#and then depression kicked in hard reminding me how easy i am to replace

[deathbyvalentine]

Bad Memories

(TW for abuse, sexual violence and self-harm.)

One

The moment after she stepped from the concrete and before she hit the water was the longest of any of her lives. The air rushed along her goose-pimpled flesh, making her hair stream upwards. Instinctively she closed her eyes, blocking out the unreality of this world, focusing only on the blackness that enveloped her. And she felt... Relief.

Part of her knew this was not embracing her madness. It was not following her divinity. It was giving in to one of the only parts of ‘Violet’ that were left. The part of her that was small, in pain and scared. The frightened animal, the homeless girl, the statistic waiting to happen. It was her that pushed her forwards, that was hoping that when she inhaled the salt water, it would do nothing but kill her. End it all. Let silence take her. Everything was too loud here. Aggressively grey. The type of mundane that swallows you whole.

What had she looked like? Standing on the wall, arms wrapped around her bare skin, shivering. Nobody had seen her. Or rather - nobody had stopped. No coaxing good samaritan, no creepy dude, no concerned citizen. Did she want to be saved? Or did she just want to be noticed? 

The water was freezing cold and when she hit it, it hurt. Water rushed into her ears, her nose and her throat from the irresistible inhale. It burnt with cold. She couldn’t tell which way lay the shore or which way was up. Some part of her wanted to keep breathing, sinking to the bottom and disappearing under the silt. But then, she didn’t get a say. Someone pushed her, forced her to start kicking, a survival instinct being wrenched from somewhere deep inside, hidden well by self-harm and suicide attempts. It never let her die. 

Her head broke the surface and she gasped, the salt made her throat real raw, like she was breathing broken glass. She might have been crying, it was hard to tell when she was coughing, spitting up sea water. 

And then, a moment later, the clawed hand, reaching for her. For a moment, she wished she could be pulled back under, the decision taken from her, her death somebody else’s fault, for a change, for the first time. 

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Two

You’re not meant to form attachments in therapy. People come and go and you can’t stake your recovery on somebody else. Trauma bonds were not famed for their steady foundations. They were like sand and could slip away from under you at a moment’s notice. Violet reached across the gulf, until their fingers met in the middle. You could only touch if you worked for it. If you wanted it.

Steph was a puker. Violet would sit on the bathroom sinks, one eye on the door as Steph kneeled at the porcelain, uselessly dry heaving. Violet was thin but Steph was thinner, her elbows sharp and her jaw a razorblade. Violet had never seen a razor blade she didn’t love and Steph was no exception. It wasn’t her usual brand of love, obsessive and damaging, more a forest fire than a love. There was no desperate sex, no screaming arguments in the streets, no break ups. They were best friends. Nothing less.

It was Steph that came to talk Violet down when she didn’t know which way was up, that coaxed her out of bed when depression pinned her there, let her scream and rage or cry and cry and cry. Violet sat with Steph through three hour dinners, helped her eat carrot sticks, told her stories when the muscle aches kept her awake far into the night. Much to the chagrin of their doctors, they were inseparable. They ignored all warnings. How could this be anything but wonderful?

She should have known then really. Good things never lasted.

She woke up at three am and Steph’s bed was empty. The ward was quiet. No blaring tv, no laughter, no arguments. It was not peaceful. It was eerie. For a long moment, she wondered if this was one of those days she woke up in another world. It wasn’t always easy to tell. She swung her legs from the bed, feet meeting sticky linoleum and made her way to the corridor. The nurse’s station was silent and still and a sick feeling curled around the bottom of her stomach, weight like lead. The door to the girl’s bathroom was thrown open, spilling sickly yellow light into the blue of the corridor. She could hear something then, whispers like rustling leaves. She slowed her footsteps, turning her own presence into something ghostlike. In the doorframe, a barrier made of white scrubs met her, facing into the room. They didn’t notice quickly enough as she slipped through between them.

It took her a moment to realise what she was seeing. The screws pried from the bottom of the bathroom sinks, now scattered on the floor like confetti for a macabre wedding. The red that sat in thick pools, forming roads in the cracks between tiles. Then the body. And it was a body. It was not her friend. Because her friend was never so still, so unsmilling. Her friend didn’t have deep gauges along her arms. Her friend was not dead.

She didn’t feel it as someone gripped the top of her arms, steering her out of the room and into the corridor, back to the room that tonight would contain only her and nobody else. She went without a fight. She allowed herself to be tucked in as if she was a child. And she stared at the wall, unsleeping, until the room turned light from the rising sun.

_

Three

Violet’s mouth felt like an ashtray. The pulsing in her head, a pneumatic drill. Cautiously, she opened one eye. Immediately wanting to close it, she forced herself to face reality. A choice she regretted as soon as she saw exactly what the reality was. First of all, the reality was the dude laying next to her, still sleeping, still smelling of whiskey and whatever they were smoking last night. The room itself was not better. The wooden floor was devoid of polish. The walls only had the reminder of wallpaper on them, hanging in long strips that reminded her of flypaper. There was no door, not even the illusion of privacy. It had been kicked in and never replaced. After all, who was going to pay for it to be? Not the council, not the tenants and certainly not the cheeky fuckers that used it as a halfway house of meth den and squat. She leaned over Derek? Toby? whoever, to retrieve the joint from the top of a can, lighting it and taking a long drag. On the floor, more sleepers lay, in various stages of undress. Like she was. She stood up, her body suddenly aching in a hundred different places. The crook of her elbow from needles. Her knees from scaling the back wall and landing on them, scraping the skin. Her shoulder from someone’s teeth. Her brow from someone’s fist. She couldn’t even remember others, them cloaked in a chemical haze. One step forward and she flinched back - checking the underside of her foot she found a shard of glass, reluctant to be removed. 

She found a shirt, hers or somebody else’s. She could not find her jeans, not upstairs, not in the bathroom that contained only a bath, not in the living room that had a TV with a smashed in screen and stained carpet. Nor could she find any milk for tea in the kitchen - not that she looked too closely when she opened the fridge and she realised it has been turned off some sometime long before it was emptied. She with more strength than skill managed to pull the bolt across the back door and step into the back garden. It was overgrown, which was exactly what she expected. She just needed to breathe something that wasn’t stagnant air or the deodorant of an unwashed man.

The air was fresh and cold. Her skin shivered into goosebumps and she wiggled her toes against the concrete of the step. The smoke curled upwards towards the sky in delicate ribbons. Inside her head, the Hotel was quiet. It didn’t matter if it was because it was morning or because she had finally managed to drug them into a stupor. For right now, it was just her. 

Just her.

She exhaled in a shaking breath. It was only when it was quiet that you could take stock. She wasn’t quite sure how long this latest binge had went on. Her eyes were sore with smeared make up. Hair thick with smoke and unwashed oil. She had lost her ring, her necklace, apparently her jeans. Bruises felt painted all over her. Inside, those people would wake up and move on, like locusts directly after clearing an entire field of crops. They were careless people. Perhaps that was why she had chosen them. 

As she finished the joint, she heard an odd noise. She stood, brushing grit from her and hunted inside, following the buzzing into the living room and underneath the couch. Wrinkling her nose at the dirt and dead insects, she managed, just about, to retrieve what was now recognisably her phone. She didn’t get up, crouching as she looked at the screen. An ex-boyfriend, probably calling to scream at her about a missing wallet or a fucked best friend. She pressed to decline without much consideration. But kept the phone in her palm, thumb posed questioningly over a contact. Before she could second-guess herself any further, she pressed it, moving her thumb straight to her mouth to chew on a nail anxiously. A receptionist, a waiting tone and then - 

“Hi. Mal? Yeah, no, I’m okay.” She closed her eyes, listening to the voice on the other end. “Yeah. I think..Maybe could I come home now? I know what Zoey said but - oh. Thank you. Yeah, let me just go outside and look at the address.” The voice again and she barked out a laugh, almost surprised at the sound. “Yeah yeah, alright, always a comedian...” It was somehow easier to act okay now she was talking to him, the last reserve of normality able to be wrenched from a store she didn’t know she had. Sounding like your life wasn’t going to absolute shit on a phone was a learnt skill and not one she could always employ. But here it was now, arguably when she needed it least.

___________________________________________________________

Four

Landing in a hospital for a suicide attempt was fine. Landing in hospital because of self-harm, unintended to be a suicide attempt, was just humiliating. The factoring in that she didn’t actually remember if it was herself or someone else who lived in her head rent free and it was officially a clusterfuck. Her arns were stitched back together, cleaned out and bound up type by the sort of nurse she would have no doubt would later be calling her a drain on the national health service. It was very hard not to think that she had a point. 

She wanted to scream. She wanted to rip the ivs out of her arms. She wanted to find a knife and gouge out her own bones, eyes, existence. Cross herself out until she was just a ball of viscera and dead matter. She realised a moment later that she was screaming, even though it hurt her throat, even though it made someone come into her room and whispering soothing words that made no sense, that jumbled up inside her head until it was another language entirely. 

She wanted to be normal. Why couldn’t she just be normal?

_____________________________________________________________

Five

She felt her teeth clack together as she was slammed back against the wall, her head hitting it hard enough that for a moment, her vision swam. It had knocked the breath out of her and she couldn’t even think of anything to scream, say, do. It didn’t matter. His hands were tight around her arms, almost able to wrap his hand around them entirely. There was bruising force. She would have purple fingerprints on her arms to match the ones underneath her jaw from where he had gripped it. That was perhaps where she had made a vital error. He had forced her to look at him, to make eye contact and she had done all she could think of. And spat in his face.

She was regretting it now. His shoulder pressed against her chest as he fumbled with his trousers, muttering something about her being a bitch. She knew how this went. She screwed up her eyes tight, that old childhood belief coming back to her. If she couldn’t see it, it couldn’t hurt her. 

It didn’t work. It never worked. She bit her own lip so hard her mouth filled with the hard tang of her own blood and she swore she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of crying. She managed to keep that promise to herself. It was something she could hold onto, something she could focus on to blank out what was happening to her. One day, she’d forget this promise. A person can only take so much before the idea of pride, of ‘winning’ mattered at all. Before you accepted you were just losing.

And would keep on losing.

_________________________________________________________

Six

She was surrounded in fog. Somewhere, she could hear rushing water, loud and until nothing else could be heard. The fog was not cold. It was not much of anything. It left no moisture on her skin, she did not feel it in her lungs. It simply covered her. She moved slowly within it, never getting anywhere.

She blinked and it was night time. The window in her room showed a sprinkling of streetlights, the softer lights switched on in the corridor. Her mouth felt dry and her fingers didn’t work properly when she reached out for the glass. She knocked it off the small table, sending it tumbling to the floor.

She blinked and it was morning. She was sitting up in bed and the the light was crisp and clear. Someone was checking her pulse, making small talk and marking something on the Chalice Foundation’s clipboard. She gently put her arm around Violet’s shoulders, tilting her forwards to help her drink. And placing a pill on her tongue, bitter and hard to swallow.

Another few moments and the fog rolled over her, dragging her under and under, everything faded out. She tried to claw her way out, to blink free the daze that was descending over her. It didn’t work and she stopped trying. Sometimes you just had to let the tide take you. She wasn’t sure how long she drowned for. But when she woke up, actually woke up, the leaves had turned a beautiful golden colour and had started tumbling to the ground in great waves, settling against any surface that would take it.

____________________________________________________________

Seven

They were talking about her. She had to walk down the corridor naturally. If they knew she had heard them, they would hurt her now, rather than later. Don’t look at them. Don’t think about them. They could hear her thoughts so she had to think of something else. Anything else. Or find a way to keep them out of her head. She got to her room and she closed the door and she blocked it with her desk chair but it wasn’t enough it was never enough they would find a way in so she had to hide.

Underneath the bed was dark and she couldn’t make herself small enough. There was something breathing in the dark, something waiting, something that wanted to gobble her up and break her bones and punish her for all the bad things she had done and thought and thought about doing. Maybe if she got the badness out of her it wouldn’t come so she raked her nails across her skin as much as she could to try and scratch it out but it wasn’t enough it would never be enough.

Someone knocked on her door and it took all she had not to scream but if they heard her scream they would know where she was so she held her breath. There were two people watching her and she didn’t recognise them, they were new and if they were new they were dangerous and they would hurt her and some part of her would always know this and it would spread in her bones and she never forgot not really and neither would Zoey or Wendy or any of the others.

She covered her ears. She closed her eyes. But there were things living in that darkness too. In every darkness. 

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Eight

There were no words for how it smelt. How it felt. The slickness of decomposition. The dead reduced down to liquid and mush and blackness and oh god she was going to drown in bodies. This was how it was going to happen. She could fall in here forever. Zac couldn’t reach her. Victoria couldn’t reach her. This would be it forever. 

She broke the surface a moment later, heavy limbs moving to the side, her blindly reaching out to try and find hands, a surface, anything to drag herself out of the warehouse sized coffin, the bodies of millenia, a fucking metaphysical plague pit. It was in her ears. Her mouth. Her nose. Everything was death and it clung to her and she would never be clean of it, how could she be? You couldn’t wash this off. It would stick. In her mind as well as her body. She could save the world and this still would still exist. This moment. The thing is about time is that it never really ended. And neither would this.

____________________________________________________________

????

The crackling of pain from an injection.  The snapping of bone. A parent turning away. Mal not stopping any of it. A break up because she was broken. On and on.  On and on. On and on.

