#autism working a mile a minute on this I fear ….. I’m not even in a bad mood I’m very chill right now

[soullessjack]

there’s so much love for how insanely-ruthlessly protective Cas is but the same is never given to jack when he’s the one being insanely ruthless about his family….it’s a cryin’ shame, i say

[x-reader-theater]

A Shakespearean Soliloquy in Two Parts

Relationship: Asexua!Spemcer Reid x Asexual!Male!Reader

Summary: “Men at some time are masters of their fates: The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves, that we are underlings.” William Shakespeare, Julius Ceaser

Warnings: Scool shooting, asexual Spencer Reid and reader, implied autism.

Word Count: 7520 words

A/N: To be frank, I meant to post this at like, three pm. Also Asexual Spencer Reid owns my ass and I will only write him as such. Please enjoy. Edited by the outstanding, amazing, show stopping @mystic-writes​ . I love you please forgive me for forgetting.

"Are you sure/That we are awake? It seems to me/That yet we sleep, we dream" –A Midsummer Night's Dream

"Hey, Shelly," you say with a smile at the small book store you are currently checking out in. "Good to see you again." 

"You as well! Only one book this week?" Shelly asks and you nod. 

"Yeah. I have too much work to do, so I can't focus on more than one book," you say. 

She scans your book and you pay quickly. She hands you the book back and says with a smile, "Enjoy your book!" 

You nod and turn around quickly, taking a step, before colliding with someone. The books in their hands go crashing to the floor, and you do as well, crying out as you land suddenly on your tailbone, and stars flash before your eyes. 

"I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have been that close and I wasn't paying attention, and I should have been looking where I was going and-" you hold up a hand to silence the man who was speaking a mile a minute in front of you. 

"Really, it's okay. It was my fault," you say, wincing as you try and get up. 

The man holds out a hand out and you take it. "I didn't hurt you, did I?" 

He takes his hand back almost immediately once you're standing and you smile. "No, not really. Just bruised my tailbone," you say and the man sighs. 

You lean down and pick up a couple of the books he was carrying, and when you go to the last book, his fingers brush yours. You look up and see your faces are inches from one another, and you feel your face heating up. You see him blush as well and you both pull your hands away. You stand up so he can grab the last book and you shove the books you're holding into his arms. 

"Sorry again!" you say, not looking at him, and you leave because you can’t embarrass yourself any more. 

It isn't until you're in your car that you realize you gave him your book as well. 

"Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love." –Hamlet

You walk into the Alley Cat Café, a new café that just opened a block from your flat that also offered an area where you could hang out with adoptable cats. You never went in there because you would just adopt all of them and you didn't have the time for that right now. 

You walk into the café and the little bell above the door jingles to signal your arrival. You walk up to the counter and order your regular, the Calico Chai, and pay before finding a seat near the back close to the window where you could watch the cats. Your order is called, and as you get up, you look over to a table, and see a very familiar man reading a book at a remarkable speed. 

You distractedly grab your tea and go back to your table, gathering up your things before plopping yourself next to the man. 

"Hello again!" you exclaim and he jumps, looking up from his reading to glare at whoever interrupted him. 

When he locks eyes with you, however, his eyes widen. "Oh! Hello!" he exclaims and a small smile forms on his lips. 

"I think I may have given you my book on Tuesday," you say sheepishly, and his eyes widen even more and his mouth drops open adorably. 

He turns and fishes around in his bag, before turning back to you and holding out a book in both hands. "I've been carrying it around with me hoping to give it back to you," he says, blushing, and you grin, taking the book from his hands, your fingers brushing his. 

"Well, thank you," you say, grabbing the large book. 

"So, the complete works of Shakespeare, huh?" the man asks and you nod. 

"Yeah. I've never actually owned a copy before," you say. "I've only taken it out from the library or borrowed it from friends. I actually wanted to major in Shakespearean studies in college before ultimately deciding to go another way." The man nods, and silence falls over you for a moment before you say, "You know, I never got your name."

"Oh! Doctor Spencer Reid," he says with a wave. 

You wave back and say, "Doctor [Y/N] [L/N]."

"What's your doctorate in?" he asks, excited. 

You reply, "Biological Anthropology. I teach it at Georgetown."

"That's where I got my PHD in Chemistry," Spencer says and you grin. 

"Really? When was that?" you ask. 

"Thirteen years, two months, six days, and seventeen hours ago," he says and you blink owlishly. 

You think for a moment before saying, "You must have been really young when you got that."

