she knew she had to have been able to tell that she was not alright. that things were eating at her. this difficult dynamic, it should be noted, persists throughout her life but is notably broken down in parts following her mother’s support in season 3 (regarding “finish it”).

the third silence was mike’s. this had very little to do with his and nancy’s direct relationship; rather, it had everything to do with the change he underwent silently as well, in parallel to nancy’s. the laughter she heard echo from the basement was less frequent, and certainly less carefree. it always came with a caveat  ––  laughter and childish fantasy could only go so far when your closest friend had nearly died.  when you’d seen people die.  when you’d lost someone.  there was also an awkward distance between nancy and mike after the events of season 1. it was hard to describe the exact difference, especially as they hadn’t been all too close before, but it was remarkably present and easily identifiable by the two of them themselves. the world had shifted, and they weren’t the kids they were before. this uncomfortable truth felt too heavy to hold, and so in classic wheeler fashion, they refused to acknowledge it. thus led to the silence.

this hurt,  this feeling of silence and abandonment,  is hard to cope with. it doesn’t make sense.  so, of course, it becomes a little buried and smothered by something else, something more readily accessible and comprehensible. the void of barbara & her mother’s love (in a tangible, easy to define sense) was too hefty a topic to tackle, and instead she leaned towards isolation and othering which further sabotaged her relationships. things were not the same. and i think she took that hurt away and kept it layered beneath the hurt of missing her friend, and missing what things were like back when her mom would check in on her to tell her lights out,  and that she’d have to rush to say goodbye to barb and promise to finish telling her all about what happened in biology tomorrow morning.   back when her brother’s friends would shout about stupid elves and dragons all night to the point she’d slam her door in order to cue them to just shut up before barb would call and the two would drown out the chaos with their own laughter.  the ache was always present.  and always linked to barb.

[screwthat]

to be expounded in full in a later meta, but generally i disagree (as usual) with the wardrobe they chose for nanc; that said, i feel like it’s well done if it’s being done for the sake of being performative & actively trying to fit in. this was something i imagined happening in college but since s4 confirmed it was happening in high school, i’ll just move up some of my old headcanons LMAO anywho... i think it’s largely sparked by an interest in being taken seriously, which i think is smth she’s very much hyperaware of, so she does what she can to dress the part regardless of how thoroughly uncomfortable it makes her (a secret which she’d take to the grave!). she’s also starting to find her footing yet again in school socially, but it’s a very superficial belonging –– she wouldn’t consider herself to have any genuine friends at school. jon would be the only one, and of course he’s gone, and she still (as of the beginning of s4) would not actively seek out, say, steve, etc. and wouldn’t count him as a friend necessarily.

all to say she dresses acceptably and has an artificial comfort about her in school; people have finally begun to forget the marquee mishap & barb is nothing more than a vague, ominous urban legend which no one would bring up around nancy. in part because it’s taboo, in part, perhaps, because they’ve forgotten nancy even had much to do with barb at all.

[screwthat]

▌ ⁑╰   tag   drop   ∎ ჻ ... .

[screwcool-a]

reframing  :  screwcool .

A  BREAKDOWN  OF  KEY  CONCEPTS   OF  THIS  REBOOT .    don’t  re/blog .

                                                       * NEW  MOTIF  .        ––––––          TO  ROT .

GIRL  NEXT  DOOR .   DOE  -  EYED .    i  am  defined  by  the  bows  in  my  hair  and  the  length  of  my  skirt  and  rigidity  of  my  leg  as  i  lift  it  to  arabesque .  i  am  consistent  of  calloused  feet  &  bruised  shins  but  i  speak  so  softly  and  look  so  sweet  in  tights  and  mary  janes  that  you  could  hardly  tell  how  much  is  on  my  mind  and  how  horrified  i  am  at  the  thought  of  another  recital  another  class  another  family  dinner  another  second  wasted  learning  how  to  keep  my  mouth  shut  and  my  opinions  secret .   i  am  suffocating .   i  am  buried  alive .

CAUTIOUS  REBEL .   i  am  a  cliché .  the  girl  who strives  to  become  more  than  she  is  /  but  i  am  not  sure  what  it  is  that  i  am  except  for  what  others  have  made  me  to  be  and  so  can  i  become  more  than  what  i  don’t  know  i  am ?   can  i  strive  to  be  anything  other  than  REDACTED  .  i  know  what  i  am ,  walls  of  black  marker  crossing  out  words  on  a  document .  i  am  a  girl  interwoven  with  the  falsehood  of  my  government .  i  am ,  inherently ,  more  than  what  others  have  made  me ,  because  by  nature  i  am  unable  to  be  known .  i  have  tried  to  be  someone ,  anyone ,  concrete  and  understandable  ––    EASY   ––   i  have  tried  to  be  someone  else ,  only  by  virtue  of  trying  to  figure  out  who  i  am .  but  i  am  nothing .  i  am  ill - defined .   i  am  difficult .