[ancientbooshartifacts]

Love and Death

Author: Kahvi

Year: 2008

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Moss/Richmond, Moss/Roy

In the darkness of the server room, Richmond leaned against the wall in quiet satisfaction. He liked watching the little lights on the routers as they blinked on and off, red against black. It was like a dance, he thought. A dance macabre? No; he shook his head, that didn't work at all. He really wasn't very good at poetry at all. No wonder they had laughed at him when he went to that open-mike recital last week. Richmond was happy in the server room. Some people might have been surprised to hear a goth admit to happiness, but as Richmond would have reminded them, had they spoken to him on the matter, which they hadn't, that wasn't the way it worked at all. Goths weren't gloomy or depressed, not really. They just liked darkness. And the server room was very dark indeed. Although, in thinking that, it struck Richmond that it was, perhaps, a little too dark tonight. Darker than usual, certainly. A cursory examination of the room – he looked around briefly – revealed the explanation; the lights had been turned off. Richmond frowned. How very odd indeed! Tip-toeing carefully, Richmond made his way to the red door that separated him from the rest of the Reynholm Industries. With his hand on the doorknob, he hesitated, biting his lip. It was so much safer here, in the dark. Leaving the server room meant relating to people; perhaps even talking to them. And while he did enjoy that, really, he had found through bitter experience that it tended to be something of a one-sided affair. It had been so much easier when he'd had a girlfriend – at least he thought that's what she had been. She'd made socializing easy. Before anyone could even attempt to initiate conversation, she would pull him off into the nearest enclosed space and shag his brains out. He hadn't seen her for a while though. In retrospect, he really should have gotten her phone number. Well, there was nothing for it, he supposed. With a slight, nervous cough, Richmond grasped the knob firmly, and twisted it. A little too forcefully as it turned out; his wrist protested in agony, and he grabbed it with his left hand, falling through the doorway with nothing of his accustomed elegance. Thus he emerged into the outer basement, blinking. The lights were off here too; the dull glow of a computer screen the only illumination. It was obscured by something, though... a large, person-shaped sort of... Richmond gasped as he realized that there was someone else in the room. Familiar panic gripped him in its icy claws (icy claws, he thought, that was a good one; he would have to remember that), and he fell back against the door, pressing up against it. For a brief, panicked moment, he considered going back inside, then slapped himself mentally. Then, when that didn't help, he slapped himself physically, yelping as his hand connected painfully with his cheek. The shadow in front of the computer turned, pale light illuminating a face with frowning eyes behind thick glasses. There was a second or two of confused silence, after which the eyes rolled. “Richmond!” Startled to hear his name, Richmond pawed at the door like a frightened animal, until the contours of the shadowy face slowly materialized into something familiar. A name ghosted at the edges of his memory. “Moss?” Moss – yes, that was it, definitely – shook his head in irritation. “My goodness gracious, how you startled me!” He took his glasses off, and pinched the bridge of his nose in what seemed almost a symbolic gesture. Promptly, he replaced the glasses, and folded his arms. “What are you doing here?” Somewhat reassured, Richmond took at tentative step forwards, then shrugged. “Working, I suppose.” He walked a further few steps, inching closer to Moss's desk. The glow of the computer screen was almost like moonlight, or at least how moonlight was supposed to be in old horror films, which Richmond quite enjoyed watching; pale, soft, and blueish tinted. Somehow, it made the room seem more inviting. “Why are the lights all out?” Moss rolled his eyes again, chuckling. “Don't you know what day it is?” Richmond searched his memory. “Monday?” “Easter Monday!” Moss waved a finger in triumph, enunciating each word carefully. “Oh, my sides are splitting! You came into work on a bank holiday, and you didn't even notice that no one was around! that's how pathetic you are.” He kept on chuckling, swiveling back and forth in his chair a little with the momentum. “I can't argue with you there. I didn't see anyone when I got in, but then again, most people try to avoid me, anyway.” Attracted by that lovely glow, Richmond walked all the way over to the desk, and sat down on the edge of it. Moss didn't seem to mind. It was rather nice this. Perhaps he was starting to get a hang of this social interaction thing? He'd known how to do it once, after all. That seemed so long ago now though and, well, things had changed. Moss turned his attention back to the screen, adjusting his glasses. Richmond tried to peek over his shoulder, but all he could see was more of that glow. “Why are you here then?” “I...” Moss swiveled around again, almost colliding with Richmond, who was leaning in close. They both retreated, hurriedly avoiding eye-contact. “Erm... I am on vacation.” “On vacation?” Richmond tried to make himself as small as possible, sitting on the very edge of the desk's corner. “Yes. I was getting a little bored with the routine on my social networking site, so I decided to visit another social networking site. I didn't want to make the move permanently; I'm quite happy where I am, actually; I just felt like a change of scenery for a while. So, I'm spending the weekend...” He angled the screen so that Richmond could see. “Here.” “Oh.” Richmond looked at the site, trying to form an opinion. It would probably help, he thought, if he'd had any sort of idea what a 'social networking site' was. “The colors are nice,” he offered. “All pale and washed out. Like a little kitten, lost in the rain.” Moss turned the screen back, and began to type something. “It's a nice place to visit, but I wouldn't want to live there!” He shuddered a little, as though the thought horrified him. “Why aren't you doing this from home, though?” “I already told you,” Moss said, his eyes not leaving the screen. “No, but...” Richmond frowned. He didn't know a lot about computers, it was true, but he was almost entirely sure about some things. “You could access that just as easily at...” “My mother kicked me out, OK?” The sheer force of the words was enough to knock Richmond off the desk, and onto the floor. When he got to his feet, Moss was standing, his fists clenched, his teeth grit. With the light from the monitor, he made rather an impressive figure. Richmond now noticed the toothbrush that had been stuck into Moss's favorite cup, and the sleeping bag neatly stashed beneath the desk, up against the bin. Not knowing what to say, Richmond blurted out the first words that came into his mind. “You're welcome to stay with me, if you like.” Richmond had moved out of his old flat even before he'd lost his management position, and had to worry about a lower income. It had been far too open and well-lit, with windows everywhere. The memory almost made him a little queasy now. As it turned out, Denholm never did dock his pay. Richmond had no idea why, but it did mean he always had plenty of money left over for importing proper absinthe, which had proved surprisingly expensive. At any rate, he was glad to have his cozy little basement hideaway. “Make yourself at home,” he told Moss, as the latter halted in the doorway, dropping his bags where he stood. Richmond shimmied past him, and headed into the kitchen to put the kettle on. “I don't want any tea,” Moss yelled from the hallway, and Richmond shrugged, adjusting the amount of leaves he was about to put into the pot. “My mother always brings me tea,” he elaborated, when Richmond came back into the front room, where Moss was now seated uneasily on the black imitation-leather couch. “I can't stand it.” “I'm rather partial myself,” Richmond said, noncommittally. “Well, I'm not. It seems to me that a man should have some say in the choice of hot beverages he consumes. It seems to me, there are some things that makes a man a man, and one of them is deciding whether he flipping well wants a cup of earl gray!” “I quite agree,” Richmond mumbled, seating himself on the far edge of the sofa. “Well,” said Moss, somewhat deflated now, “it was about time for me to move out anyway. High time, I'd say.” Richmond crossed one leg carefully over the other, keeping his attention on them. Now and again he threw a wary glance in Moss's direction. He had always been rather good at math, and it seemed to him that Moss was part of an equation that was just not adding up. A variable was missing. “What about...” he concentrated. It was really not so hard to remember names when you spent some time talking to people. Was that how it had used to be? “Roy?” Moss turned his head, sharply. “What about Roy?” “Well, I...” In the kitchen, the kettle sang out in warning, and Richmond excused himself. When he returned, idly worried that the scent from his cup would provoke some violent reaction, Moss's eyes were still on him, silently demanding an explanation. “I... just assumed you were living with him.” “Why would I be living with him?” Richmond looked at the tea. It had nothing to offer in terms of support, but at least the smell of it was somewhat calming. “I just assumed... being a couple...” The cup fell to the floor, and it took Richmond a few seconds to realize why; Moss had pulled his legs up towards him in a jolt that had shaken the entire sofa. He was hugging himself with a terrified expression, pointing an accusing finger in Richmond's general direction. “We're not a couple!” “I'm terribly sorry,” Richmond hastened, wishing, not for the first time, that he still remembered how to handle situations like these, “when did you break up?” “We've never been a couple!” “I'm s...” “I keep telling him he's my wife, but we're not a couple; we've never been a couple – we just spend all our time together, there's no reason we should ever be a couple, whydidyouthinkwe'reacouple?” “I'll get you some absinthe,” Richmond said, firmly. Halfway through his second glass, Moss revealed that Roy was spending Easter in Aspen with his girlfriend, a word pronounced as though it were a virulent new strain of SARS he had just contracted. Apparently, the two had met on some overclocking discussion forum, and Moss seemed to be as perturbed, if not more, that Roy had not invited him to join the forum in question. The girl, it transpired, came from money, and had flown Roy over the moment he could get off work, which was this Friday. The first Moss had heard about it was when he'd shown up at Roy's flat to watch their traditional Good Friday zombie movie, a film which, he explained, getting into his third glass, was still in his jacket pocket. There had been a note on the door, which was now extracted from Moss's trouser pocket for inspection. Richmond picked it up between thumb and forefinger, squinting at it. “'Gone to Aspen, see you later', signed...” Richmond turned the paper over. “He didn't sign it. Perhaps it's not from him?” Moss shook his head. “I called him. He went mental on me, and started rambling on about call charges, and told me not to phone him ever again.” Richmond put the paper down, and started biting a nail. This was definitely beyond the scope of anything he had ever been able to advise people on. Too late, he remembered the polish, swearing under his breath as he extracted the finger from his mouth. Well, he would just have to tell people it was part of his look. Gingerly, he began to scrape a little of the edges of each of his other nails. “That was rather rude of him, I think.” There was no reply. When Richmond looked back over, Moss had picked up a bat-shaped pillow, and was hugging it tightly. Never afraid to state the obvious, Richmond gently took the green-tinted glass from Moss's hand, and put it on the table, before asking; “you're quite upset, aren't you?” “I'm terribly upset.” Moss pounded the pillow impotently. “My whole world is falling apart!” Finishing his own drink, Richmond set it down next to Moss's, then clambered a little closer. Here, in the safety of Richmond's own, comfortably dark flat, hugging a bat, Moss wasn't nearly so intimidating. “It's not as bad as all that, surely. Roy will be back soon, and until he does, you can stay with me.” Moss looked about to reply, staring into Richmond's eyes quizzically. Then he seemed to change his mind, and looked away instead, stubbornly. “I'm not gay, you know.” “So what if you were?” “I've had sex with ladies. Lots of them. Several.” The bat's wings seemed to flutter as Moss shifted his grip on it. Richmond didn't really see what sex had to do with anything, but decided against commenting. Things were clearly going on here that were slightly beyond him. “I've had sex with Jen, even,” Moss lowered his voice, “but we're not supposed to talk about that ever, because it never actually happened.” That, at least, sounded like familiar ground. “I know what that's like,” Richmond sighed. “Anyway, it's not about that. Where am I supposed to live? Who am I supposed to watch zombie films with? Who's going to be my wife?” Richmond watched him fidget for a while, then mumbled, “I'm rather fond of zombie films.” Moss blinked, leaning back a little. “You are?” Richmond nodded. He didn't have a television, but that seemed beside the point. Suddenly exited, Moss scrambled out of the sofa. “Well, what are we waiting for?” Later, Richmond would blame the absinthe, or perhaps wanting to save himself the embarrassment of having Moss find out he didn't have a television set, or even a DVD-player. Not that he was embarrassed about that, but he assumed people generally were supposed to be, and it made for a good excuse for what he did next, which was to grab Moss by his tie and pull him onto his lap. “I'm not sure why I'm doing this,” he explained, feeling it was the polite thing, before dragging Moss's unresisting face even closer, until their lips met. Richmond closed his eyes to avoid Moss's terrified stare, and began to move his lips, softly. It was like trying to kiss a sheet of foam rubber; pliant, but unmoving, and to all appearances non-sentient. With a sigh, Richmond let go. “Look. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have...” But then Moss kissed him back. Though abrupt, it was hesitant, at first. Like the wings of a moth, Richmond noted, adding it to his poetic vocabulary. When Richmond opened his eyes again he saw that Moss's were closed now, in apparent concentration. Presently, a tongue prodded questioningly at Richmond's lips, as if knocking politely. Richmond let it in – he couldn't not, really - and let it explore within at its leisure. Used to his girlfriend's (was she still? He shouldn't be doing this if they were still a couple. Perhaps he could google her, but of course, he never got her full name) frantic pace, this slow deliberation took Richmond's breath away. He breathed noisily thorough his nose as Moss kept at it, and then, feeling something within letting go, Richmond let his own tongue caress Moss's, the two organs entwining like dueling adders. (Adders, Richmond noted, must remember that; they won't laugh at me next week!) Dun-dun-DUN! The dramatic fanfare snapped Richmond back into reality, and Moss off his lap. “Oh my goodness; are you all right?” Richmond fumbled for Moss's flailing hand, and was surprised when, instead, he found himself holding a flat, plastic box. “You idiot,” Moss wailed, “you pressed the speaker button!” “Moss? The voice was so high pitched and exasperated that it took Richmond a moment to realize that it was Roy's. “You've got to help me – I think she followed me!” Scrambling for the phone, which was now in Richmond's confused hands, Moss held his head up to the receiver. “Roy? Roy, is that you? Are you in Aspen?” “No, I'm not in bloody Aspen, I'm at Heathrow!” “What?” “She was sitxy five and completely bonkers; she wanted to strip me down and keep me in a cage!” “What...” Moss snatched the phone away, and Richmond retreated to the relative safety of the end of the sofa. “What are you saying? Where are you? Do you need me to come get you?” There came a burst of static from the phone, followed by what sounded like a sniffle. “I'm at the airport, Moss; I spent all my money on the ticket home. I need you to come get me.” Working one foot into a shoe that had come off somewhere along the way, Moss scrambled to his feet. “I can't hear you Roy; I'm coming to get you. Stay where you are!” Picking up his bags that were still by the door he stopped, suddenly, and straightened, turning towards Richmond. “Thank you for a lovely evening.” “Oh, I'm... it was nothing...” The door slammed shut. Richmond sat in the darkness of his front room, leaning back against the couch. From the other side, the tossed-aside bat pillow gazed at him with red sequined eyes. “Oh, don't look at me like that,” Richmond snapped. He watched the wall for a while, then picked up Moss's unfinished drink, downing it. Then, eventually, he reached for the pillow, pulling it close into a hug. Love was a little like death, he thought. Now there was a line for his poem.

"O! Love! O! Dance Macabre! You steal away fear's icy claw With your adder's kiss I am a kitten In the rain - won't you let Me in? In soft, blue-tinted moonlight You taunt me, Like the wings of a moth Then leave me, Like a blinded bat Helpless On the floor. O! Death! O! Love! I raise my glass to Thee." Heart fluttering, head pounding, Richmond hung his head, then slowly opened his eyes. At first, he didn't think he'd really opened them; the room was so dark. But no; there were the flickers of candlelight at the edge of his vision. He looked up, warily. It was a little... too quiet. The audience looked back at him, expectantly. There were one or two polite almost-coughs. “Erm... that's it.” There came an almost-cough again, followed by scattered outbreaks of half-hearted clapping. Only a charitable optimist would be bold enough to classify it as 'applause', but Richmond was only barely one of those things, and took what he could get. “Thank you,” he mumbled, taking a bow. He and the audience seemed to be caught in an impasse; they didn't quite know how to react, and Richmond didn't quite know how to get off the stage. Only when the next performer came up the side-steps and nudged him gently, did he wake from the trance-like state he'd fallen into. He nodded at the man – long-haired and shifty-eyed, dressed all in black, and stumbled away, ending up in a dark corner at the side of the stage, from the safety of which he watched the polo-necked man clear his throat, nervously. Just for a moment, the man looked right back into Richmond's eyes, as though he recognized him, then shook his head, and held out an arm, dramatically. “Oh, pale, dark-haired, Milky white beauty! Your bright blue eyes, Your hands; like clotted cream...” Richmond sighed, shook his head, and started making his way towards the door. Amateurs!