He nods. "I was seventeen. It was my second PHD. I have three. One in mathematics, one in chemistry, and one in engineering. I also have five BAs."

You stare at him for a moment, not saying anything, before you whisper, "That's really impressive." You feel your cheeks heat up. "I didn't get my PHD until I was nearly 25."

"I have an IQ of 187, and eidetic memory, and can read 20,000 words a minute," he says and you smile. 

"You're one of a kind, Spencer Reid," you say, holding your book to your chest. "That must have been a very lonely childhood though," you remark, and he looks away from you. He nods but doesn't say anything. "What do you do now?" 

"I'm a profiler with the FBI in their behavioral analysis unit," he explains and you smile. 

"Maybe I'll have you come in and lecture to one of my classes some time," you say and he smiles. "Though Biological Anthropology isn't very exciting to anyone but me…" you look away and scratch the back of your neck, but Spencer assuages your fears. 

"Actually, I find it quite interesting. I read an article the other day about how work stress is actually de-evolving humans, causing their bones to actually lose density, causing them more physical pain and inability to do physical tasks, as well as loss of sleep, appetite, and more," he says, and you grin. 

"But, the study was only on French individuals, and it could have different results based on where the study is done. Like, in Japan for example, there may be the same amount of stress but they handle it better because in their culture, work is just a part of life and you have to deal with stress. Or in America, where we have different ways of dealing with stress that may cloud the findings," you add, and he nods. 

"That is true, though you'd have to factor that into the initial hypothesis and-" 

Spencer is cut off by his phone ringing. He picks it up and the phone call ends quickly. 

"I'm so sorry to have to do this, but I have to go to work. We have a case," he says and you nod in understanding. 

"Of course. It was nice talking to you Spencer. I hope we can talk again some time!" you exclaim. 

A small smile tugs at his lips and he says, "I do too, [Y/N]." 

You stare at each other for a couple moments before he turns around and leaves the café. You sip your now cold tea and realize you didn't get Spencer's number. 

“Our doubts are traitors, and make us lose the good we oft might win, by fearing to attempt." –Measure for Measure

You sit at the bar and nurse your glass of water as the music and lights cause a headache to split at your temples. You groan and massage your head, but it doesn't do anything to relieve the pain. You take another sip of your water, and look up to see a familiar face looking down at you. 

"Co-workers bring you here too?" Spencer asks and you smile and nod. 

"Yeah. It's Fiona's birthday today and she wanted to go to a club," you say, and Spencer sits down next to you. "I got dragged along. And apparently I got a splitting headache too."

"Do you want any help with that?" Spencer asks and you look at him, questioningly. "Turn around." 

You do as he asks, slowly, and you feel his fingers lightly resting on your neck. You wince as he presses into your spine right where your head and neck meet, but after thirty seconds he releases, and your headache dissipates. You grin and turn around. 

"How did you know to do that?" you ask. 

He shrugs. "I had chronic migraines when I was younger, and I read a book on pressure points once," he explains and you nod in understanding. 

"Right. You're a genius," you say with a forced smile and he frowns. You sigh. "You just…" you put a hand on his cheek, and he stiffens for a moment before relaxing into your touch. "You make me feel inferior. Like I'm just never going to do as well as you."

Spencer grabs your hand lightly and squeezes it, putting it away from your face as he looks into your eyes. "Trust me, you have nothing to worry about. You're a doctor working at one of the best schools in the country," he says and you smile. He returns it. "And, don't compare yourself to me. I can read 20,000 words a minute. I'm a freak. You're more normal than I am."

"Spencer Reid, don't you ever say that again!" you exclaim, taking his other hand in your own. "You are not a freak!" He goes to protest but you take one of your hands from his grip and put it over his lips. "Nope. No arguing. What I say is final."

You pull your hand away and you see he's smiling. "Yes, Doctor," he says, his words dripping with sarcasm. 

You grin, before gasping. He looks alarmed as you say, "Oh! I forgot!" he places his hands on your arms. "You didn't give me your number in the café!" 

He sighs in what looks to be relief, before reaching into his pocket and taking out his wallet. "You want to see a magic trick?" 

You nod and he grins an adorable smile that has you grinning as well. He holds up a business card, probably his business card, and moves his hands in front of his face, and when they cross back over, the card is gone. 

"Oh come on! It's behind your hand! I know this trick," you say, and he raises an eyebrow. 

He opens up his fingers and turns his hand around, showing it's nowhere to be seen. Your eyes go wide and your mouth drops slightly in awe. 