TO  SET  FIRE  TO  THAT  WHICH  HAS  DESTROYED  MY  HEART .  MY  HOME .  i  walk  around  carrying  alongside  me  a  weight  that  pulls  me  down  towards  a  bitterly  cold  ground  and  begs  me  to  stay  there .  beside  it .  guilty .  you  feel  it ,  that  rot  inside  you .  so  much  of  you  has  died  and  you  hold  that  dead  thing  in  your  arms .  you  sleep  with  it ,  breathe  with  it  ,  live  with  it .  the  deadness  of  your  best  friend ,  of  your  first  love ,  of  your  own  headspace ,  of  your  clarity ,  of  simplicity  &  of  yourself .  there  are  so  many  corpses  clinging  to  your  back .  there  is  so  much  decay  inside  you .     it  has  made  you  angry ,     and  stronger .

                 i .   kindness  turned  to  anger   /      girl  turned  vicious ,  proud  princess  &  rebel  knight .    angry .     ii .   suburbia  /      a  trap .  a  prison .  a  void .  a  black  hole .  something  which  devours  your  heart  and  refuses  to  spit  it  back  up  again .  which  gnaws  at  you  and  leaves  teeth  marks .   iii .  the  life  of  a  doe  /      from  fawn  to  corpse .  wide - eyed  and  gentle  and  at  the  mercy  of  headlights .    iv .   this  house  holds  horrors  /     i  hear  the  floorboards  creak  and  it  is  her .  me .  the  ghost  of  myself .  the  shadows  play  tricks  on  me .  empty  pill  bottles  lining  my  window  sill  and  staring  at  me .  an  audience .  spectators .  i’m  never  alone .    v.   death  /     it  ––  there  ––  unrelenting  ––  unforgiving  ––  without  sympathy .

                  A  STUDY  OF  TERMS  :  DICTIONARY  OF  SUBURBAN  NIGHTMARE  GIRL .

DOE .  the  thing  she  was  before .  the  thing  which  she  is  perceived  as .  representative  of  her  innocence  and  the  image  of  her  as  a  good  girl .

PURITY .  to  strive  for ,  but  unattainable .  something  which  runs  a  parallel  course ,  and  which  she  will  never  taste  of .

NATURE .   that  fire  inside  of  her  which  harbors  a  rebellious  edge /  serrated  and  cutting .

ROT .  the  heart  of  it  /  decaying  soul .  she  died  the  same  night  barbara  did  and  now  lives ,  undead ,  rotting  from  the  inside  out .  waiting .

SNAKE .   i  am  this  &  no  longer  the  doe  /   i  have  made  my  way  from  eve  to  serpent .  i  am  the  thing  which  ushers  in  devastation .  punishment .  grieving .  change . 

[screwcool-a]

reframing  :  the purity of nature .

she  has  been  born  to  a  family  of  plastered  smiles ,  smeared  across  faces  with  gentle  force  as  to  remind  themselves  :   we ,  we,  we ,  we ,  no  i    &    i  represent  this  family .  not  myself .  the  covenant  of  the  wheeler  household  stands  strong  and  towers  over  the  residents  with  its  careful  watch .  YOU  ARE  NOT  YOUR  OWN  &  YOU  HAVE  TO  LEARN  TO  HOLD  YOUR  BREATH ,  YOUR  TONGUE ,  AS  HEAD  HANGS  LOW  BECAUSE  WHAT  YOU  ARE  IS  A  GOOD  GIRL .   ISN’T  THAT  RIGHT ,  NANCY ?

IT  ALL  SEEMS  SO  ARTIFICIAL .  THE  VOCABULARY  WHICH  SURROUNDS  THE  GIRL  WHO  RARELY  IS  ALLOWED  THE  OPPORTUNITY  TO  SPEAK  HER  MIND .              she  stares  out  her   own  window  and  watches  the  branches  of  nearby  trees  spell  it  out  for  her  :  pure .   you ,  baby ,  you  :  pure .  stay .  don’t  let  yourself  wither .    CAREFUL ,      A   FLOWER  LOSES  ITS  ALLURE  WHEN  IT  WILTS .

•   “ princess . ”  the  word’s  a  joke ,  in  more  ways  than  one ,  and  plays  off  the  tongue  of  others  with  a  sick  &  cutting  irony .  it  slices  along  skin  and  grazes  /  uncomfortable  /  ill - boding .   something’s  coming ,  something  horrific ,  it  warns .  the  words  princess ,  good ,  smart ,  pretty  always  felt  like  omens .  TREAD  CAREFUL .  YOUR  FALL  IS  IMMINENT .  and  it  was ,  god ,  it  was   ––––   it  had  been  such  a  long  time  coming .  

an  entry  from  the  diary  of  nancy  r.  wheeler   :      i  woke  up  today  and  saw  my  ballet  shoes  had  gotten  wet  from  sitting  by  the  unclosed  window  all  night  as  it  rained  and  i  woke  up  with  a  fuzzy  head  and  a  stuffy  nose  and  i  ran  to  tell  my  mom  that  i  couldn’t  go  to  my  lesson  today  and  she  told  me  i  was  being  dramatic  and  laid  the  shoes  out  in  front  of  the  fan  and  sat  me  down  at  the  kitchen  table  and  made  me  oatmeal  and  tea  and  told  me  to  just  try  anyway ,  try  anyway ,  try  anyway .  i  didn’t  tell  her  i  left  the  window  open  on  purpose .

