#alchoholism

[madame-helen]

[thenumberfives]

take a swig for all the foamstars out there

[aquato-family-circus]

i think my hcs abt truman's age kinda conflict with other ppl's so i feel like outlining it. take my hand, see my vision

- Truman's born to his mom, Barb, and a dad whom I don't name bc like w/e

- He's around 10 when his Grandma Tia dies and he first meets a 18 to 20-something Uncle Bob at the funeral

- the two interact sporatically over the next 10 years as Bob oscillates between connecting w/Barb again, hanging out with Truman and maybe even babysitting the kid til he's old enough to be at home alone -- or Bob getting drunk, and isolating himself, and Barb/Truman not hearing for him for stretches of time

- When Bob's in his early 30s - Truman, 18-19, he moves away to join some research group in green needle national park

- Truman decides to go visit a few years later and meets all of Bob's little psychic friends, starts getting into the research aspect and decicates the rest of his schooling to psychic-subjects

- The deluge happens when Truman's in his late 20s/early 30s

- so Truman in the current day is in his mid-late 40s ish

[timetravelingthroughspace]

I see now that I was the monster.

I don’t know how to fix that. Fix the past, or assure anyone, or free them of the negativity of all that.

I know only that more self-reflection is necessary to fix me.

There is in me a very hurt, paranoid, manipulative, controlling, insecure, hateful person.

I don’t know what all underlies that. Why I’ve felt that way. I only know that feeling those things isn’t what I wanted.

So I disassociated. Disavowed.

I think alcoholism at some point became the means by which I could “safely” feel those things. I could feel them and forget them.

That seems correct, anyway. It’s difficult to be sure, I just know that the voice of those feelings would speak and write to others in my most blacked out states.

The things I didn’t want to feel I made others feel.

Hangovers were a kind of shell, protection from feeling and recognizing what I’d done.

Unable to recognize what I’d done because doing so threatened to reveal to me what I didn’t wish to feel.

But now I see how that made the world close in around me. I was more in control than I realized. I was the monster terrorizing me.

I hope this is the last time death drives me.

No more psychonautical psychodrama.

No more projection.

I’m so very sorry.

I’m so much closer now than I ever have been.

I hope I won’t fail again.

[glassheartstonesoul]

the way westerners demonize cigarettes but will drink themselves into an early grave like bitch ??? both are bad for u

[schmedterlingfreud]

🏥🩹🍶🍲🖌📓

膵臓がこわれたら、少し生きやすくなりました • My Pancreas Broke But My Life Got Better by Kabi Nagata

[vividviolence]

mfw the cool sideblog name I thought up is taken by some inactive account with zero fucking posts

[theomnicode]

Burden of prophetic sight

I'm checking out our national hymns and shit because it's our national day in 3 days and all of a fucking sudden, I'm punched in the gut about the knowledge of what could have scared Psykos so fucking badly that she refused to talk about and she wanted to stop remembering it and she looked like death warmed over in webcomic.

What would be the worst thing you could see in the future? To you personally and not distantly enough to just ignore if it's too impersonal and wanting to forget it?

What would evoke your survival instincts down to the core in effort to prevent it from happening?

Your own inevitable death and your worst fears.

That is the burden of possessing the ability to see to the future. To see not just your own death, but also the death of everyone else and your loved ones.

She probably saw her own death at Tatsumaki's hands here or Fubuki's death. Or both.

And in the manga...I wonder if it's the same but this time, false memory that were implanted to her head. Or she saw her own demise in the hands of the Tsukuyomi group.

Lady shibabawa died after she had looked into the crystal ball and predicted Earth was in danger, because she took on a cough drop after that and then choked on it, but was still able to write down the prophecy.

Somehow. Not likely.

I think...she made her own prophecy to come true. Or that she wanted to avoid a far worse fate because the prophecy scared her so and she wanted to go out on her own terms because she was already old. She even had assistants around who would've made sure that she'd get help upon seeing she was choking. But that did not apparently happen and they just...let her choke and write her message.

So what is the timeline when she made that prophecy again?

The moment when Saitama realized that he had started caring about potential casualties again. That he would do anything in his power to prevent it from happening.

(haha ominous moon haha)

When the sky was still dark with clouds during daytime.