"Hey, I think you have something in your hair… right there…" he says, pointing to your left ear, and you reach up before he can touch you. 

You feel something, and when you pull it out in front of you, you see it's Spencer's business card. 

You laugh and flip the card over, checking to see if it's real or not. But it very much is. 

"Wow Spencer, that's amazing!" you exclaim and his cheeks flare red. You take out your phone and put his number in, calling it. He looks up at you and you place your phone to your ear. He picks up and you say with a smile, "There. Now you have my number too."

"This sounds very strange, can I hang up now?" Spencer says out loud, and it's repeated in your ear only moments after. You laugh and nod, and the two of you hang up your phones. 

Almost immediately, his phone starts ringing again, and you put up your hands in innocence. 

"JJ," he says into the receiver, pausing for a moment, before saying quickly, "I'll be right there." He hangs up his phone and places it in his pocket, before saying quickly. "Sorry, that was work. I really have to go."

You smile and nod. "You have a job to do. Go save some lives." He smiles and turns to leave, but you call out, "Spencer!" he turns around and you stand up, lean forward, and place a kiss on his cheek. "For good luck." 

He grins and walks out of the club. You watch as a couple more people file out, and sit back in your seat and finish your water.

"Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. then your love would also change." –Romeo and Juliet

You're flipping through papers when you hear someone call out to you. 

"[Y/N]!" they shout and looking up you see Spencer Reid walking down the hallway towards you, a messenger bag slung around his shoulder. He was wearing something similar to what he was wearing in the club only two nights ago. 

"Case ended early?" you ask and he nods. 

"Yeah. Child abduction. We had less than forty eight hours to get the child back alive since the family didn't report her missing until twenty four hours had passed," he says. 

"And did you? Get the child back alive, I mean," you ask and he nods. You grin.

"Oh, good. So! What are you doing here? You didn't come just to see me, did you?" 

Spencer blushes and you place a hand on his arm. "No, Doctor Priya Chopra wanted my help on an article she's going to write about fungal growth on skin and the potential benefits it could have, as well as any side effects it may cause," he says and you nod. 

"Well, I can show you to her office! She's new so it wouldn't have updated on any maps yet," you say and Spencer nods. 

He stops and you halt in front of him, turning as he says, "Oh! Do you want me to carry any of your papers?" 

You smile and shake your head. "No, it's okay. I'll just have to walk back anyways. My office is in the other direction."

"Oh, I don't want you to have to go out of your way. I can probably find it on my own…" Spencer trails off, looking helplessly at the myriad of plain beige hallways. 

You shake your head and bump your shoulder with his. "Really. It's not a big deal. I want to do this," you say with a smile.  He smiles back and you lead him down a couple hallways, until you stop at a door with a nameplate that reads, 'Dr. Priya Chopra, PHD'.

"Well, this is your stop," you say, almost sad with a slight slump to your shoulders. "With that eidetic memory of yours, I don't think you need me to show you around anymore."

Spencer places a hand on the small of your back and points at the paperwork in your arms. "You look like you could use a little help. How about I come by after my talk with Doctor Chopra? I know where your office is," he says and you grin. 

"I would love that, Spencer," you say, and watch him until he disappears behind Doctor Chopra's door. 

"One may smile, and smile, and be a villain." –Hamlet

You hear a knock at your door and you look up from your work to see a familiar head pop out from behind the door. You grin and say, "Parker! It's good to see you again! Come in." 

The young man with dark circles under his eyes slowly walks into your office, he wrings his hands out in front of him, and sits down in the chair across from yours. He slowly takes his backpack off and reaches in, pulling out a grey folder. The movements were slow and methodical, but you can see the young man's hands shaking slightly as he does so. Finally, he pulls out a stapled stack of papers and holds it out to you. 

You take it carefully and frown, looking it over. It was one of his essays that you just gave back a couple days ago with a big red 'F' on the front. 

"Why did you fail me?" Parker whispers and you sigh. 

You lean back in your chair, folding your fingers on your stomach as you say, "Your essay is all over the place. There isn't a coherent theme or message in any of it. Also, you should really find someone to help edit your grammar at least. You have misspellings and incorrect comma usage all over the place, Parker." The man in question looks down away from you and you sigh again, this time louder and lean forward onto your desk. "How about this. Go to the writing center on campus, find someone to help plan out your essay, and if you do a good job, I'll bump up your score to at least a B, if not more if you do really well, okay?" 

Parker looks up at you and gives you a toothy, forced smile, almost as if he doesn't smile much in his life, and says, "Thank you, Mr. [Y/N]."