[zookeep15]

So most people know I am leaving the zoo field.

I know.

It’s crazy.

And right now my life is a whirl of sad thoughts, what ifs, and an overall sense of “why am I doing this?” since my last day is Tuesday. It’s oh so easy to forget the dumpster fire that has led me here when I’ve had a good couple of weeks due to lack of fucks to give anymore.

Well sit tight kids as I drop a truth bomb on the nature of the zoological industry.

First. Let me say that up until about two years ago I LOVED my job. Like head over heels in love with the position. Had very few bad days, grew quickly as a trainer and keeper, and found myself surrounded by people who seemed to share the same enthusiasm I had.

Everything was great. I was living in my “dream job”. That’s right. My DREAM. JOB. The ultimate career. The top of the top. Starting at age 22.

(Hashtag blessed am I right?) *IM NOT RIGHT*

But I started to notice a trend. Over the last few years, I’ve watched person, after person, after person who I have loved and respected pick up their things, close the door and say goodbye (okay some were pushed out the door and some needed a swift kick in the ass out the door but I digress.)

I didn’t get it. How could someone leave this job? It’s a dream right? I was told I was LUCKY to have this job. So lucky that in fact there were twenty more people just like me that could replace me in the blink of an eye. I should be grateful for whatever they give me because I am LUCKY to have this job. There might not be some great things but if I work REALLY hard they’re bound to notice and make those problems and not great things go away right?

*pause for laughter at that naive notion*

I mean sure... the pay is literally the worst considering I’m required to have a four year science degree and two years paid experience to get a part time job at the zoo, and my work environment is a literal and figurative mine field that is exhausting to navigate daily, and my boss is a manipulative micro manager that refuses to listen to any of the staff members, and I spend my entire day manually laboring for 13$ an hour and come home emotionally and physically exhausted so much so that every relationship that I’ve been in has crumbled because I have nothing left to give, and I spend my weekends in a state of depression because I have to catch up on sleep but sleeping too long is bad but I’m so tired and I just cant catch up, and I can’t save money because I’m already living paycheck to paycheck with my parents helping me every month, and I work over a thousand programs a year and no one seems to want to reward that even when you go in and ask for a raise because ten cents IS NOT A FUCKING RAISE and you ask and get told “that’s not in the budget” but hiring two new worthless VPs (to bring that grand total up to 17) whose starting salary is 100 grand is, and you can never actually grow here because even if your supervisor left you’d only make two dollars more an hour and be expected to work ten times harder with more responsibility and have everything get blamed on you, and no one can help you with continuing education or professional development because “it’s not in the budget” but ordering 65$ worth of ceramic “stations” was because they felt like it, and sometimes questionable decisions get made regarding welfare and you can’t say anything at all because youre boss has no interest at all in your opinion if it doesn’t agree with theirs and if you voice that opinion they go talk about you behind your back to other coworkers, and you’re expected to do more, and more, and more, and more and....

Wait a second.

Why does all of that not align with what I want in life? Why is my dream suddenly not what I thought it’d be? Why did everyone tell me “do what you love and you’ll never work a day in your life?” which is absolute bull shit because ITS STILL WORK AND WORK SUCKS SOMETIMES.

What do I love about zoo keeping you might ask? The animals. They’re incredible. Those training breakthroughs? I’d rank it somewhere between eating the best coconut cream pie you’ve had and a decent orgasm. And those programs I get to do? Occasionally there’s one that just reminds me how important it is for kids to see these kinds of things. And I will immediately be the most interesting person in almost any bar I walk into because I am a zookeeper.

But at the end of the day, I’m a 26 year old woman. Who is not making enough money to support herself. Who doesn’t have the time to do the things she loves outside of zookeeping. Who had an identity crisis when she finally decided this is not the dream she dreamed.

So Tuesday. My last day. I’m sad. Of course I’m sad those animals have a piece of my soul forever.

But man am I ready to be able to see my family. To have weekends. To have time off. To make a livable wage. To have a life outside of my job.

I won’t recommend zookeeping to the average person. Because the lifestyle that comes with it is borderline unhealthy if you don’t navigate it perfectly. And I know that might come as a surprise to some people but the zoo field has a serious problem that is not looking to be fixed anytime soon. And so I won’t tell other people to make that their life.

For those that follow me and are zookeepers I have nothing but the utmost respect for you. I would never want you to think that I am shitting all over your job that you continue to love and do. You’re circumstances are hopefully vastly different than mine! I hope your boss is wonderful and treats you with the respect you deserve. I hope your zoo offers livable wages and good cost of living raises. I hope your voice is heard and listened too. And I hope you’re dream stays true to what you thought it’d be! But just know that if the day comes that you find this post to be describing your situation? Don’t panic. You will be alright.

All those thoughts of “you quitter. You failure. You giver-upper of dreams and letdown to all those who say “you have the coolest job ever!”” ARE WRONG.

I’m going to say that again.

THOSE THOUGHTS. ARE. WRONG.

You magnificent human being who chased down their dream of a zookeeper. Who achieved the goal they set out on and grew and learned and prospered. You son of a bitch you did it.

You lived your dream. And hopefully it was a good dream for as long as it could be. And then. Once you achieved your goals. You found another dream. A new horizon. A bigger adventure. You successful, wonderful human being. Life is too short to stand still, afraid to run headfirst down a new path that could end in a cliff, and stay rooted knowing that if you stand still you can’t fall.

Because if you do that, you will never. EVER. fly.

Go fly my friends. Take flight and believe that your life is a wonderful adventure only defined by the limits you put there yourself. Take the leap of faith into the great unknown for what lies on the other side might define your life.

So. Tuesday. May 15th. I’ll see you in the skies.

Thanks for listening tumblr friends (if any of you ACTUALLY made it this far down kudos 🙌🏼🙌🏼🙌🏼)

*end emotional zoo rant that ended in philosophical motivational speaking*

[agnes-knits-blog]

Things I wish I had known about fibromyalgia, and how to live with it

To put this into context, I was diagnosed about 10 or 11 years ago now, and it was a diagnosis reached by excluding other things that could be causing my symptoms. I had X-rays and MRI scans, I had something very unpleasant called electro-conductivity testing to rule out multiple sclerosis, and then I was told that I have fibromyalgia, have this leaflet, please close the door after you. I was basically forced to deal with it myself for a long time, and I’ve learnt quite a lot about how to manage myself. I hope what I learnt can help you.

What is fibromyalgia?

Fibromyalgia means “muscle and nervous pain”. Current research suggests that it is a dysfunction of the central nervous system (that is, the nerves that tell your brain what you’re feeling), so nerve signals are misinterpreted as pain.

Symptoms include, but are not limited to:

Widespread muscular and nervous pain, fatigue, headaches, cognitive dysfunction (problems concentrating, poor memory, slow or confused speech) extreme sensitivity of the skin, extreme sensitivity to pain (as in, you accidentally catch your finger on the cupboard door, it hurts really badly and it still hurts 2+ hours later), muscle stiffness after being still for a while, muscle spasms, poor sleep quality and waking up tired, dizziness and clumsiness, feeling too hot or too cold (because the body isn’t able to regulate it’s temperature) sensations like tingling, numbness, prickling or burning in hands and feet (and maybe other areas), anxiety and depression.

That’s a lot of symptoms, and chances are you don’t get all of them, and other people will be affected differently.

Stress

Stress makes fibro worse. It makes the pain worse, it makes everything harder to cope with. It’s not just me saying that, it is a scientific FACT. I know if I get upset, stressed  or angry, my pain INSTANTLY increases. I can’t watch horror films anymore, every time there’s a jump-scare I feel like I’m being showered with needles! So, it’s really important to try and keep your stress levels down. Find hobbies that help you relax. Choose to be calm and happy! It will really help!

Pain

How you think about your pain needs to change. It isn’t a matter of “powering through” and having to “man up”. If you have fibro, you have something which means your nerves are nearly always screaming at you that stuff hurts. LISTEN to your body when you exercise. If it tells you doing something hurts, slow down how you are doing it. Slow your movements down, focus on how you feel and go gently. If it burns or hurts more than you are prepared to deal with, leave it for the day. Get some rest, take some paracetamol and ibuprofen and relax! If the pain gets too much – as in, can’t eat because feel sick because pain, or can’t walk/do daily tasks anymore, go see your GP about pain relief. It took me 8+ years to find a doctor who took me seriously and understood the condition, and gave me the pain meds I need to function day to day.

My current meds are: 2 x cocodamol (30mg codeine/500mg paracetamol) x 4 times a day. 1 x 100 mg gabapentin twice a day. 1 x 100mg sertraline (anti-depressant) twice a day. 45mg mirtazapine at night. That’s a lot of anti-depressants because I also have Bipolar Disorder (used to be called manic depression). Gabapentin has been an absolute godsend for me! It’s really helped tone down the constant prickly/tingly sensations

Sleep

Sleep is incredibly important. When folks with fibro don’t get enough sleep, or don’t get enough deep sleep, everything hurts so much more. Fibro can disrupt your sleep cycle so you don’t go into the deep sleep your body needs - so SLEEP IS IMPORTANT! If you sleep well, you will be so much more able to deal with everyday pain. So try your best to get a good night’s sleep. Create a bedtime routine – go to bed at a decent time (around 11pm at the latest) after a warm bath or shower. Have some extra-soft pyjamas or loungewear to get into after coming out of the bath or shower. Have a hot (non-caffeinated) drink e.g. herbal tea, hot milk, Horlicks or Ovaltine. Don’t watch TV in bed! Do not spend too much time on tablets, phones etc past 9pm (blue light from screens will make you feel more awake, use a blue light filter if it’s built into your devices).

This may make you feel like an old fogey, but SLEEP IS IMPORTANT! Like, super duper important! And you need to do everything you can to make sure you sleep well. However, and this is the real kick in the teeth, sometimes you can do everything right and still wake up exhausted. If that happens, talk to your GP about medication to help you sleep. There are various anti-depressants that are commonly used for this, like amitriptyline (which I used to take, and my sister takes now), and I am currently on mirtazapine to make me properly sleepy. There’s a happy side effect in that these drugs also help to lessen nervous pain.  

Fatigue

As you will have noticed by now, fatigue isn’t just feeling tired. It’s feeling exhausted, like you haven’t slept for a week, and you can barely do anything before you have to stop. On days like this, you only have a little energy, and you have to be careful how you spend it. Figure out what HAS to be done (e.g. need to do the laundry so you can have clean clothes tomorrow, dishes need to be done because you have nothing to eat off and you are hungry), and what can wait until you’re feeling better (e.g. vacuuming). You can’t do everything at once, so take it one task at a time slowly and at your own pace. Give yourself breaks if you need it. It’s important to cut yourself some slack and allow yourself to come back to it later. Be kind to yourself. Ask for help if you need it. No one wants to see you struggling with something, or in too much pain to cope.

Cognitive dysfunction (a.k.a. fibro-fog)

Some days, your head might feel like it’s been stuffed with hot cotton wool. You can’t think straight, and you can’t find the words to properly express yourself. You will probably forget things that are a change from your normal routine. People may ask you if you’re on any drugs! Unfortunately there’s no treatment for it, but you can find ways to deal with it.

Use a calendar or paper diary – writing things down may help you to remember them better. Make lists of important things WHEN YOU REMEMBER THEM – you can’t rely on yourself to remember them another time. You have to try and leave yourself reminders. Future you is forgetful, so present you has to plan for it! And if you forget something important, be prepared to apologise!

Food

I’m know it’s very tempting, when you’re in pain and tired, to just order some delicious food delivered to your door, but you’re gonna find it very hard to lose weight when you can’t do lots of cardio, so it’s best to eat healthy most of the time. Keep frozen chopped onion and garlic in the freezer, and tinned tomatoes and pasta in the cupboard, so you can knock up a good meal with minimal effort. Try to have a folding stool in the kitchen for you to perch on whilst cooking. Make it easy to eat well, and save the left-overs for lunches!

Exercising

You’ll probably find it very hard to keep exercising like you used to. Try to replace high impact exercise with something low impact like cycling (not spin class!) and rowing. Maybe try something like yoga or pilates (I know, it’s old lady stuff, but it’s still good for you!), low impact stretching and general core work will be good for you.

DON’T do exercise classes where you will get constantly yelled at to go harder. Don’t let other people set your pace! Let your body tell you how fast you can go!

In general, don’t let other people set your pace. Sometimes you will need to go more slowly, if you feel unsafe on your feet (as in, knees might give out and you might deck it, right in the middle of the street) consider getting a stick. It took me years to finally admit that I needed one, but it has seriously helped me. My sister went through the same thing a few months ago, and I told her: it isn’t you admitting defeat or failure, it’s you doing what you need to do to help yourself. Plus she now has something to trip people up with if she doesn’t like them!

And to anyone who says that fibro isn't real, or is all down to lifestyle factors, I say this: me, my sister and my aunt have all been diagnosed with fibro independent of each other. And I have reason to believe other members of my family might be showing symptoms too! There is clearly a big genetic component at play, so blaming people who can't exercise for being overweight is counter productive as fuck.

[thesethingsofours]

Take Your Time

During lockdown, our individual perspectives of time were shaken. If time is subjective, what do we do with it?

© Neal Gruer

Time and space are modes by which we think not conditions in which we live.  — Albert Einstein.

The defining feature of work as a commercial lawyer is not the suit, the intellectual discussion, the clients, the office politics, or the sloshing around of money. It’s something they never show in Suits or The Good Fight: the stopwatch. On every lawyer’s computer, a piece of software (unironically named Carpe Diem) provides rolling timers to be clicked on and off when moving from one task to another. Every moment is accounted for. 

At the end of each day, the minutes and hours are shovelled into a database, where the lawyer writes a detailed narrative for every block of time. The information is then used to build an accurate bill for the clients and to assess how hard each lawyer is working. In an industry where work is charged for by the hour, every minute has an exact, predetermined value; both financially, and how each lawyer is viewed as an employee. Time is quite literally money.