(Saitama does not consciously even remember Satoru, because he never sees his full face I bet. And Satoru does not remember Saitama back from school because Saitama does not have hair. But the subconscious does.)

(Inb4 Saitama and Satoru used to date too, like Psykos and Fubuki have implied relationship.)

(Purple colour scheme is often used to depict evil in japanese anime, like sasuke's curse mark had evil purple aura on it, but also: "As in the West, purple stands for royalty in Japanese culture. It is also considered the color of warriors, symbolizing strength. Purple flowers are very popular too" So you could say that Saitama gets strenght to protect in that scene from his conviction to care.)

--

I thought of this because my SO shared with me his thoughts about:

Michael Hartnett's poem of Sibelius in Silence.

Irish drunk and disorderly writer writes from Finland and about himself and sibelius at the same time hartnett is Irish but grew up in England, speaks English and never felt welcome among the Irish irish was not his mother tongue Sibelius was a Finn but grew up in Sweden, spoke Swedish, never felt welcome among Finns… both were alcoholics who drank themselves to death and hartnett foresaw his own death and equated it with the death of Sibelius in that poem there's nothing left but hands shaking with drunkenness, no swans of hell, no sketches (luonnotar, virgin of air, this is a wordplay), no compositions

(The black swan of tuonela reference and Saivo-lake, tuonela as concept meaning both heaven/hell, the afterlife)

"vodka ebbs in tremors from my hand" is fucking brilliant that part of yourself that hasn't disappeared yet, no matter how ethereal, you still feel it when it's still there despite everything. OR ether (aether) no matter how puffed up you are, yeah, I'm still there, yeah, hic wakes up at night at odd hours because genius is a burden and inspiration comes at any moment and voila, finlandian magic is just out of thin air OR can't sleep because drunken insanity ruins your sleep completely and solves the problem by pulling out a bottle of Finlandia

Me: or did he get his strength from the concept of finlandia that hasn't left him yet? SO: or the fact that it listens to finlandia, if you think from hartnet's point of view yeah me: what did he want the anthem to represent SO: you can think of it that way but that whole last verse is a double-meaning at the same time that it hasn't lost itself and is still creating art which was true for both of them. and at the same time that he has completely lost himself to alcoholism and is nothing more than that which was also true for both of them fucking brilliant and rough as fuck ;_;

SO: I suppose that being undead there's not much to life, a soul is needed for loving, feeling

Funnily enough, my SO also pointed out that Saitama's dream being a forewarning of Saitama losing himself, things that are important to him and his being when I said that he prolly foresaw the loss of his self and people who were important to him like Genos, is akin to conspiracy theory and ahaha...this personality type has a tendency to get caught up in conspiracy theories.

I mean, I can pull out outrageous meta which sound like conspiracy theories (like this one) out of thin air. Woosh.

Because cognitive bias is seeking out patterns even when there is none. xd

(I swear I'm just doing this for fun and not seeking out if there is a hidden conspiracy theory. I am making up shit though)

--

Unfortunately, how does this relates to Saitama?

Chances are, he has already intuitively foreseen his own death, at some subconscious level. Because he started to care again. Since he knows himself well enough that he would know that if he started to care about people again to the degree that he now cares for Genos, he would sacrifice himself for them, because of his caring nature and not having any self-worth.

(Thanks Murata-sensei, I can now see the tired, dark bottom eyelids that are only more pronounced in versus Garou.)

(Ugh now I'm crying again)

(The wounded healer archetype is to be self-sacrificial.)

Or that he will come to consciously see his own demise/fears at some point, when his third eye that is referenced to exist in the Orochi fight opens.

(I bet we will revisit the demise of Orochi as well....thanks Murata-sensei for the hint...)

Saitama is willfull. But what he is susceptible to doing is chasing dopamine highs and addictions. Adrenaline. Gambling. Spontaneously buying some weird shit. Indulging himself with his favourite foods. Because depressed people often are susceptible to doing that stuff because of dopamine deficiency to get dopamine fix.

Including binge drinking alchohol.

Fate can be changed though, due to intervention. Just like Saitama is intervening on Psykos' fate.

But yea, turning to alchoholism would probably be the way for Saitama to try and forget if say, he somehow accidentally managed to kill Genos, if Genos happened to be say, not in complete control of his faculties. Saitama is motivated to forget all sorts of bad stuff even at the cognitive level.