You smile and nod, handing the paper back to him, and just as someone knocks at your door, he gets up. 

Opening the door, Parker comes face to face with Doctor Gerard Holden, professor of microbiology at Georgetown, and the man looks shocked for a moment before steeling his expression and saying over Parker's shoulder, "Dr. [L/N], do you have a minute to talk?" 

You smile and nod, before addressing Parker again. "Parker, I want to see that essay on my desk in a week and a half at the most. I hope to see some improvement."

Parker doesn't turn around but he nods and slides out of your office as quickly as he can without touching Dr. Holden. When Parker leaves, the older man walks into your office and closes the door behind him. 

"That boy is very strange. I don't know how you put up with him. I've had to kick him out of class before for being disruptive and talking out of turn," he says and you sigh. 

"He's a good kid and an even better student. I bet if you pushed him a little more, and actually called on him in class, he wouldn't interrupt so much," you say and the doctor in front of you is pale. "But, I hope you didn't come here to discuss our students."

The man shakes his head and goes into a lengthy question about having you guest lecture during one of his classes. You agree quickly and get the time and date and what you'll be covering before Dr. Holden opens the door to your office.

You see Parker standing on the other side of the door, and you know he heard everything you and Dr. Holden discussed about him. 

"They do not love that do not show their love." –The two Gentlemen of Verona

It's a Saturday. You and Spencer are sitting in your apartment reading. Spencer's stack next to him is significantly smaller than yours, and whenever he finishes a book, he places it on your stack. Whenever you finish yours, you place your book on the ground and pick up whatever book Spencer just finished reading. 

It's nice. 

"If music be the food of love, play on, Give me excess of it; that surfeiting, The appetite may sicken, and so die." –Twelfth Night

"Come on! I don't want us to miss this!" Spencer exclaims, grabbing your hand, and pulling you along as he runs through the small park. 

"Wait! Spencer! I didn't know we were running! I would have brought my inhaler!" you exclaim as you try and keep pace. 

Spencer doesn't stop though as he says, "It's not far, now come on!" The two of you continue to run through the trees, and eventually you come upon a clearing. There are a few couples there, but not actually as many as you would have expected. The thing that shocks you the most are the group of college age students all standing around with boxes in their hands. 

"Spencer what-" 

"Shh!" 

You step closer to him, still holding his hand as the students all step up, and take the tops off the boxes. Light start flying out of the uncovered cardboard boxes and you realize that they're lightning bugs. 

You gasp as a swarm flies towards you before dispersing into a hazy cloud of blinking yellow and green emanating from the lower abdomen. You reach out and the bugs fly away from your hand in streaks of light and you laugh. You turn, grinning at Spencer's face. He's looking right at you. 

In the low glow, you can see Spencer's handsome features on display. His cheekbones are softer in the light, his auburn hair a deep brown and his hazel eyes reflecting spots of green back at you. You reach up and place a hand on his cheek. He looks beautiful. 

"What is this?" you ask, breathless. 

He smiles softly and you look down at his lips. They look inviting. "The biology majors at Howard under Professor Trudy study fireflies for a semester before releasing them here. Did you know that many fireflies do not produce light? Usually these species are diurnal, or day-flying, such as those in the genus Ellychnia. A few diurnal fireflies that inhabit primarily shadowy places, such as beneath tall plants or trees, are luminescent. One such genus is Lucidota. Non-bioluminescent fireflies use pheromones to signal mates. This is supported by the fact that some basal groups do not show bioluminescence and use chemical signaling, instead. Phosphaenus hemipterus has photic organs, yet is a diurnal firefly and displays large antennae and small eyes. These traits strongly suggest pheromones are used for sexual selection, while photic organs are used for warning signals."

You're silent for a minute before you say, "You said firefly."

Spencer frowns. "Huh?" 

"You said firefly. People around here say 'Lightning bug,' which means you're not from around here. Where are you from?" you ask, and his frown subsides. 

"Las Vegas," he says and you smile. 

"You're a long way from home," you reply, looking around at the lightning bugs floating lazily around you, taking in their new environment. You look back at him and say, "I'm glad you're here Spencer. I'm glad I ran into you at the book shop. Literally," you say, laughing lightly. 

"Me too," Spencer says with a small smile on his face. 

You lean up and kiss him, quickly, before pulling back, not really giving him a chance to react. He stares at you, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open, before leaning in and capturing his lips in yours again. You lean against him, turning so your front is pressed against his, he places his hands on your hips and you thread yours through his hair and rest them on the back of his neck. 