As a lawyer, sometimes, I wished the clock would speed up, desperate for my hours to increase towards my monthly billing target. On other occasions, it whizzed past unstoppably as I strained to meet an imminent deadline or demonstrate my efficiency. Time was rarely a neutral experience. Recording every minute of every day for analysis by my superiors made me extremely sensitive to how I perceived time. Maintaining a balanced temporal mindset in these conditions was a battle; a battle against time — the constantly conspicuous overlord I could never overcome.

Until I did. Sick of stopwatches, after four years I left to follow my passions of photography and writing. Now, when I am freely roaming the streets photographing a new city or pressing pen to paper, I typically lose all concern for time. It still requires my consideration — to finish photographing before nightfall, or ensure I still eat at reasonable intervals in the day — but I am no longer forced to attribute an arbitrary numerical value to it, financial or otherwise. I acknowledge it exists but tend not to think about it. In doing so, my levels of day-to-day contentment have dramatically increased.

In the lockdown spring, this sensitivity towards time was laid bare for all of us — how it passes through us in wildly different ways, how we scrabble for a method to gauge it, and the enormous effect it can have on our emotions. But what can we do about it?

I barely know what day it is.  — Everyone, 2020

Through every lockdown conversation, the above sentiment became a running joke. Days were long, weeks were short, or vice versa. For some, April went extremely quickly, while for others, it felt like an age. In any case, the unifying feature was a sudden discombobulation in the way we perceived time. Under the pandemic’s grasp, our familiar time-markers disintegrated, replaced by an erratic Covid-clock. Outside of Italy, you may have followed how many weeks behind the boot-shaped island your country was from getting a kicking (“Two weeks ’til we reach 1500 deaths a day”). Perhaps your measurement was a lament of absent activities (“This would have been our third day in Istanbul”; “Next Saturday would have been our wedding day”). Alternatively, you may have watched the kilos emerge around your waist like tree rings as you ate yourself towards comfort.

No matter how you compiled your days, the confines of our own, limited perception mean we construct time on the basis of both the individual — how it feels, and the collective — the metronomic hands of the clock. The clock is physics-driven — an objectively agreed approximation of an extremely strenuous concept, variously comprising of the big bang, Einstein, gravity, the speed of light, black holes, entropy, the multiverse and Back to the Future. This idea of time and its relativity to space is difficult to get one’s head around. Perhaps it’s so difficult because arguably, both spiritually and scientifically, time doesn’t exist at all. Instead, there are only sequential events and tangible atomic changes, which we consciously witness and translate into “time”. In that case, “time” is a primitive form of expression — a language for something we have waived our need to fundamentally understand.

Given the challenge of understanding time on that level, most of us simply live based on Earth’s rotation. Other than for a handful of space-travellers, whose time has theoretically bent and slowed, we experience time only as far as it visibly appears in our day-to-day lives: day turns to night, trees grow and shed leaves, skin loosens from taught to wrinkly (unless you’re Rob Lowe). For this reason, we speak of time in the comprehensible terms of three-dimensional, physical space — “the party is after lunch”; “I’ll be there in 10 minutes”. Even then, language and culture have a meaningful effect on how we perceive that spatial construct. Do you characterise time in terms of volume, like the Spaniards (“a full day”); or distance, like the Swedes (“a long day”); or dispense with the linguistic concept entirely, like the Amazonian Amondawa tribe? 

Time as a Feeling

Regardless of our rudimentary attempts to describe time, how it feels remains unique to each of us. Our memories, emotions, habits; body and brain function all play a role in how we perceive it. The feeling of minutes, say, from waiting for a train; hours, from hunger between meals; days, from waking up every morning; months (I daresay) from menstrual cycles; or years, from marking birthdays. In any given moment, a near-innate, biological “pacemaker” and measuring tools honed from our experiences combine to determine how long or short a period of time feels. These sensitive mechanics make our time perception deeply susceptible to external forces:

Time perception, just like vision, is a construction of the brain and is shockingly easy to manipulate experimentally… as subject to illusion as the sense of color is. 

Brain Time, David M Egelman, 2009

To this end, it is well understood that when the brain processes a large amount of information in a short period, such as absorbing a new experience or enduring a traumatic event, we later recall time as having passed more slowly. As children, for whom everything is new, a two-week summer holiday feels endless. For adults, such a break can feel achingly short.

That said, these psychological mechanisms are still subject to each individual’s unique personality and circumstances. For example, loneliness has proved to be a significant factor in slowing people’s sense of time during lockdown, while a greater use of digital devices is likely to have sped it up.

In the latter case, technology disrupts our internal pacemaker and increases our stress levels: if you have an hour to complete a task and it feels like 50 minutes, you’re subconsciously pressurising yourself to do things 20% faster. Even without the ubiquity of digital clocks in the corner of every eye, it stands to reason that our Pavlovian response to bombardment by notifications changes how we digest time. And that’s before you consider how much we outsource memory (a crucial aspect of time perception) to our phones, without understanding the cognitive consequences.

© GlobalWebIndex / Hootsuite / We Are Social

Between Zoom calls, smartphone scrolling, working on a laptop, binging Netflix, repetitive tasks, adaptation to new circumstances and unusual social occurrences, any given lockdown day was liable to speed up or slow down by the hour; further assembling into weeks, which would slip through our fingers or linger indefinitely. Disorientating, yes, but also a valuable reminder that our perception of time is subjective, and therefore something we have a degree of control over.

Take Your Time

While compliance with the clock helps us interact with others and make a living, we should be wary of allowing it too great an influence over how we enjoy or endure our experiences. Frustration from waiting, pressure from deadlines, habitually arriving late or early — all these arise from the way we process time. Finding ways to free yourself from its yoke can be useful, not only in an uncertain era where another challenging lockdown might be just around the corner, but also as we return to more conventional ways of living. A warped perception of time — whether too fast or slow — has been linked to stress, anxiety and depression. Insulating yourself from a fluctuating perception of time serves towards a consistent mental state.

In practical terms, it helps to do any fulfilling or challenging activity with no incantation of time attached: distance yourself from technology, wander aimlessly outdoors, read from a page rather than a screen, thin out your schedule, study something new, write down your thoughts. When you cannot control your activities, mindfulness has been shown to help. Focussing on the present moment hypothetically minimises stimulation of your internal pacemaker; slowing your sense of time and allowing you to relax into whatever you find yourself doing.

Whatever your circumstances or interests, the key is to take your time, to the fullest extent possible. Take life at your own pace, whatever that might be. Avoid the agitation of scoring life based on time achieved or missed. Wind your own clock and be sensitive to what makes it tick. As an ex-stopwatch jockey, I attest to its benefits.

[voltronprompted]

Falling

In which the war is over and the paladins come back to Earth (Voltron is no longer needed)

or

The paladins (and others) come home to find they may have lost their most important thing back on Earth.

Huge disclaimer: Just angst. 

Also, this is just me writing down my ideas as they come so I may or may not actually write this out as a story.

Keith

Honestly, it'd be hard to find something for Keith, maybe a place he frequented or something, idk or he knows that he'll come back to nothing so he doesn't really expect to feel any sort of despair when he just goes back to his shack but he finds it really difficult to even leave the castle once they arrive back on Earth because...well, because when he was on Earth, he was a drop out. He dropped out (or was kicked out, I can't remember for sure) of the Garrison, and after he left the Garrison he had the motive, the curiosity of what that thing (which ended up being the blue lion) was that gave him any real motive and he felt so useful, he felt alive for an actual reason when he became the red paladin, when he was chosen to be the new leader in place of shiro (no matter how much he didn't want it, he still felt like he had a purpose, which was to save the universe from the Galra), even when he joined the Blade of Marmora because for once he felt like he'd finally found where he belonged but now the war is over, the Blade of Marmora no longer are rebelling agains the Galra because they're not a threat anymore, and neither is Voltron so when he stands in the doorway separating him from the grounds of Earth and the clean floors of the castle he hesitates and it takes him so long to finally step out of the castle because oh god I have nothing waiting for me, I know this but I really have nothing waiting for me, no purpose, no reason to live and he just stands there, in front of the castle, not even a foot away, but facing away from it with the most lost look on his face because do I even have a reason to live anymore? The answer is, no, he really doesn't. So, only 3 centimeters away from the castle, he falls to his knees, his face in his hands and he can't stop shaking because the tears won't stop dripping out of his eyes despite him promising himself no, I said I wouldn't cry! before they even arrived on earth because now he really doesn't have anything waiting for him back at earth; no home, no family, and no purpose.

Lance

Lance is easy. He goes home expecting to find the open arms of his family but all he finds are strangers in the place he used to call "home" to tell him that the previous homeowners slowly deteriorated from the loss of their son, the light of their lives, and were officially announced missing approximately a year after his own disappearance and up to this day there are still no leads, not a single one, as to what might have happened to them and that just hurts because he was so excited to just come home and in his mind, on his way to his "home" he'd been thinking about everything he'd tell his family and oh boy I have so much to tell you guys, just you wait! but there's no one to tell these amazing stories to, no one to introduce his amazing friends, new and old, to, there's just no one, there is no one there waiting for me and it hurts it just hurts because ever since the day he'd found Blue all he'd wanted was contact, contact with his family so he could tell them I'm safe, I'm sound, and gosh I have so much, just so many things to say and Lance realizes he's repeating the same thing over and over again even in his head and he can't stop the tears from falling as he just keeps repeating I have so many things to say, I have so much to tell you and at some point he's not even sure if he's thinking it or saying it out loud but it doesn't matter, it doesn't matter who's looking at him weirdly, it doesn't matter who's worriedly-or maybe they weren't worried at all, just annoyed because who ever cared about me anyway?-backing away from him, it just it doesn't matter because even if it did, who would he have to tell? Not his missing family, that's for sure.

Here’s another take on Lance’s loss back on Earth :)

Pidge feat. Matt

Pidge and Matt (unfortunately they were too late for their father, sam) go back home, expecting to surprise their (probably) mourning mother with their open arms and just their existence (surpise, we’re alive! sorry for disappearing without a single word or trace and leaving you worried and thinking you’re alone for over a year!) but they find out she fell into major depression from the loss of her family and either commited suicide or died from broken heart syndrome only a few days ago so their house is still theirs and they can't bring themselves to sell their house because there are just so many things they can’t let go of, not yet, not ever, so they live there but every time they walk down the stairs or they come down to eat breakfast, the smell of familiar food reminds them of their mother's cooking, how she'd always kiss them on their foreheads before they left for work/school regardless of how much they'd protest as they came of age and they just fall into their own kind of depression because if only we could've told her, if only we could've let her know that we're alive, we're safe, that we'll come back, if only we’d come sooner because they both know if they had come just a few days earlier their mother would still be alive, would still be making them breakfast that smells good enough to wake them up from their sleep, would still be giving them her daily forehead pecks before they left and they mourn the loss of their mother who they can't help but feel died because of them, and died thinking only the worst, with no one by her side.

Hunk

Hunk will also be hard, considering there's not much about his background known...since he likes cooking so much, maybe his favorite bakery or restaurant or something is closed down and reconstructing for a different shop or just closed down and the lights are off, the doors are blocked with wood that's been nailed onto it so no one can go in and it's just gone, it's there but it's gone (so close yet so far) and at first it doesn't affect Hunk as much besides the fact that “aw, I used to like eating there...guess I'll have to find a new place" but no matter how many "new places" he goes to it's just, it's just not the same it doesn't taste right, maybe this salad is just a little too sweet or this steak tastes just a little too bland and it's not enough but it's enough to make him reminisce back to when he'd go to that cafe/restaurant to have a nice meal with his friends (Lance and Pidge) after a tough day at the Garrison or just when he'd want to treat himself out or when he's feeling a little down, no especially when he's feeling a little (probably a lot if he's going alone) down the food always was able to cheer him right back up but no it's gone, it's gone now and it won't come back, it's never coming back oh god what have I done? and he knows it's not my fault the place closed down but it feels like it is because he was gone for so long, he wasn't there to protect it, and even if he couldn't, at least he could have been there when it closed down, he could have talked to the owner, asked them for their recipe, something just be right there but he couldn't, he was gone saving the damn universe from the stupid Galra and tears well up in his eyes as he's eating the steak that's just a little too bland because oh god, why me? why me why did the yellow lion have to choose me? and after a moment of crying he sets his fork and knife down, pays for the meal, and leaves with the steak just a little too bland left on his plate, almost looking untouched because he just doesn't have an appetite anymore and he trudges his way home, no Lance to cheer him up with his annoying (but Hunk never thought it was annoying, it was always amusing to watch him try to land one) flirting because he's mourning the disappearance of his family, no Pidge to distract him with her love for the technoligical advancements of the castle because she's still with Matt, trying so desperately not to blame themselves for the death of their mother but they know it's futile because in the end, it really was them that killed their mother, and no Shiro to give him that dad-smile he seems to have no trouble giving his friends when he knows they need a bit of cheering up because he's dealing with his own things, and Hunk realizes oh god, I have no friends, no one cares about me, they've all disappeared...just like the restaurant/cafe did and it takes all of his remaining, yet small amount of, willpower to stop himself from just jumping in front of the fast moving vehicle that zoomed past him because it's just a restaurant, why am I acting like this? There's always a new place but no, there isn't a new place. There is no replacement. It's just gone, and gone is one thing Hunk thinks cooking will never fix.

Shiro

ugh Shiro is hard too bloody hell I mean he's already lost so much the only thing I can think of him mourning is the fact that he doesn't have a home at all to go back to because out of the five of them, he's been gone the longest so not only does he have no family to wait for him (cus most likely he was single when he left for the Kerberos mission and not much is known about his family so it's safe to say they're just out of the picture, gone, nada) and now he also has no home because if anything it's probably been sold to some other family or smth because no one is going to wait 2+ years (let alone one) for a missing man to pay his bills let's be real so he has no family, no home, and honestly, besides the paladins probably no friends so he just mourns for himself, for the lack of a home to go back to, for the lack of open arms waiting for him regardless of who it is, for just being gone for so long that no one remembers him and oh god heartbreak okay nevermind I guess Shiro's is pretty easy to write.