Or hell, feeling guilt over pushing Genos into being a bloody hero, like how Genos decided to confront Awakened Garou while only being a torso. Or worse, compelling him to be self-sacrificial and heroic because of his divine power.

--

One thing for sure though, Saitama seems to be a person who has the capacity of changing the fate of people around him.

Because conveniently, prophecies can't be trusted. But they sure can become self-fulfilling.

[not-quite-girl-nor-quite-boy]

A/N So suptober day 8, sober. I have no ideas so im just gonna start and see where we get.

Perhaps... weechesters?

Sam-13 dean-17

"Dean!" Sam shouted.

"What sammy? Whaddya want? Im busy." He slurred drunkenly looking up from his beer to sam with blurred vision.

"Are- are you drunk?" Sam asked shocked.

"Yeah sam. Why?" Dean asked too pissed to carr that he should act responsible in front of sammy. He had had another nightmare of that night again. You arent supposed to remeber things from when you are four its not fair. He had to dull the pain somehow and john left a pack of beer and a full bottle of scotch so he did what he raised to believe helped with emotional pain. He drank.

There was no denying that the alcohol had become a part of his life, a part of him. Frankly too big a part, worryingly so.

"What! Sam. What do you want?" He said tesrs building and welling at the banks of his eyelids, the alchohol hadnt helped him conceal his emotions or dull his pain, it just seemed to return the feel of the heat, the roar of the flame, the small weight of baby sammy in his arms, the emptyness inside him when john told him his mom wasnt coming back. It all washed his vision in floods, tsunamis of emotion and duress.

"Are you ok?" Sam asked softly in a little voice, too quiet to lie to.

"No." He whispered honestly letting his tears finally break the surface tension and roll down his face rapidly reaching his chin and hitting his shirt. Sam ran towards him prying the can of beer from his hand before wrapping his brother in a warm embrace. Dean just cried into his brother's shoulder holding tight as if afraid if he let go he would disappear.

"Im sorry sammy. Are you ok? What did you need?" Dean asked, an attmept to compose hismelf dramatically failing.

"Just... my brother back." Sam said smiling his own tears building up just shy of falling, before sam began clinging once more onto dean.

"I know sam. But im just not good enough. I cant be the brother you need. I wish i could." He sighed into Sam's hair, his chin resting on his little brothers shoulder.

"You already are dean. You- you just need to stop, stop the drinking and the hiding your feelings. Im here for you the same way you are for me. Just let me be here, please."

Dean waited silently for a while before agreeing, wanting the best for him. "Ok sammy. I'll be better for you."

"If thats the motivation you need then good." Sam smiled "but you have to stop drinking. Especially since you still arent old enough technically." Dean chuckled at the words of his law abiding brother.

"Ok sammy." He whispered. His grip on sammy was unrelenting, he must have held sammy for hours, just breathing him in and keeping him safe until sam went heavy in his arms and his breathing deepened and levelled.

"Come on then sammy." He whispered picking his baby brother up, just like all those years ago before gingerly laying him down on the bed and covering him neatly with the blanket.

He smiled at the sight of the young boy. 'Yeah.' He thought to himself 'I'lll do it for him'.

5 years later~~

"So, ummm... this is still weird. Sorry feelings arent really my deal but anyway here we are, my name is ted nu- sorry, my name is dean winchester. Ive been sober 5 years. For my little brother mostly but also for myself. Anyway yeah. Im proud, its five years yesterday. Which is fun i have been doing this for half a decade and i still dont know what to do for this personal speech thingy." He chuckled, as did the rest of the sobriety group. When came thre groups inevitable end, he walked out and saw sam sitting on the bench next to the door to the hall, book in his lap and eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

"Hey dean, how'd it go?" Sam asked suddenly looking up into dean's eyes. Dean saw the same little boy he had been seeing in sams place for years.

"Fine thanks. Come on sammy." He smiled.