When you pull away, the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end, but you're so lost in Spencer's eyes you hardly notice. 

"I am not bound to please thee with my answers." –The Merchant of Venice

You jump as someone hits their bowl a little too hard with their spoon, causing a loud crashing noise it seems like only you can hear. You can feel your heart rate picking up as another person accidentally drops a glass on the floor, shattering it. Your eyes dart around as people talk loudly over one another, shouting to be heard over the low din of the restaurant. 

"[Y/N]!" 

You look up at Spencer sharply, your eyes going wide. 

"Are you okay?" he asks, reaching a hand out. You nod but don't take his hand, instead picking at your nails underneath the table. "I was just talking about the underlying effects of corsetry in the modern era…" Spencer continues as if nothing is wrong but another loud crash causes you to jump and lose focus from him again. 

You hear Spencer sigh and you look up at him, your cheeks flaming up. "Sorry…" you mutter. 

"What's wrong?" he asks plainly. 

"I-" you begin to say, but flinch as someone laughs loudly at a table nearby you. "I don't really like restaurants. They're too… loud." 

Spencer looks at you with that blank stare for a moment before sighing in what you hope is of relief. "Same here. A co-worker of mine suggested I take you out to dinner and when I told him I don't like restaurants either, he just said you would," Spencer explains. 

You frown. "Who did he think I was? We read books in your apartment all the time!" 

Spencer looks away sheepishly and pulls his hands into his lap. "I haven't used pronouns for you, so he assumed you were a woman."

You snort. "Wouldn't be the first time." Spencer frowns at you. "I've dated a lot of bisexual men with straight colleagues. The co-workers always assume I'm a woman." 

Spencer nods, and the two of you are silent once again in the loud restaurant. You flinch once more as something crashes together, and Spencer sighs. 

"Do you want to go somewhere else?" he asks, almost begging. 

You nod enthusiastically. "Yes. Please. We can go back to mine?" Your eyes widen at that. "Not for sex!" you exclaim and a few people look over at you. You blush in embarrassment and say, quieter, "I-I just meant to read or watch a documentary or something. I didn't mean to imply."

Spencer smiles softly. "It's okay. I didn't even realize. I'm not sexually attracted to people."

Your eyes widen and you grin. "Me neither!" 

Spencer grins with you and the two of you hastily pay and make a quick exit out of the busy restaurant. 

"God hath given you one face, and you make yourself another." –Hamlet

"Mr. [L/N]?" 

You jump and look up from your work and see Parker standing in your office. You put a hand over your heart and laugh. "Parker! You scared me!" 

"Sorry…" he says, not making eye contact. 

You chuckle as you say, "I should put a bell on you…" you see Parker flush a deep red but you ignore it. "So, what can I do you for?" 

Silently, still red and blushing, Parker pulls out a stapled stack of papers from his backpack and holds it out to you. You take it and see it's the revised version of his essay you failed last week. 

"I did want you asked…" he says quietly and you quickly look over the first page. 

You smile up at him, grateful. "Thank you, Parker. I'll get it back to you by the end of the week-"

"NO!" he shouts and you jump at that. 

"Parker, I have a lot of work to do and-" 

But he cuts you off again, shouting, "No! Get it done now!" 

You sigh, knowing he's not going to relent, and you pinch the bridge of your nose. "Okay. How about this. How many classes do you have left today?" 

"Two…" Parker says, and you almost miss it seeing as he's so quiet. 

You nod. "Okay. How about I work on it while you're in class and you can come back after."

Parker nods and without another word, leaves your office. You sigh loudly and lean your head into your hands. 

"I must be cruel only to be kind; Thus bad begins, and worse remains behind." –Hamlet

That night, you're sitting in Spencer's apartment, his head in your lap as you both read. You can't help but think of Parker, of hearing him yell for the first time since you met him. The boy was always so quiet, except in class where he was engaged and able to answer every question, even if his answers were a little all over the place. 

"[Y/N]?" You hear Spencer ask and you look down at him, dazed. 

"Huh?" 

"You haven't even looked at your book for six minutes and twenty-seven seconds," Spencer says and you frown. You put your book face down next to you on the side table and rub your hands over your face. You feel hands at your wrists, and they tug slightly, pulling your hands away from your face. "What's going on?" 