Allura

I can write one for Allura too (if I write for Allura then I am most dEFINITELY writing one for Coran too cus ain't nobody gonna skip out on Coran Coran the gorgeous man) I guess but since Allura isn't from Earth (she's from Altea, duh) and she's already lost everything (except Coran Coran the gorgeous man, which, is really the only reason she was able to remain sane and alive after waking up ten thousand years subsequent to the destruction of her home because in all honestly, if she was left alone, if she woke up to find out she was the only Altean alive, that oh god, not even Coran survived then let's be real, she'd have broken) so I guess the only thing she really has left to lose is Coran and the paladins whom she'll admit she's found a safe spot for them in her heart that she knows nothing will replace and nothing can replace and so when they finally arrive back on Earth after their hard fought war, Allura expects them all to be happy, to go back to their familes with happy tears in their eyes and the last thing she expects is for all of them to look lost, to feel despair, to not know what to do with their lives, to feel so much loss over such an easily replaceable thing but that's exactly what she witnesses happening and she just can't stop the feeling of her heart being ripped out of her skin as she watches Keith just kinda deteriorate in front of the castle, not even able to get 3 centimeters away from the platform, as she watches Lance's face full of excitement, hope, and longing turn into something she could only describe as something her face probably looked like when she found out Altea is gone, her home is gone, her father is gone when he found out his family is nowhere to be found, as she listens to Matt's and Pidge's cries for their lost mother, as she sees hunk's disappointment turn into loss, as she witnesses Shiro's strong demeanor crumble away to reveal the broken man he's become and no matter how much Coran coaxes her, telling her otherwise, she can't help but think it's my fault, it's my fault they're all feeling like this, if only I hadn't forced them into becoming paladins, if only I hadn't told them they're the universe's only hope, if only I wasn't so hung up on my own stupid loss then they wouldn't be like this, they wouldn't feel so lost, so depressed, so gone and her own feet betray her, making her buckle down to her knees despite being a princess who's spent a lot of her life learning about standing up straight and proper manners, no, right now all she can do is cry on her knees in the middle of the lounge of the castle where she can remember all the paladins sitting, relaxed and laughing at their own earthly jokes that she's learned over time, wishing, begging to turn back time so they wouldn't feel the way they all do now.

Coran

Okay well I guess since I made one for Allura I'll have to go on to Coran Coran the gorgeous man...this is gonna be hard considering besides his obnoxious personality (and mustache) I really don’t know much about him but we do know that Lance is his favorite paladin so when they return to Earth he's all excited to meet Lance's family who he's sure are as wonderful and excellent as his favorite paladin is only to find they're not even there and the blue paladin is falling, breaking before his own eyes and he can't bring himself to say anything because what could I say to someone who just lost his entire family? and he thinks it's best that he says nothing because eventually Lance will get over it but Lance doesn't get over it (duh) and if anything Lance falls deeper and deeper into the darkness until eventually he's just not there anymore, he's not dead, no Lance didn't-couldn’t-commit suicide because despite everything he just can't bring himself kill himself because he's so scared even though he feels-or knows-he has every right to, no, every reason to but he just can't, he's just so scared, and that only adds more pain to him and Coran watches this, still keeping his obnoxious mouth shut (for once) because what could I possibly do to make a mourning child feel better? and he can only bring himself to try to be positive, leading him to think that Lance is probably (hopefully) the only one having this much of a hard time so he goes to Allura only to find oh no she's not doing any better than his favorite paladin is because she's blaming, she's blaming herself, she's blamed herself so much that now she is convinced that the fault of the paladins' despair is her fault and no matter how much Coran tries to remind her, no, no dear child, sweet child it is not your fault, please, please stop blaming yourself, please, just please stop crying and when she buckles down to her knees that's when realization hits Coran like a boulder that's fallen off a cliff that no matter how much he tries to lie to himself saying everything will get better with time because bloody hell despite his strongest attempts to ignore it, to just not believe in it time won't solve anything, nothing will get better, and worst of all, it'll just keep getting worse, and worse, and worse...being the oldest adult among them he tries, oh god he tries so hard not to fall with them, because as the adult I must be the helping hand to pull them up and out of this darkness but how can he be the helping hand when he's the one pulling them down? so he stops trying, he stops foldering his own feelings away, he just stops and...well that's it. he stops...really, in this situation what could he really do? though it's been years, Coran has never truly had the time to mourn the loss of Altea, he never truly had the time to mourn the loss of his own family that he knows for a fact perished along with his previous home what with fighting the war against the Galra and all and with it having been past over a year since he'd woken up from that pod and immediately went into fighting stance against his favorite paladin he'd assumed well it's been such a long time, I must have moved on but seeing the paladins, seeing his favorite paladin, seeing Allura broken into a mess-most indubitably the effect of having fallen and landing hard into the darkness-brings back all the grieving he'd missed out on and he begins to think maybe, just maybe if only King Alfor hadn't put me in that pod beside Allura I could have done something to help time figure out the many issues it can not solve and maybe, just maybe, these paladins would not have broken, would not have fallen into this darkness in the first place.

[meditationandlifestyle]

“And when I thought ‘I can’t go on,’ the universe expanded, mother earth hummed and the moon whispered, ‘Yes, you can’.” ~Wicked Words

Heartbreak. The feeling that so many of us would pay big (BIG) money to skip through. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard (and heard myself say), “I just want to skip this part and fast forward to when I feel better.”

I fell in love unexpectedly, but when is it ever expected? I had just gotten through an awful breakup and this perfect man for me fell from the heavens. He made me feel safe, loved, and so happy.

We were so alike sometimes, it was scary! I felt like the luckiest girl in the world. I still had some demons to work through from my previous relationship, and he was nothing but patient with me through it. I finally had my love who also turned out to be my best friend.

He’d call me his “future fiancé” and leave me the sweetest love notes. I thought my heart could explode from feeling so happy.

After some time, the love of my life didn’t want to be in our relationship anymore for various reasons.

This person I thought I was going to marry was sitting next to me on the couch telling me he didn’t want to be with me. He’d rather be alone then be with me. How’s that for a stab at your insecurities?

I felt out of control. I was angry, I tried to negotiate, I cried, I panicked—all the phases of grief. The way I acted, you would think someone was dying, but in fact those who have attachment issues feel like this when someone leaves us—it feels as if someone has died.

We get used to being around this person. Our person, our best friend, our lover who knows us the best is gone, and everything is different. We feel lonely. We feel unworthy.

We feel as if we’re going to go crazy without this person. At one point I was so attached to him that I had several panic attacks over not being able to change his mind. I felt like my world was ending.

I couldn’t understand why this was happening. I later realized I was codependent on my partner (and previous ones). I didn’t know how to be happy without them in my life. This had happened too many times to count, and I was sick of hitting rock bottom every single time.

I remembered how happy I was in my relationship, and I wanted that happiness back and was going to do whatever it took to get it.

After several attempts to convince him to reconsider and being denied multiple times, I fell into a deep depression. I blamed myself for everything that happened and went over every single thing that I did wrong to make him leave.

I remember being in such pain that I would constantly cry on the floor wrapped up in my thoughts; nothing else mattered.

One day, as I was in a state of panic and depression, my family and friends were calling and trying to help me get out of this hole that I had gotten myself into. I heard them, but it wasn’t working. No one could help me, and nothing that anyone could say or do could take my pain away. It was up to me.

I didn’t want to die, but I wanted an escape from the pain. From my mind. I wanted someone else’s life. I would look at other people in the grocery store and think about how normal they looked. If only I could have that, to actually feel normal and have a normal day like everyone else was having.

I felt so alone. Even though many people said they understood, at the time, it didn’t feel it. I constantly asked other people if they could relate. This would help.

I took anxiety medicine just so I could sleep for a while and not think about what was going on. But waking up made it even worse. I would wake up and remember that the love of my life had decided that a life without me was a better one.

After being on the ground multiple times, many phone calls to my ex, and much rejection, I was exhausted. I was out of options and I was tired of feeling out of control, like I was on the verge of losing my mind at any second. I had to make a change. I had to survive. And it was up to me only.

When I was constantly searching for help, I looked for books and articles online that could help me understand myself better and why I kept hitting rock bottom after breakups. I found many insightful things, and my friends and family helped me so much with their wisdom.

Below, I want to share the advice my family and friends gave to me, what resonated with my heart and helped me get through this tough time, and how I not only got back to myself but came back even better.

Know that you are worthy.

When someone leaves us, we feel rejected or abandoned, and we believe it’s because we are unworthy. We believe we are not good enough to be loved, because if we were, our ex would have stayed.

You are worthy before you even take your first breath. Other people’s actions have nothing to do with our worthiness. The most important love we can receive is the love from ourselves. When you are feeling rejected, nurture yourself. Be kind to yourself. Give yourself comfort and love.

Take it hour by hour.

My mom always told me to take it hour by hour. I would tell my friend, I’m going to make it till 9am today and that’s all I’m going to focus on. And I made it. Then I said, next,  I’ll make it till 10am, and I made it. I always lost count when it got close to lunch, and before I knew it the day was over!

When we start thinking too far ahead into the future it can be very overwhelming. I love to plan and control, so this is a tough one for me. But I know when I start feeling anxious, it’s because I’m trying to control the future. This is a time to focus on the present and trust that if you take it day by day, you will get through this.

Remind yourself that you will always be okay.

For me, the worst parts about heartbreak were the panic attacks and anxiety. I would begin to think about the fact that I wasn’t with my person anymore and then ask a bunch of questions that only made me feel worse. Why did they leave me? I won’t survive if they date someone else. What if I’m not okay without them? Before I knew it, I was down in a spiraling hole that made me physically sick.

I had to ask myself what I really feared. It all boiled down to the same theme: that I wouldn’t be okay; that I would feel extreme pain. I wouldn’t be okay because someone wasn’t there? So that meant my well-being and sense of security was dependent on someone?

If my sense of security was dependent on someone else, that meant I would never truly be secure (no matter who was in my life). I would always have to rely on others for my sense of safety. The reality is I am the only person that can make myself feel secure. I will always be there for myself even when no one else is.

One of the best pieces of advice my mom gave me was to create a solid foundation within myself, as she had done. My stepfather said you have to get to the point that no matter what tragedy comes your way, you know you will be okay. So when my panic would begin to kick in, I would breathe and remind myself that I would be okay no matter what happened.

I had a habit of letting my thoughts take over me, so this took practice. After a little time, I felt a solid foundation within me. I felt resilience and strength that would always remain. I knew that whatever life threw my way, I could handle it.

Believe that good will come from this.

When I would begin to spiral into a hole of overthinking and anxiety over what had happened, I would remind myself that this was happening for a reason. This was very hard to take in, but I kept telling myself this wouldn’t be happening unless something great was going to come out of it.

Thinking back to all of the times that I hit rock bottom, I remembered the good that came out of those situations. My best growth came out of those times. Why would this time be any different? I decided that I would end up with the absolute best, no matter what.

Find an outlet for your pain.

I angry write. I scribble and cry, write in big and small letters, write in gibberish, cry more on the pages and then feel super dramatic when I see teardrops falling on the paper. And if I write really horrific things then sometimes I’ll burn them.

What is your outlet for pain? Running? Boxing? Screaming in a pillow? Punching pillows? Dancing it out? Do whatever your heart desires. Having an outlet for your pain will make you feel so much lighter.

Accept love.

During one of my low points after a breakup, one of my good friends painted my nails for me. It was such a loving act that I didn’t even ask for! Every time I would look down at them, I would feel beautiful and be reminded of how amazing my friend was for doing that.

My other good friend brought me dinner one night. What a blessing! Food is one of the things I neglected during my dark moments. In what areas do you feel you neglect yourself? Could a loved one help you with this from time to time?

Change your thoughts, change your mindset.

Notice when you start to think of your ex, memories, the breakup, etc. How are these thoughts making you feel? Notice when you feel sad or mad, it’s mostly because of a thought you had. How do you change this?

We tend to replay what happened during the breakup or memories of the relationship. Switch your thoughts to something that feels better like a good memory you have with your friends, or visualize a dream coming true every time a negative thought comes up. This will replace the negative feeling with something that brings you joy.

Create new habits.

I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard this and finally I can actually vouch for it: It takes thirty days to create a habit! I began practicing yoga and meditation every day. I listened to podcasts and inspiring videos when I got ready in the morning. (Helpful hint: pre-save podcasts, so you don’t waste time searching in the morning).

I never really believed people when they said exercise makes a difference to your mood, but it actually does! And to my hormones too, bless them. Before you know it, these habits become so easy. It will make you feel in control of your life and you’ll feel amazing.

Practice gratitude.

Gratitude has so many benefits. Gratitude helps me when my head is looping with negative thoughts, when my mind chatter is just too much, and when I’m having a pity party.

I like to write down what I am grateful for every day, no matter how tiny or big. It changes your perspective, it puts you in the present, and it changes your energy! A gratitude journal is also great to have. You’ll start to notice so many things about your day that you can look back and smile on.

Date yourself.

This is the best time to learn more about YOU. What do you like? What do you like about yourself? What would you like to improve? What do you like in a partner? What is a deal breaker for you?

How do you act in different situations? What are your thought habits repeating to you? What are some of the activities you do that make you happy right now? What are your dreams? This is your time.

Choose grace.

I don’t know about you, but I am a recovering perfectionist. If I haven’t 100 percent moved on from something, I think I’m not doing enough to get over it. Healing takes time! Give yourself grace because it is the loving thing to do.

Would you keep asking your best friend why she isn’t over her heartbreak yet? No! That would be unloving, she needs grace. Feeling impatient with your progress or beating yourself up? GRACE. Just cried for hours on the couch even though you’ve had two amazing weeks? GRACE. Behaved in a way that you later felt bad about? Those are old habits arising, my friend—GRACE. Even as I write this article, I need to remind myself to have compassion for my healing.

—

Heartbreaks feel like the worst feeling in the world, but they end up being our biggest opportunities for growth. Heartbreaks make us fall in love with ourselves again after hitting rock bottom.

Instead of wanting to “fast forward” out of this time, take it day by day and remember your heart is expanding, your strength is becoming your foundation, your grace is beautiful, and that you have many wonderful things to look forward to.

About Lauren Bolos

Lauren lives in Florida and loves to write in her spare time. She likes to journal & write poetry and fiction. She wants to be able to help others that are going through heartbreak. This is her first article to be published. You can visit her blog at asimplejoy.weebly.com/

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[bnrobertson1]

The Unexpected Tutelage of Cuphead

Lot of Life Knowledge in those cups. 

I am not a fan of horror movies. Sure, I almost always like them when I find myself watching them, but that usually takes a Herculean effort of an enthusiastic friend or a total lack of desire to drudge up an explanation why I don’t want to watch something called Happy Death Day 2U. The reason I don’t like them? Simple- life is terrifying enough as is, and seeing as I don’t like ruminating in fear with my precious free time, the idea of willingly being scared strikes me as preposterous.