A/N so, umm. Yeah here is... that, enjoy. Sobriety if you are addicted please get help, there is help out there for you if you need it. 🙏

Hope you had fun <3

[bigfuckingcrab]

Gonna be streaming at 11PM PDT so for any other late night FREAKS out there

Come watch me drink myself to death 🤣🔥🌿🚬✝️🙌

[progrockers]

Yeah Kendricks Swimming Pools (Drank)

[madame-helen]

[remembertheplunge]

March 22, 1995 10:20pm

“John Roster called. “You been drinking, Lewey? You don’t want to end up like me. Two drinking driving convictions. That was a warning Call. He almost convinced me to quit drinking again. I feel physically jammed and achy now as a result of booze, caffeine and work hell. How can I ignore a fellow human’s call in the rainy night? John  said “I know you, because I know me.” Interesting he knows it’s ok to call this late on a rainy night. How did he know it’s ok? Why did I feel warmth at his call?

“A set up to drink” he called my impending San Diego journey. I said “the magic is out of the drink for me.”  He replied “There is no magic in the drink. I grow fatter with each swallow.”

I said “I’m trying to figure out my life.” He said “Don’t stay out too long. I knew it wouldn’t be easy for you.  Why did you go out?" Me “because Sunday was brutal emotionally.”

Monday March 27, 1995

I feel pretty beaten up by alcohol  just now. Good talk with John Roster this evening.. we talked of symbols. Symbolic living to express meaning.  Espresso equals meaning. Martini equals symbol. Probably would feel much peace if I just let go.

End of entries

Note

“Going out” meant to start drinking again. —————————————————————————————————————————

Some thoughts can ritual and symbol:

I believe that the body needs ritual and symbol.

Drinking involves the ritual of the drink along with the symbols of the glass and the bottle. If you can substitute another form of ritual and symbols, the body will release you from alcohol, The body’s need for ritual and symbol having been satisfied. The gym involves ritual and symbol. The ritual of the movement and the symbol of the weight. I drank and trained until finally the drinking left and the training thrived.  My body was satisfied with the ritual and symbol of the gym and it released me from needing to drink alcohol.

[dailyluckae]

Red Fairy

A lantern sat idly on the desk, flickering lazily and dancing freely unaware or perhaps unconcerned with the man who intently watched it.

The bottle's contents sloshed as it was tipped to take a gulp. Out of habit from drinking the bitter liquid, the man clenched his teeth letting out a small hiss, but was otherwise unfazed from the burn as the liquid went down. He then rested his head back onto his arm which was strung across the desk table; his gaze not once leaving the flame.

“Here again are we?” A voice faintly echoed. “You don't think this is going a bit too far? Even for you?”

Another long gulp of the liquid was their only response, the man wiped his chin from the wine dribbling down.

The voice let out a sigh. “If you keep staring at that you'll go blind, then you'll have to wear two eye patches. The knights would never let you live that down.” That elicited a small chuckle from the other. “My, my so the Captain lives.”

Kaeya closed his eye, a smile crept along his lips. “Jean would surely stick me behind a desk. That would be no fun.”

The voice chuckled at that. “She would, so you better not make her worry.”

A tear fell from behind long lashes. When the captain reopened his eye, it landed on the red vision in his outstretched hand watching the glowing orb swish and whirl with the affirmation of life.

“I could say the same for you.”

[thoughtportal]

some sobriety ideas

[cadmar]

Imagination

Every thought that is created within the brain is subjected to the material, 3D world. It is physically based. It is entirely ignited by an emotion, by a chemical that makes you to "feel good", "feel bad", or to feel anything at all. The range of these feelings are from barely noticeable, an everyday, commonality, to the extreme that you obviously notice and sometimes can not even avoid, but to obey and to follow through on these feelings.

As every thought is ignited and triggered by a physical chemical of emotions, what then becomes the next step? Imagination.

Imagination is placing yourself in this desirable situation and pretending either good, pleasurable event will happen, or an awful fear will happen. This pretending of the imagination gives the "cloud", the "color" of your desires. You give it a glow. You are in a fog. You are in its charm, its spell of beauty. The imagination by itself alone gives you pleasure. So, if this gives you pleasure, how much more will the actual experience will be!!

Your imagination has put yourself into this dream, a perfect world! You do not see the world as it really is, but with your imagination, fueled by desires, you become enchanted. It fills your focus completely. Takes you over! Ah, the pursuit of this enchantment! How wonderful it is and will be! This then must be the actual goodness! The bliss of pleasure! The soul of our existence. The purpose and meaning to have these feelings and not the reality and objectivity of our everyday sufferings and pains.

That is the false good, because it ends, and replenishes continually. Of course, we joyfully replenish our imaginations and desires.

The true good never leaves.