"Just a student of mine yelled at me today," you say. Spencer frowns and you lean down, kissing where his brow was furrowed. "It's okay. I've just never seen him even raise his voice above a whisper besides when we're in class. And even then he doesn't yell." You pause, and sit back up. Spencer sits up as well and lets go of your wrists, leaning into your side. "A lot of the students and faculty don't like him because he's disruptive in class, but I know he's a good student. He's driven and knows a lot. He just needs to be pushed in the right way." You sigh again and lean over to rest your head on Spencer's shoulder. "I told him that I would finish editing his essay by the end of the week but he yelled at me, telling me to finish it right then and there. I told him I would finish it by the end of the day. I knew he wasn't going to stop asking, so I made a compromise I thought he could live with."

You look up at Spencer's face and see him frowning. "How long has he been like this with you?" 

You let out a huff of humorless laughter. "What, you jealous?" you ask, joking. 

Some of the tension eases from Spencer's face but he doesn't stop frowning.

"No, I'm not jealous. I'm just cautious." He looks into your eyes as he says, "You should be too."

You sigh and lean down, kissing him. "I know. I will be. I just don't want to push him away. I think I'm the only friendly face he has around campus…" 

Spencer nods, and opens his mouth as if to say something, but he closes it, and the two of you spend the rest of your evening in silence, unanswered questions lingering in the air between you. 

"Go wisely and slowly. Those who rush stumble and fall." –Romeo and Juliet

"You okay?" you ask Spencer one night while you're sitting on your bed together, watching something on your laptop. Tonight you were trying to get him into Buffy the Vampire Slayer, but he seemed more distracted than normal. 

He looks up at you, a glazed look in his eyes before sighing. "The case we finished today? It was a stalker case. This man was in love with this woman and we had to make her tell him she was in love with him to get him to let his guard down," Spencer explains and you turn to face him, not saying anything. "We shot him. In the end. He died while the woman was sobbing into her husband's arms." You reach out and place a hand near Spencer, not touching him. He reaches out and takes your hand, kissing it. "I just keep thinking about how she'll never feel safe around another man again."

"You did what you could and you saved her life, Spencer," you say quietly and he looks at you sadly. "I'm so proud of you."

"But what about the people we can't save?" 

You sigh and kiss Spencer lightly. "You can't think about that. Think about the families you saved, the women, the children. You saved a life! That's amazing, Spencer."

Spencer smiles and nods but he doesn't look convinced. You just kiss him again and go back to watching Buffy. 

"<i>For which of my bad parts didst thou first fall in love with me?</i>" –Much Ado About Nothing

You startle as a knock sounds at your door. You aren't expecting visitors. Spencer's out with work, and he said not to expect him back for a few days. It's only been two, and he can't have caught the guy that quickly already. 

But when you open your door, Spencer is standing there, his eyes puffy and red, and before you can ask any questions, he's pushing himself into your arms. You stumble back and close the door before sinking to the floor, letting Spencer cry into your arms. 

"Love comforteth like sunshine after rain, But Lust's effect is tempest after sun. Love's gentle spring doth always fresh remain; Lust's winter comes ere summer half be done. Love surfeits not, Lust like a glutton dies; Love is all truth, Lust full of forged lies." –Venus and Adonis

"I love you," you say one evening while you're sitting on the couch, Spencer's head in your lap. You're running your fingers through his hair as you say this, making it fan out around his head like a halo of auburn curls. 

He cracks an eye open at you and smiles. "Really?" 

You roll your eyes. "Yes. I do. And I just thought I should say it," you say, and Spencer sits up, leaning in to kiss you. You put your hands on his cheeks and smile into the soft kiss. 

He pulls away and says, "I want you to meet my mom."

Your eyes go wide and you open your mouth as if to say something, but nothing comes out. You frown before asking, "When?" 

"I have some vacation time saved and we could wait until summer break!" Spencer exclaims, causing your frown to drop. "You're not teaching again until the second half of summer break, so we can see her then." 

"I've never been to the west coast before…" you say, trailing off and looking away. Spencer goes to say something but you cut him off with a smile. "But, that's okay. I want to meet her." 

Spencer grins and grabs your face, kissing you like his life depends on it. You laugh as he gets up and runs out of the living room, whooping with joy. 

"I love you, Spencer Reid!" you shout. 

"Love you too!" he shouts back. 

"Lovers and madmen have such seething brains Such shaping fantasies, that apprehend More than cool reason ever comprehends." –A Midsummer Night's Dream

It's a week until the end of term, finals right around the corner, and you have been stuck in your office for most of the day. Most of the week actually. You gave your students the last few days off to study for their finals, and to finish their final essays for you while you finished editing the last of their work before you were bombarded with essays and tests. 