•  “  good  girl .  ”   nuclear  family  sits  in  a  circle  at  dinner  and  scrapes  food  around  their  plate  with  idle  boredom .  no  one  speaks  for  a  while ,  and  when  they  do  it’s  to  fill  the  silence .  matriarch  opens  her  mouth  to  talk ,  her  job  being  to  keep  the  family  looking  whole ,  and  talks  about  the  o’leary  girl .  laurie .   SL*T .   she  labels  her .  the  word  resonates  with  the  young  wheeler  girl  :   this  is  the  worst  that  you  can  be .  remember  the  word   /    internalize  it  as  a  knife  wound .  an  arrow  through  the  throat .  that  kind  of  girl .   

MY  MOTHER  SPEAKS  ABOUT  THE  OTHER  GIRLS  IN  MY  GRADE  LIKE  THEY’RE  DOLLS .   IF  THEY  MISSTEP ,  THEY  BECOME  THOSE  GIRLS .  THOSE  GIRLS  ARE  BAD .  I  AM  NOT  THAT  KIND  OF  GIRL .  I  KNOW  THESE  WORDS ,  BECAUSE  I’VE  HEARD  MY  MOTHER  SPEAK  THEM ,  VOICE  LACED  WITH  SUCH  A  DRIPPING  DISDAIN . AND  I  KNOW  THAT  THEY  ARE  WORDS  I  HAVE  TO  REJECT  WITH  AS  MUCH  PASSIONATE  REVOLT  AS  I  CAN  MUSTER .  I  AM  NOT .  I  AM  NOT .   I  AM  NOT  SO  MANY  THINGS ,  I’VE  LOST  COUNT   ––   THINGS  WHICH  I  CANNOT  BE . MY  MOTHER  SPEAKS  ABOUT  THOSE  GIRLS  LIKE  THEIR  NAMES  ARE  CURSED .   (   i  wonder  if  mine ,  too ,  will  be  said  that  way  over  someone  else’s  dining  table  one  day .  )

•  “  purity .  ”                    purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  purity .  THE  WORD  SITS  PRETTY  ON  ITS  PEDESTAL  AND  AS  IT  REPEATS  AND  REPEATS  IT  BECOMES  ABSTRACT  AND  UNLIKE  ITSELF  AND  YOU  WATCH  AS  IT  ASCENDS  FAR  ABOVE  YOU ,  FURTHER  THAN  YOU  CAN  POSSIBLY  REACH  OR  FATHOM ,  AND  YOU  SCRAPE  AT  ITS  TOWER  TRYING  TO  CLIMB  UP  TOWARDS  IT  BUT  ALL  YOU  CAN  DO  IS  KEEP  CLAWING  AND  CLAWING  AND  CLAWING  ––––   you  are  not  pure .  you  have  sought ,  all  of  your  life ,  to  become  it  :  to  be ,  to  at  the  very  least  resemble .  you  wanted  with  such  a  heavy  heart  to  encapsulate  the  softness  of  clouds .  the  fluidity  of  rivers .  the  wistfulness  of  blades  of  grass .  the  delicacy  of  flowers .  

but  the  biggest  lie  you  have  been  told  is  that  nature  is  in  and  of  itself  gentle .  that  it  is  anything  other  than  volatile ,  disgusting ,  and  beautiful .  that  it  gets  angry ,  and  it  mourns ,  and  its  softness  is  edged  by  rough  weather  and  lurking  danger .  you  are  not  of  the  flowers  but  of  the  thorns  &  thistles  &  jagged  stones .   you  are  not  of  the  sky  but  of  the  earth  &  its  soil  &  the  roots  of  the  flowers .  the  purity  of  nature  is  the  rawness  of  its  essence  and  that  is  something  which  you  have  come  to  take  on  in  its  freshest  form .

                             PURITY  IS  A  FORCE - FED  LIE  .

your  mother  has  never  told  you  the  truth  of  who  you  are ,  of  what  you  can  be .  you  are  so  much  more  than  THAT  KIND  OF  GIRL .  pray  &  weep  for  the  other  girls  who  have  been  thrown  to  slaughter  under  the  guise  of  maintaining  the  falsity  of  kind ,  gentle  nature .  strengthen  yourself  for  the  integrity  of  the  girl  you  will  become .

an  entry  from  the  diary  of  nancy  r.  wheeler   :     i  quit  ballet  without  my  mother’s  approval  and  i  promise  i  will  never  go  back  again  i  hate  it  there  i  hate  it  there  i  hate  this  town  i  hate  this  house  i  hate  it

[screwcool-a]

▌ ⁑╰   tag.      drop    /    b*tch    ∎ ჻ (: .