While there are some “scary” games like the new Resident Evil*, for me the real parallel to scary movies in the video game world is difficult games. Most current video games are super user-friendly, oftentimes because the software developers want you to see the entirety of the thing they’ve spent hundreds of thousands of hours and hundreds of millions of dollars creating. In other words, they don’t want you to get pissed and bail without showing off what they spent a good chunk of their lives working on. And while I have played video games long enough to be pretty good at them (I’m not), I actually appreciate the lowering of the difficulty bar. Much like scary movies, I usually stray away from difficult games. Why? Again, simple- frustration ain’t welcome in my leisure time. I’m trying to enjoy myself, not get all red-faced and hurl hard plastic as a torrent of never-before-heard profanity gushes out of my mouth because I’m trying to defeat some recluse’s brainchild/ torture device.  

*A stone cold modern classic for the first hour alone

But, many hardcore* gamers find modern games’ user- friendliness/ forgiveness to be insulting to their cheesy-dusted core. Many of this ilk were raised in the original Nintendo-era, where difficulty was praised and games like Ninja Gaiden and Battletoads were designed to be essentially impossible to defeat, thus making it a bragging-worthy accomplishment if you could.   

*Bathe in the irony of me using a pornographic term to describe a gamer 

But, as video games started to expand their audience, many of these Capital G Gamers who loved the feeling of accomplishment that accompanied victory over insanely hard games were kind of forgotten, given “Hard” modes on otherwise easy games to satiate their thirst for difficulty, but that’s about it. After being avoided for what to them must have felt like ions, things finally began to change when games like the rebooted Ninja Gaiden and the fetishized Dark Soul franchises started catering to those who those studs who think replacing l3tt3rs with numb3rs is cool and that the best games are the ones that only those with superhuman focus and tenacity can defeat. 

Enter: Cuphead. A long-in-development indie game that looks like a gorgeously* animated WW 2-era cartoon a la Betty Boop or Woody Woodpecker yet is as difficult as finding a WiFi hotspot during the Great Depression. A simple shooter, the game does an excellent job of drawing you in with its eye-popping looks and catchy soundtrack before it intentionally overwhelms you. Because it’s you, a literal cup of coffee whose only offense is a finger-gun (seriously) and the ability to jump, fighting enemies so large their eyeballs fill the screen. To put it politely, you’re fucked.     

*And buddy, it is one seriously gorgeous game. One of the things that keeps you playing is the desire to see all of the peerless art and monster design    

Again, it’s you:

Versus (that’s you in the little red airplane- everything that’s glowing will kill you instantly, but that’s a good life lesson within itself):

Again, fucked. And that’s one of the earliest bosses. Just about everything on screen kills you, and there are no checkpoints from which you can start over. It often takes several consecutive minutes of flawless playing to even make a dent. But amongst all the gorgeous ass-kicking chaos, the game does something profound on the sly: it gives you hope.

I realize this sounds silly- hope, arguably existence’s sweetest gift, is given by a game where Asperger’s is almost a prerequisite to win? But it’s true. 

At 35, I’m at the age where I doubt that most things can or will change. Sure, shoes look different, the popularity of some philosophies surge then retract, the younger get old who in turn die, but much of life is being reminded that real human change simply does not happen. Socially awkward at 15? Probably won’t be much different at 45. Addictive personality? Better find a healthy outlet because the addictive part probably ain’t going anywhere. Planning on writing the Great American Novel? Drinking like the other millions who tried that is much more likely. Want to pick up a language in your 30s? Maybe an instrument? Good luck, those parts of your brain stopped working while you were cursing at the iPod speaker because it wasn’t playing Master of Puppets loud enough after that gin bucket incident. 

The more life’s inevitable stasis solidifies in the brain, the more harrowing it is- the more dangerous the feeling of defeat and despair become. Grand realizations and epiphanies start feeling like the stuff of fiction. Things perpetually prove pointless, because if you can’t change, what exactly is the point of existence? The one thing you know for sure that does change is our planet’s resources (they dwindle) as we march- or should I say sail- to our doom.  

“Hold it right there, Mr. Goth McDowner,” Cuphead whispers at you after about an hour of play. 

Because not being good at Cuphead is exactly what you should be once you start playing it. Failure is certain. You die all the time. Like within seconds, over and over and over. You’ve got a gnat’s chance against a windshield. Fail. Fail. Fail.  

But while Cuphead first appears to be the masochist’s wet dream, you realize that why everything still overwhelms and doom as is certain as time itself, you’re- somehow- getting better. Slowly, sure. In most instances, you’re not even sure how. It’s almost imperceptible when it isn’t imperceptible. But, sure enough, keep at it, and you will improve.

And that is the direct result of Cuphead’s design. For while it is hard- easily one of the hardest games I actually enjoyed playing- it is never cheap. The game doesn’t want to defeat you with bullshit tactics like games from the 80s. Much like the loving, hardass parents everybody probably needs, It wants you to get better, and is more than willing to kick your ass to get you there. How does it do both? By subtly encouraging you through how it is made. Getting better boils down to two things: sharpening your hand-eye coordination and muscle memory*, and recognizing patterns that start simple but become supremely sophisticated, ranging from the speed of enemies to knowing the exact positions where the 12,000 objects flying at you will miss you by a millipixel. Nothing truly random ever occurs, so you won’t have to bear the true indignity of finding meaning in a game you’ve played for dozens of hours about coffee cups cheap deaths (or cheap wins) just when you’re about to see that sweet, sweet Victory! screen. The game also does something genius when it comes to letting you know you’re progressing: Every time you lose, a timeline appears where you see how close you were to victory. 

*Sorry, A.I., but that one requires practice, which means dying. A lot. 

Plus, it’s just funny to lose to characters from the 30′s who then insult you with Vaudevillian trash talk. None of them have voices, but I like to think they all sound like the Penguin from Adam West’s Batman. 

At first this seems boisterous if not barbaric in the worst possible way- a na na nee boo boo for the Switch generation. It quickly proves to be just the thing you need to see that you are in fact making progress. Yes, it makes some of the frustrations sting a lot more (I was this close). But it also gives you hope (I was this close). It’s the first time I’ve seen such a mechanic in a game, and I will be amazed if it is the last.

Eventually, after you’ve beaten the Robot that has been giving you a headache for the better part of 10 hours, a weird feeling may hit you like it hit me: not accomplishment- although that is most certainly present- but hope. Hope that if you are willing to be persistent, you will get better. Sure, that’s not an guarantee, but one thing is for sure: you can’t improve- in this game, in life- if you quit.  Persistence is the best quality a person can have, as it is pretty much the only one they can control. Why? Because hope- the beautiful thing that makes happy people happy-  is the fruit of persistence. And the truly ingenious thing about Cuphead is that its design encourages such epiphanies. Not bad for $20. 

Does constant failure suck? Speaking as an ad writer and more generally as a person I can tell you from experience that yes it indeed does. It’s humbling. It can be crippling. It’s demoralizing. But if you’re willing to fail with both feet, you will get better. At least sometimes.  And if you don’t, just remember to not chuck your Switch in the lake.

[kendrixtermina]

My Abuser’s been convicted

He’s not going to jail, though he did get a sentence on probation. But he’ll have to spent years working on a remore Island to pay off the fines & debts. It’s as if he were going to jail. 

If weren’t if it was just this, like, he didn’t get convicted for the actual abuse but more a peripheral consequence thereof that came back to bite him. 

My emotions are kind of in a twist over this & how this fits into the moving on with my life. 

TRIGGER WARNING

The Backstory

He’s not being convicted for abuse - indeed, the best thing I can say about him is that he never broke a law. Never left any bruises, never did outright improper touching, kept me fed & provided with material possesions adequate to our overall living standards... and treated all this like it was something he deserved a badge for, or a horrible undue burden I had imposed on him. 

He had so little of a personal connection to him, most of what I know about his life I puzzled together from his few non-horrible relatives and what my mom was told. I never knew he played chess though I took an interest in it in third grade which came to an end over a soul-crushing experience. I didn’t know where he was in the birth order ( Second Born - Which makes some things about how my brother and I were treated and even named very creepy) I only recently found out that his father cheated with & eventually remarried a woman my father’s own age. There’s another thing I can’t disclose for ethical reasons, but, he kept humiliating me in situations related to my mathematics grades till he squeezed all joy out of the subject for me and in the context of what I know it proves that he just never had the slightest shred of empathy for me. 

Well, a parent is supposed to protect their children from their own bad experiences. Not recreate them out of sadism and jealousy. Heck, Im pretty sure he only f***d my mother to breed smart children that would perform well academically, never stopping about how his family is all academics, alternating between calling me stupid & inept, a lazy waste of talent or a person who was “smart but heartless”. I’m nothin but an object to him. He has: 

Threatened that my mom would kill herself if I don’t do his bidding. 

He’s forcibly grabbed me and showed his hand into the cleavage of my dress to supposedly show off to my mother how innapropriate the dress was. 

Expected me to hug & comfort him after spats with my mother. What am I his girlfriend?   

He’s reacted to me being bullied (and once even coerced into undressing by bullies!) by blaming and mocking me. I can still hear him calling me a clown, an embarassment and a “Make-Me-Laugh-Thing” and going on on how I basically couldn’t expect anything else

He called me a “rotten pile of nazi entrails” at age 11 for being unhappy enough to consider running away

He pushed me toward hobbies he liked & then tried to push the same ones onto one of my sisters, essentially “replacing” me post puberty. 

He’s continued to threaten to leave us & replace us with adopted children because we’re supposedly such “ingrates”

. If you cry in front of him, he’d accuse you of “threatre”.

 I’ve heard my mother cry about how his eyes would never sparkle as much for anything related to his family as they did for his job, how she knew he didn’t love her, was afraid he’d leave her without money & only valued her as a baby factory. He tried to push her into adoption & terrorized her children to pressure her.  I’ve come home to constant arguments and objects being thrown around. 

When I graduate from highschool a year ahead, he say there was “nothing to celebrate” because it wasn’t all As & proceeded to humiliate me in front of my siblings. 

He would frequently tell lies about me to my family (Sometimes I have nightmares about this)

He’s been known to throw me me into walls  as a teenager

Once, while he did that, my head very narrowly missed a hard metal radiator. that night, I crept into bed with my mother at the age of 14 because I was so terrified he’d KILL me. Now I know that he never would have, but he kept going on about how everything was dangerous & filled our heads with fear & how we’d kill our siblings if they as much as bumped into hard objects and he said that exact same thing over and over again, “Careful with hitting your heads”. 

I was kept locked & isolated from other children & forbidden from leaving the house or going on school trips/ sllepovers until age 11

Blame me for everything that went wrong in the family (including one time one of  my sisters - then a toddler! -  gave herself a second degree burn. )

Destroyed my favorite toys to terrorize me, repeatedly threatened to kick me out or destroy my computer with all my writing on it

Never read anything I wrote, called it “satanic” and that it was “all lies” because I “knew nothing about people”. Repeatedly shamed me for my introversion & used it against me

called me ugly, crazy, fat, selfish, inept, stupid, a tool, immoral... anything in the book. After a while he noticed that “inept”, “selfish”, “pointlessly rebellious” and “easy to provoke”, as well as terrorizing my mom & siblings hurt the most & weaponized the shit out of it. 

Said I would never get laid & how ugly and unfuckable I am. Yes my own father. 

Once I DID get laid, of course... well, he didn’t use the word slut but he basically called me a slut.

Bisexuality is a phase, liberalism is a phase, atheism is a phase... I am a phase, because apparently, he gets to decide what the real me is that he supposedly “loves” despite repeatedly equating queer people with pedophiles atheists with nazis and sex out of wedlock with degeneracy. 

Tried to have me institutionalized/removed from the family over bogus claims. They ran all possible tests & didn’t find anything, not that I found this out until years later... years that I basically spent resigned that I was some kind of defective mutant freak incapable of bonding with other humans and basically hating myself from ages 9 to 13. (As to how I survived and what happened at age 13, I’ll just say “Art, Sarah and the Internet” and “Neon Genesis Evangelion”, respectively)

The constant condescension, dismissiveness, mockery,  and twisting of my words

Et cetera et cetera; That’s only what I’ve been unable to forget.

Think Humbert Humbert if he liked adult women & had his creepy obsession with procreation instead of youth. The exact same self-serving pretentiousness. That’s him. That’s exactly him. It’s like his throat spits acid instead of words; I used to say that if the happiert person in the room listened to him long enough, they’d end up suicidal. Or, if we go for maximum hipster, this hits the nail on the head:

But very later I have learned

To accept some friends of ridicule

My whole existance is for your amusement

And that is why I’m here with you

To  take me with your eyes

Given how tumblr’s full of  terrible stories of families where sibling bonds were poisoned & people wound up with depression, anxiety or CPTSD I got off pretty fucking lightly with my damn procrastination/self-motivation problem  (by the way a very common result of controlling or stage parents.) that I might be kinda sorta getting a grip on. Helps that I had at least one decent Parent.  

20 years I constantly felt like I was totally replaceable. The man definitely wanted his money back on me, or whatever stepford robot daughter he expected to get when he first put his filthy dick into my mom. 

Every single frustration is his life (that still ended with him being a wealthy, respected Doctor, mind you) he took out on me and the others. But he hated me the most (Though he was pretty shitty to mom and Isabel, too. The others, he simply neglected. Both sucked in its own ways.)

When I was younger, all I wanted with all the inrresponsibe childish stuff I did at times was just for him to get that he HURT me, not for his sake, but my own, to prove that I EXIST have FEELINGs as more than an object basically.

I never wanted his approval or love (I rather had the opposite problem that I felt gross doing thins he might approve of) in fact I felt uneasy around him early on and my first memories of him are of him treating me capriciously and pushing me to be his mini-me. (By contrast my earliest memory of my mom involves songs and  funtime in a garden and her explaining to me what a tulip is), but I guess I thought I had to “win” and prove my reality to him.

 I read up on narcissistic abuse on the web, I saw an university councellor who implored me to move out, but the decision was mine, when I ascertaind my theories so to speak. I realized that it was not that I was explaining badly or failing to be stoic enough, but that he was provoking & playing sadistic games with me. I was talking to someone who was going “lalala” and using everything I said or revealed as a weapon against me. I was just exhausting my energy there, and making my feeling catharsis & justified depending on his fucking aknowledgement. Thee’s no convincing someone who’s actively refusing to hear. 

When I realized that he would rearrange reality to fit is view of being alwys right, saw in full awareness how uch he bent and warped his story to suit his whims no matter what I said, that my revenge fantasies had value of catharsis without having to be implemented in real life, that they were, in fact, wasted on him, I left.