Your phone rings on your desk, but you turn off the noise, groaning as the red light beeps incessantly. It's been doing that for the past half an hour. You even had to turn your mobile off and shove it into an unused drawer of your desk. 

After another five minutes of the light beeping, you pick up your phone. 

"WHAT!" you scream into the receiver. 

"Uh, Dr. [L/N]?" you hear someone say quietly into the phone. 

"You know, I'm very busy right now and I can't handle distractions so if you would just-" 

"Someone's shooting up the school." 

Your blood runs cold as a knock sounds at your door, and you watch the knob turning. You gulp as the voice on the other end of the line tries to get your attention, but you can't hear them. All you can hear is the creak of your door as it's slowly pushed open. 

"Mr. [Y/N]!" You hear someone shout as they enter your office. It's Parker. And he's holding a gun. "I thought I heard you in here! Who are you talking to?" 

You go to answer, but the words die in your throat. 

"I- I don't actually know. They-they were calling to tell me about you," you say finally, hanging up the phone as the person yells on the other side of the line. 

Parker closes your door and walks over to your desk with a happy smile on his face. "I came to get you, [Y/N]," he says, and you force a smile onto your face. 

"Really?" you ask, hoping your nervousness doesn't give anything away. 

He nods. "It's just you and me now! Forever!" 

You gulp, but smile. "Uh huh…" 

"The only thing left in our way is that whore who calls himself your boyfriend…" Parker says, and your smile drops. 

"Spencer?" you can't help the wavering in your voice as you say his name. 

Parker nods and places his hand against his chin. "Yes. Maybe you can call him? I'm sure he's already on his way over here."

You gulp, but nod. You pick up your desk phone and dial Spencer's number from memory. While your memory may not be anywhere close to as good as his, you forced yourself to memorize it in case it was an emergency. 

After the first ring, the phone is picked up. "[Y/N]? Are you okay? I've tried calling you for the past twenty minutes and you haven't picked up!" Spencer exclaims on the other end of the line. 

You take a deep breath before looking up at Parker, who's smiling expectantly at you. He nods. "Spencer, can you come to my office?" 

"I'm outside. Is everything okay?" he asks. 

"Tell him to leave his gun and vest outside," Parker whispers and you nod. 

"You need to leave your gun and vest outside," you say, your voice shaking with every word. 

"Oh!" Parker exclaims and leans forward. "And tell him if he doesn't do all that, I'm going to kill you."

You let out a sob and say into the phone, shaking, "If you don't do what's been asked, he's going to- he's going to kill me, oh!" you exclaim, another sob escaping your lips. You hear Spencer start to say something, but Parker puts a finger down on the plunger and you hear the dial tone in your ear. You slowly take the phone away from your ear and look at it shaking in your grip. 

You watch absently as Parker's fingers brush yours, getting you to open your hand, and you let him take the phone, and put it back down on your desk. 

You keep staring off into the middle distance, even as Parker's hand rests on your chin. He turns your head and your eyes lock onto his. You can see the simmering rage bubbling underneath the feigned love that he's projecting. It's probably not even conscious. You don't know if a man like him even <i>could</i> fall in love. 

You hear a knock at your door and Parker moves away from you, but grabs your arm forcefully. Your hips push into the desk painfully and you let out a small whimper. Parker's hand on your arm relaxes slightly and he pulls you around your desk to stand next to him at his side, his gun pointed at the dark wooden door that is slowly opening. 

You see Spencer slowly pushing the door open, his other hand raised to show he's unarmed. 

"Stay there," Parker says, holding his gun level at Spencer's chest. 

"Okay. Okay," Spencer says, putting his other hand up. "No one needs to get hurt." 

Parker shakes his head. "No. No. They do. They're going to come in the way of us!" 

Parker looks down at you and you look up at him, wide eyed. "No, they won't. No one can come in between us," you say, trying to keep your voice steady. "Spencer's right. No one needs to get hurt."

Parker closes his eyes and shakes his head again. "Spencer, Spencer… Why Spencer? Why him? Why not me?" 

You grab his arm and say, "It is you, Parker! It will always be you!" you look over at Spencer, asking with your eyes if you're doing a good job, if this is what you should be doing. He gives you a miniscule nod. You remembered from before when you talked about guys like Parker. "I don't love Spencer. I love you."

Your heart breaks as you say this, but you know that Spencer knows it isn't true. Parker's the only one who needs to believe it. 

"Say it," he says, before looking over at the man in question, "to him."