I realized that he was the only one who treated me as worthless and how much my other relatives loved me. I found out that I am perfectly typical specimen of a somewhat uncommon but not altogether outlandish personality type. 

On the occasions that we met, I did my best to ignore and avoid him, and he’d try to force me into interacting with him on the pretense of “politeness” and did the usual “Your bad for not forgiving me” shtick. 

After a while, I reached the point where I could mostly forget about him and not spiral into this blood vessel popping rage every time something reminded me of him. It was nice to not be mocked or yelled at or have new things I liked spoiled by him. I actually lost a bunch of weight just from all the frustration-induced-comfort-food-binging and family-dinner-avoiding-late-night-snacking i was no longer doing. Getting rid of him must have added years to my life.I’m sure moving out added years to my life But I didn’t want to give up on the things he already spoiled & posoned with impossible expectations, so  I was still living with the consequences of what he did to me every day while he wasn’t. 

Sometimes he came up as a logical cause - and nothing will change that not even this new developement - even though I tried & reached a point where im bored of discussing him and just want to forget he exist/ not think about him

So what happened

Well, what happened is really fucking poetic. 

You can’t come up with this shit. 

Sometimes RL writes the best stories and outdoes all fiction, or perhaps fiction authors understand the human condition well enough.

Tax fraud. He’s in trouble for tax fraud. Exept, he frauded no taxes. He pushes all his paperwork, organization and finances off to his wife and has been doing so for years. Can’t even make a bank transaction, never bothered, never lived on his own. Used to call it “traditional family” and “archieving more as an unit” but what it actually is is, he does his job (which he enjoys way more than wife or children) and mom does everything else, including part of his job - not the actual doctorring, but, he ouht to have paid a secretary for everything she’d do. He’d monopolize her for hours to talk job. We had only one parent, except when he came home, then we had zero parents. 

Finances, Parenting, Housekeeping, her own job... all this was done by mom. Lazy bastard never lift a finger, and everyone thinks he’s such a hard worker. He sure does he’d never shut up. 

So, my mom’s sister got struck with horrible disease, going from a hard working single mother to complete invalid in a matter of months. Terrible injustice, because she was a really good person. So, at the same time, the financial crisis hits spain - no jobs or future for her daughters. no help from their father cause he was a serial deadbeat. So, what my mom did was, reevacuate them all to Germany. They have their own place now, one of my cousins is now a nurse & earning her own cash for the family, but, at first, his meant having four extra people living in our house one of which was running up huge medical bills, two girls, my aunt and my grandma, all eating, showering, needing everyday commodities... 

My mom says in hindsight she should have taken a loan but what she ended up doing, perhaps carelessly, was give false numbers on her tax returns. To feed & care for her sick sister and unemployed family members/ now functionally parentless nieces, get the good education and stuff. 

She blames herself a lot more than I blame her; It was kind of a “chaotic good” act IMHO, if there’s a price there’s a price I see they can’t have everybody not paying taxes, but, she did it to FEED HER FAMILY, like, people are more important than money. I believe she was justified there (or I guess that’s my chaotic neutral showing). 

But - She was beating herself up over this & possibly risking the house loans & getting her husband into trouble - it was his money after all, police came & pretty much raided their house for the money, it’s a wealthy Doctor so they think he pocketed the cash for simple ol’ greed and blew it on gold chains or cocaine or something. Nope. He had no clue. (does he ever? He doesn’t know basic shit about any of us.) 

That alone didn’t do it - Instead, I suspect he rather enjoyed his favorite game of playing martyr and my mom, having a conscience, was gonna take full responsibility and accept jail. 

But here’s the kicker: They didn’t buy it. No one would believe that he wasn’t in on it, that he didn’t know what he was doing with his own money. They thought he was blaming his wife to save himself. That he pushed everything onto his wife to the point that he has no clue about his own finances seemed so silly they didn’t buy it. Like many times when I complained about him, his level of jerkass was believed to be too ridiculous to be true - It seemed more likely to them that my mom was simply taking one for the team. Personable, humbly pudgy lady, hardhearted slimey smartass who get lawsuits for being callous to patients before? Who’d you suspect of tax fraud? All the times I heard “Well he’s a doctor and you’re just a crazy little girl” turned upon their head. 

Irony is he’d never do it. And I say that as someone who hates his guts. Same reason he’ll brag about how women dig him and the children he makes but would never actually cheat - He’s too in love with the idea of his own rightheousness. He’s too proud. It’s what his ego is built on. In contrast to his wife, he’s all about them rules wether they’re moral or not. 

And, this is my suspicion because I didn’t wanna pry here, but, I guess he acted like not dumping her over this meant she’d sold him her soul, the usual “ingrate” shtick he pulls whenever he’s displeased- He must have said something outrageous and kellyanne conway levels of reality-bending - 

And mom flipped. At least, she says things happened to make her spill things she’d held back long. I’m not sure if she said this or if he arrived at this on its own, but, he seemed to arrive at the conclusion that this would not have happened if he hadn’t pushed everything onto his wife & actually been there for her. 

As my mom puts it, lots of stuff came together - an ex-co worker conspiring to run out of an old job, me not talking to him, the tax problem... and he couldn’t find a rationalization other than “You’re an animal and there’s a point to what everyone is saying”, and perhaps for the first time, he saw reality. She says it got through to him what he did not me, and by extension what he did wrong with everyone else.  Apparently, things have been rather different since that day.

He’s actually staying out of my way. I don’t have to worry about him inviting himself to my wedding. He’ll be working at the new job he took to collect the money he owes the ministry of finance, but isn’t insisting that my family comes along. So often, he dragged us across the country for his career & took us all away from our friends, but it seems that this time, my sisters get to keep their friends & mom gets to get the new job where she holds a leading position & is well respected. She even said he’d understand if he’s missed that particular train for good. 

Also when little Jana came to visit him, he seemed to actually spend time with her & organize a great & eventful holliday for her. 

  At least, that’s what my mom says. I’m so use to his fake promises of change, his false remorse, and his flashy gestures of ingratiating behavior - How would anyone ever know the difference for sure?

Especially the vacation for the child, he’d dne things like that before (regardless of wether the children actually enjoyed what he’d planned for them), flashy gestures to prove his “goodness”. flimsy words that “everything will be different”. 

I just don’t want to engage with it personally. 

But you know what makes me believe something changed? Because the person telling me this was my mom, speaking in her own voice - It’s not the dictated Voice Of God(TM), his majesty demanding that everyone accept his version of reality or accept the label of a selfish terrible person. 

It’s her own perspective that I’d sometimes hear when she was angry, a perspective that’s more optimistic than mine & wants to see the good in people; She doesn’t agree with me on everything, she still thinks his deeds were the product of ineptitude rather than malice, entitlement and objectification, but, it’s not like I need her to agree with me. 

The difference is still startling. That wasn’t his Paradigm or what I had experienced so far at all, looking at me leaving as a selfih capriciousthing I did to hurt them or he helping my fuckup self out and i better be grateful. 

She told me instead to convey her utmost thanks to the therapist lady and that moving out was one of the best things that ever happened (!!!), that this was super strong, mature & unexpected of me(aparently she and grandma had written me off as the family spinster and liable to set myself on fire besides XD ...Fair enough, actually, there were quite some misadventures ^^°) That she thought I even looked different since then when my facial muscles weren’t all contorted in anger & more of a glow  beingthere (which she attributed largely to my fiancé so far - and sure, he helped. I cannot stress the awesome enough.)

There was a total aknowledgement that I didn’t owe him shit and that the shit of the past justifies my not talking to him, no pressure, no judgement, no hope or expectation that we would ever get along, just - there were more gushy positive things that I can remember right now. I don’t wanna toot my own horn, it’s just what happened. 

And I’m not sure what to do about/with it. 

What now

It’s a strange feeling and I’m still processing it. I’m only now writing  post though I’ve known about it for a few days. I’ve just been doing things, talking to peeps etc....

In true 5 fashion I couldn’t interact with my BF after that and took a long nighttime walk for cooling/processing (I talked to him right after that tho)

It might seem callous - but, I’m unable to feel anything other than callousness towards this person, because else I could not have survived his constant guilt tripping. The dude just activates my eight, if you pardon the typology speak. 

All I feel is “Serves you right.” Serves you right for being two-faced, bit ya in the ass didn’t it?

Because, he spent all this time convincing the world he was this perfect person, and now they all believed him, and there’s no way Mr. Perfect don’t do his own taxes. 

I understand that it is objectively wrong for someone to be convicted of something he didn’t do. Maybe this is a childish idea of vindictiveness or justice, but, at its heart, that’s not what it’s about. It’s just that in a way it’s a validation of my reality and that I wasn’t making him up, things I kept saying... “If you don’t wanna leave him, then let him do his own laundry for a few weeks” 

It’s that it was for years like everyone thought he was perfect and I was the only one who could see his filthy side and now it’s out in the open. I hit him back. I made him understand. I got him to ignore me back/ leave me in peace. I helped my family be treated better - as a child, I had a hard time accepting that I couldn’t do that, that it wasn’t my place and that the last thing my mom needs is someone else asking her to pick sides or telling her what to do. It was a hard, humbling maturation process with ongoing slipups there to, like, detach, and leave it t me siblings & mom what was their business & none of mine and respect their choices. 

I stopped caring about the other things, too, at least, when I left. I didn’t want or expect him to ever aknowledge my world, my perception or feelings. It’s kind of some of the things I wanted once but didn’t want to want anymore and even if I did, it’s all burned & charred and I’ll never be able to show that person the trust necessary for an intimate relation, not after all the lies, fake apologies that couldn’t be bought without accepting that he was right bout everything after all, and all the emotional expressions so far being used as tools to hurt & control me. I still have nothing in common with him nor any reason.

After the conversation, I felt... purged, the awknowledgement that I somehow do have power, but at the other hand, this doesn’t really change anything for me. 

If he changes - great for him. Great for the family members still attached to him. But I don’t care about HIM, I have to care about me because he never did and nothing changed for me. 

The scary shadow that’s embedded itself in my consciousness so much I still hear it after 2 years of avoiding the man (half of which has been spent happily engaged) may no longer have any sort of physical counterpart in reality. 

So what does that mean for me? theres not a real enemy to push against. or there may or may not be it shouldn’t depend on tht. its not like i believe or need to believe in automatic karma

All in all, I have a feeling like World War II just ended and the Americans just arrived. On the one hand the bad guy were punished... not perfectly, but enough, hard enough to make them look pitiful, I’ve survived, but everything is still in ruins and irretriavably decimated. 

I never want to say never because I aknowledge that it is always possible for me to learn - I thought it was unlikely I’d ever get married and even less to a man, but I said it might be possible, and now ive come across this situation and this person where it makes perfect sense and is totally worth it. If I had said “cia, doesn’t fit my profile” the moment he suggested it, I would have missed this. 

Then again, I also hold that conflating  0% sure and 99% sure is one of the great errors of humanity - there is such a thing like reasonable doubt but that does not mean knowing nothing. Knowing almost everything is not knowing nothing. its just a fact of how our universe works sometimes - what is the position & impulse of an electron at any given moment? Can’t say, it’s uncertain to a measurable degree. 

We can’t disprove that there isn’t a big pink sucker on the backside of pluto but we have no reason to suppose it either.

And at that level of certainty,have to say  I would be unable to forgive the man or even feel anything other than hatred toward him if he wore the crown of thorns

I can’t ever trust him & emotionally reveal myself to him, too often has he twisted my words. It’s not about being obsessed with him either - there’s 7 billion peeps on this planet he’s welcome to make friends with im just not one of them. I’m generally not friends with people just for the heck of it. 

I mean, I get it. Mom says she may have been too hesitant to let me go, the counselling lady said something in that direction, I might be biased as her daughter, but, actually, I think she was right in her estimate/ justified in that reluctance, like, I get it, I’m a vaguely shizoid hyperdweeb and peopling is hard for me. Even if this high grade quality snowflake relationship there’s work - as hthere always seems to be, realistically - and don’t have this natural sense for what people expect. 

But though I reserve the right to declare this some premature epiphyny just in case and for personal effort, I’m... and a spent a while debating & deliberately decising the word choice here.... beginning to dare think that I might be able to like, handle that & make peace with it like I’ve made peace with my inner unapologetic  snowflakey emo child back in my teens. 

[bravelittletran]

Hello my name is Luke and I am currently suffering from a depressive episode -- but I am hellbent on kicking its (being this episode) ass. 

So welcome to a lesson in self care. Again, here is the disclaimer that this is dubious advice, your mileage may vary, but this is what I do when I find myself feeling like an amorphous blob of sadness. 

1) Do things little by little - identify a list of things you need to do (and this is not things like “feel better”, but more pragmatic like “get out of bed”, “eat food”, and “do laundry”). Often my episodes are a slow descent throughout the week, so by the weekend, my room is often a disaster and I am decidedly out of work clothes. Instead of beating myself up for this, I cleaned my room for 30 minutes, broken up into two 15 minute chunks. In this time I sorted my laundry that needed to be done. I then briefly went downstairs and ate my leftovers in the fridge and fell asleep for another 3 hours. I didn’t feel great when I woke up, but I felt better, so I brought my laundry downstairs and did a load while I made something for lunch.

2) Prepare meals in advance or identify foods you can prepare easily. I know not everyone can prepare in advance, I by nature prepare several foods in advance for the purpose of making my work week easier. This comes in particularly handy during these episodes. I will often prepare an entire pound of fish, broken into several portioned amounts, for the week. This is what I ate today when I woke up. I cut one of the portions of fish in half, chucked it on some rolls, added cheese, and tada - 500 calories of food with decent nutritional value and I didn’t need to do much. If you can’t prep food, then I recommend identifying easy to make foods. For me, this is often eggs. I will usually have 4 eggs (3 egg whites, one whole egg) and some toast. If you’re having a particularly low energy day -- protein powder or other readily available foods are still great. I was a big fan of meal replacement shakes and bars in college, because I was often too busy to cook, but was trying to maintain a healthy lifestyle. Carnation Instant Breakfast is another great alternative for the sheer purpose of getting nutrients in body. Other favorites of mine have also been greek yogurt, cereal, or just straight up bread. Sometimes any food is better than none at all. On my lowest days I used to do two packets of Carnation Instant Breakfast in twice as much milk - that’s just about 300 calories (or more if you are not a lactose free skim milk guy) in one single food item. More recently I’ve switched to protein powders for the sheer reason that I can use water without sacrificing flavor. You can pick up some cheap brands in your local Wal-Mart (or comparable store).

3) If you do nothing else, change your clothing. I don’t even care if you put on another clean pair of pajamas, I often feel better just changing into something clean. Again, at my lowest, I’ve gone as simple as changing my socks and underwear and then put on the same pajamas I just had on. Back in October, I invested in a multipack of socks (this one to be precise: https://smile.amazon.com/gp/product/B00LU5M1XS/ref=oh_aui_detailpage_o00_s00?ie=UTF8&psc=1) in two different color offerings. I now have 24 pairs of socks (in 12 different colorways, so if I lose one single sock, there’s still another pair that one can match to, so I just juggle my laundry around). It was the best thing I did for my mental health at the time not constantly either having no socks or only having ancient socks with holes in them. I also urge you do to the same with underwear. Old Navy often clearances out their holiday pairs seasonally, so you can often pay as a little as $2 a pair (again, this is a little US-centric, but the advice still stands that seasonal clearance is your friend). 

4) If you can do the thing, do the thing. This thing might vary for you. This thing for me is running. I took up the Couch to 5K program over the summer, fractured my leg in my last week (**EDIT: back in November, as a reminder to adequately care for an injured body as well), and only just started again in week 4 last week. It took me an hour of prep to get ready, but I did realize that despite feeling like I was in a soul sucking vacuum, I could run be active for 31 minutes. It sucked the whole time, but I did it. I’m not going to bullshit and pretend that the sun and running fixed my sad. It did not, but I still feel better for it. Obviously not everyone can do this thing for a number of reasons, but do your thing. This thing doesn’t even have to be exercise. Watch an episode of your favorite show, read part of your favorite book, play your favorite game, listen to your favorite song, call your best friend. Whatever your thing is, if you can do it, do it. If you cannot do the thing - do not beat yourself up, sometimes today is not the day for the thing. 

5) Make hygiene easy. If you can shower, great, do that. If you can’t shower, that’s fine too. Find a level that works for you today. If you can only put on deodorant, do that. Like I said with the clothing, if you can change even just your socks, awesome. If you can brush your teeth, that’s fantastic. If you’re finding these things require too much executive function, go a little easier on yourself. Find a dry shampoo, I bought some for post surgical care and have continued to use it. All it requires is the ability to lift my arm up above my head and comb my hair. I also have a leave in conditioner that is a liquid that just gets spritzed on my head. I also find that when I get in this state, brushing my teeth becomes a challenge. I have an awful gag reflex for some reason and often find the taste of mint off putting (and don’t like the flavors of most commerical toothpaste). I recently invested in Lush’s Toothy Tabs. It was a small holiday indulgence, but I’ve found it’s often easier for me to get motivated to use them when I’m feeling less myself (I think because they provide additional stimulus, and I otherwise feel pretty numb during this part). If this is a problem still, mouthwash is your friend, and it’s helped me feel a little more alive during some of my worst days. 

6) Take your necessary medications. This one is a big one for me. This is hard, but I’d urge everyone to take care of this step even if you’ve gotten to this point and had to choose the lowest functioning option in all the other categories. It takes me a while to remind my sick brain that our medication is here to help (regardless of what it’s treating, in my case it’s daily pills for acid reflux, a handful of supplements that my doctor has approved, and testosterone as a weekly injection). I often find my lowest days come when I need to do my shot. This is a problem, so I’m often finding that I will save my shot for the end of the day on these days. I don’t really have any motivating factor for how, I just do it, because I know I need to. It’s just sometimes easier to do it knowing I can climb right into bed. 

7)  (Optional) Find your motivation somewhere else. This one has been really helpful for me, but is not going to help everyone else. My favorite band is a band called Elbow, they’re from Manchester, England and almost no one has ever heard of them. A few years ago I got my first tattoo the night before I got to see them with my best friend. There was a song off their album I’d never given much attention to, and then I heard it live. He told the story of why he wrote it, and I cried, because I was struggling then and in a lot of pain. This is the song. It stuck with me, because there I was in the very place I had “first lost my balance” (I urge you to actually listen to the lyrics of none of what I was feeling at the time will make sense), in my favorite city, with my favorite person, seeing my favorite band. My life was shit in that moment, but it was a turning point for me. A year later, when my life had improved and I’d “found my feet” again, I tattooed “while I have a breath in me, blood in my veins” over my heart. It has become some sort of mantra for how I live my life, my promise to myself, and to the people I love that I’m going to keep going because I have a reason to. They need me here, and I have a purpose. On my bad days, I’ll keep my hand over my heart whenever I get that nagging feeling that I’m worthless -- because I might not feel it right now, but people need me. Life wouldn’t be better without me. I just need to get through this part. I urge everyone to find their own motivation outside of themselves, because you’re not infallible, you don’t need to do this alone. 

There are probably a million more things I do, but this is really the core of what brings me to the light at the end of the tunnel each time. Depression is never easy, but it doesn’t mean you need to be so hard on yourself. Also, if you’re reading this and you’re still lost -- I am more than willing to be an open, albeit dubious, source of advice and support if you’re dealing with something I didn’t list here. 

[myxoedema-blog]

Wrong Choices

 15/12/2018

I made the wrong choice yesterday. I smoked weed, I drank alcohol and I went out to a club with my friends. After that I texted keith and he came over and we smoked weed and made out and he wanted to fuck me without a condom and I had to stop him repeatedly. We slept together and he set the alarm early and kept ringing and he kept putting on snooze. Eventually I snapped and kicked him the fuck out. He took my fucking charger with him. Also, he kept hinting at how much he loved me and was willing to fight guys for me and shit. Overall I realized that he’s fucking boring and he needs to go. 

I was supposed to stop smoking weed and playing video games. Clearly I didnt stick to the script. Im having a really hard time finding the balance between discipline and flexibility. I never know whether im doing too much or not enough. 

All I want to do is have a good body, make good art, and do good in college. I want to excel at what I do. I want to be hard working, kickass and I want to be recognised. I want to be seen. The road towards becoming that person is tricky and requires some really hard sacrifices. 

The friends I keep around me. I wonder if they’re helping me get to that goal of if they’re holding me back. Am I surrounding myself with the right people? Why does it feel like the only way to get to where I want to be is by shutting people off? I dont want to do that. I want to keep my friends but honestly, I cant afford to do drugs and go out clubbing anymore. It throws me off my game and gives my depression strength. Its fucking hard for me to recover from a night out and its hard for them to understand it.

So, what do I do? Weed cleanse, definitely. Videogame cleanse? I dont know about that, honestly. I really want to learn moderation. I need to stop being so extreme. I have to take things slow and easy for this to work.  

Ok. Ok. Hear me out!!! Lets take a break from video games for these 5 days only. On these days we focus on studying derm & GP summary. (10 pages a day + 1 GP subject. 5 hours total?). I wanna do SOME kind of exercise. Maybe ill go to the Markievicz for a Gym & swim session one or two times. I could ask Sinan out for a squash session? and do some drawing.

I want you to think REPLACEMENTS REPLACEMENTS REPLACEMENTS. Do not quit a habit unless you’re willing to supply yourself with an alternative. You cant just leave yourself hanging. 

OK SO FOR THE NEXT 4 DAYS: 

- Studying. 

- Exercising (2 days)

- Drawing (3 days) 

- Cleaning!! (To fill the time) 

- Planning and re-affirming my goals. JUST KEEP REMINDING YOURSELF OF WHO YOU ARE AND WHAT YOU WANT TO ACHIEVE.

If you feel bored or stuck, either clean or sketch or go out for a walk to clear your head. 

I need to dedicate 2 days of every week as “Feedback days”. Days were I sit down, read everything I wrote on my journal, reflect on past events and make decisions in order to improve my life.

[underthebtree]

I’m a failure as a parent!

Today I WAS going to write a post about being a failure as a parent.  I was in quite the state yesterday, do you know the one?: Furious at both kids– pulling my hair out as everything was going wrong and thinking that I must be the worst parent in the world because:

My kids fight (what feels like) all the time – sniping at each other, hitting, kicking, pinching, biting - terrible behaviour and very shocking - I am a parent to TWO 'of those' kids!

My little one has started to do this to ME now, so he obviously hates me.

They will never co-operate, with each other, or me, and they don’t even try to get along.

They won’t sleep when they are meant to!

They don’t ever pick up after themselves.

They whinge and whine and are obviously terribly unhappy.

I have growled at them more that I would have liked to.

I am grumped at them way more that I should.

I have even hit my child! (accidentally and in self defence – but that does not matter – in my mind that should never have happened)

I am not the person or the parent that I thought I was, or would be.

I have failed.

Even the things that I thought would be NICE to do with kids – cooking, bath times, bed times – are a battle and totally lack enjoyment at times – no don’t hit your brother with the spoon, no don’t put buckwheat grains all over the floor as that hurts when you stand on them, can I please just turn my back for ONE MINUTE without you two hurting each other in some way!?

AGHHHHH!!!!

Feel my impotent rage!  

Expectations not met!

This is NOT the image that I had in mind for parenting AT ALL.  I had romantic notions of awesome bake off’s and splashy splashy fun in the bath – but no – just add kids and the romance goes out of the equation!!

So I assume that it MUST be me – obviously it is my fault – obviously it is either something that I have done OR something that they have inherited from me that is causing this situation!

OBVIOUSLY I am FAILING at this parenting gig – I DO NOT have the Johnson and Johnson kids you see on the side of the Talc powder always smiling, always happy - obviously I am doing something critically wrong here! 

I don’t see anyone else’s children behave like mine NOR do I see any other parent behave and FEEL the way that I do!

So it is obviously me that is getting something wrong, and so I WILL NOT write about this as no one else will understand this – I am alone in this battle – it is just me who has F**ed it all up!!

So instead of writing about all of this, as no one else has this experience,  I just choose to suck it all in – put on the brave face that all is well as god forbid anyone see the cracks – god forbid anyone might see that maybe I don’t enjoy this parenting role as much as I think I should!

Maybe I would be better off in Bora Bora!!

 How could this possibly help?

So instead of writing about it and revealing any of this vulnerability, I will just keep it all inside and not share it with anyone, as how could this possibly help anyone else to share all of my internal workings!?

How would it help for people to know that I find parenting REALLY HARD at times!

That, if I didn’t know how to breathe or walk away, that at times I really feel that I could lose my shit!!

So no, this one is not to be shared, this is to be kept to myself, as this is what you need to do as a parent, just suck it up and move on right!?

 So instead of sharing, what I will do is:

Re-evaluate my expectations

I will choose to take that breathe and remind myself of my expectations – are you really being reasonable with what you are expecting of YOURSELF HERE?

Are you being reasonable with what you are expecting of the children?

How helpful is it to have these expectations when you CAN SEE that what you are expecting is too much!

You are trying to do this on your own, what support do you have? None – you are on your own – so yes this is HARD. Of course you are going to struggle as it is just HARD.

What would happen if I just accepted it was hard, layed down the struggle with this FACT, and just accepted that it was hard and then just chose to get on with it?

What would THAT look like!?

 Give myself some compassion

I remember to have compassion FOR MYSELF here, not just for them, and remind myself that at times it is a struggle and that is painful, and not what I signed up for, and that is understandable!

I remind myself that parenting IS HARD because you have no control, not really, as you are dealing with OTHER PEOPLE and really there is only so much control you have when it comes to others!

So this inherently makes parenting hard – they may or may not do what you want and need them to do – including sleep when they are meant to OR just NOT hit each other for the millionth time that day.

So reminding myself that this is hard right now, and giving myself some compassion really helps me to feel better!

 Then I choose to regroup

So I remind myself that it is NOT like this all the time, even though when in reaction it can FEEL like it is ALWAYS like this - this is not a fact, and in reality my kids ARE HAPPY!

So I replay the mantra – this too shall pass!  It is hard in this moment, but it will pass.

I look to see what could change so that it might be different next time: ok yes I have grumped, that did not work, but is there anything that I could change for next time? Sometimes yes, sometimes no, but mostly there are tweaks that could be made that help me to see a light at the end of the tunnel.

I then choose to admit to the kids – ok mum’s being a grump, sorry about that, not even mummy’s get it right all the time, now let’s do something fun – lets shake it off and come together in a positive way (if possible!) – usually they are up for it, even if it takes some time!!

And then the day goes on – and the casual observer would be none the wiser that we had Mt Vesuvius 10 minutes beforehand!!  Until the next time of course!!

I remind myself that it is so easy to get caught up in the moment, but with ANYTHING, that moment does pass – no matter what it is

THE ONLY CONSTANT IS CHANGE

And that is a fact!!

 This too shall pass

So I rest with this knowledge that it will pass, and it does, my job is to make sure that I myself can move on from the crisis moment – and not get hung up on what happened 10 minutes ago – to just RECOMMIT to getting back on track right now.

And that is a challenge, especially when I have not met my parenting expectations – but then I remind myself that they are probably not even realistic to begin with – and then CHOOSE to let it go as it does not help me in anyway!!

And after doing all of this, I feel infinitely better, such that I can make my way through the day WITHOUT anyone ever knowing that this has happened - no one needs to see the cracks or vulnerability!! WINNING!

 Decision: I will only show the shiny side!

So I won’t share this post because, who wants to reveal all of this ugliness?  Who wants to do THAT?!  I would much prefer people to know that I have my shit together completely and I am WOBBLE FREE!!  Whoot whoot! GO ME!

As that is the goal right – wobble free – no moments of perceived weakness?  No times when we feel so vulnerable and hopeless that we want to just curl up and give in to just how hard it all is!?

So yes, that is the face I will present to the world as THAT is helpful right – show how strong I am by keeping it all to myself - as that is the most helpful to others, and me, right?!.

Show how capable I am by telling no one about the struggles and hardships – ‘stiff upper lip' my way through and show no vulnerability as THAT is what others want to see right?!

Right?

So yep, this one is to stay in the closet as I would hate for people to know that I have vulnerabilities and wobbles!!  That would be ruinous!

 Remember, Bodhi starts with you

Toni-Anne

PS: Competition time!! Super excited to bring you something AWESOME, to be announced tomorrow in the Livestream - so if you are up to win something that I just KNOW you are going to LOVE - and gives EPIC VALUE - then jump on live to be the first to know about it!!

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 Disclaimer:  This information is in no way intended to replace psychological treatment should you be suffering from clinical depression and anxiety and be in need of personalised, individual therapy.  This information can be used as an adjunct to your therapy and you can feel free to raise it with your therapist should you have one.  Consumers access and use the techniques provided for coaching purposes and do so at their own discretion and accept all responsibility upon making this choice.  If you are in any way suicidal, please contact your therapist or emergency support services.