You gulp and look at Spencer, leaning more into Parker's side as you say, "Spencer, I don't love you. I never loved you. I'm in love with Parker. Nothing will be able to keep up apart." 

"[Y/N]..." Spencer says, heartbreak evident on his face. Either he's a really good actor or he actually believes it. You sincerely hope it's the former. 

Parker nods when you look at him, and grins. "Let's get out of here…" he says, holding out his hand. You take it gingerly and he pulls your back to his chest, still holding Spencer at gunpoint. He flicks the gun further into your office, and Spencer moves with his hands up, tears streaming from his face as he moves across from you in the room. 

Parker backs up slowly through the room towards the door, his gun still pointed at Spencer. As soon as he steps out into the hallway, you hear the gunshot. 

You feel Parker fall behind you, and you run back into your office, falling to the floor, and only then do you start crying. You sob loudly, and when you're pulled into a chest, you only cry harder. 

You hear Spencer whispering to you, and you feel his tears on your hair, your neck as he says, "I can't lose you too. I can't. I just can't…"

You pull him closer, pulling your legs to your chest as you sob, "I love you. I love you so much. I didn't mean anything I said!" 

"I know," he whispers, kissing your head. "I know." 

"I love you with so much of my heart that none is left to protest." –Much Ado About Nothing

"I've never been to Vegas before!" you exclaim as you get off the plane. "Can we go to any casinos? I've never gambled before!" 

Spencer chuckles as he grabs your hand, pulling you through the airport. "We'll see. I've been banned from a few, so I don't know if they'll let me in…" he says, trailing off and you laugh. "Did you know that what most people think of as Las Vegas is actually called Paradise? In the late 1940s, after the second world war was over, the city of Las Vegas actually banned gambling. The rich gamblers in town weren't happy with that so they created a town called Paradise and made gaming legal there. Well, it's not a town, but more like unincorporated land that doesn't follow Las Vegas' laws." 

You grin and grab your bag when it comes around. While Spencer was talking, you had gone to the baggage claim and your bag had already been around once. While Spencer was used to traveling light, with only a go bag, you were not. 

"I did not know that," you say, leaning up to kiss his cheek as he pulls out towards the exit. 

You get the car he rented and you let him drive you to Bennington. He wanted to go back to the hotel for a night before seeing his mom, but you didn't want him to waste any more time. You would freshen up after. 

You and Spencer are ushered through the sterilized, but still personable, halls of the sanitarium, and into a large room with a couple of other people in it. You see a blonde, short haired woman sitting on a couch and Spencer starts walking over to her. 

When she sees him, her face lights up and she exclaims, "Spencer!" 

"Hey mom," he says, giving her a wave. "I wanted to introduce you to someone."

She turns and looks you up and down, before wringing her hands out and looking at her son. "Is this the man you told me about in your letters?" 

Your eyebrows raise at that and you ask Spencer, "You talked to her about me?" he looks at you, nervous, but you smile. "All good things, I hope." He grins and grabs your hand. You turn to Diana and hold out your hand. "Hi. I'm Dr. [Y/N] [L/N]. Spencer's told me so much about you. He really loves you." 

She smiles and takes your hand lightly before letting go. "Yes, he's told me a lot about you too. He loves you too," she says, and you smile at him. 

"And I love him," you reply. 

"Journeys end in lovers' meeting; every wise man's son doth know" –Twelfth Night

[dianadragonfly]

Okay, hang on bitches, cause Imma bout ta rewatch “The Final Problem.” I’ve seen it once since 2017. And because there is no commentary on the disc I have, I will be providing the commentary.

[[MORE]] Since I started my “rewatch and comment” spree, I’ve been pleasantly surprised. Things that had previously stood out in my mind as being particularly not-good are really not that bad. Most were actually really short moments that stood out in retrospect because they seemed incongruous with how well-written and acted everything else was.

Up till season 2, the writers could do no wrong whatsoever. The exact moment I experienced a “well that was overdone” moment of questioning the writers was when Sherlock broadcast a picture of Mary on the outside of the facade in “His Last Vow.” From there, I had moments of doubt and questioning plot and directing choices that took away from the narrative. But, except for the moment John sees Mary die, I never ever questioned the acting choices. The actors are so amazing. And I’m not just saying that because Ben and Martin are hot.

As I prepare to watch the episode, there are several scenes that I dread. Opening with the girl on the airplane reminds me of how much I hated this trick. If the girl is Eurus messing with them, then why do we see it acted out? If we cannot trust that what we see is a reality, then all of the “Mind Palace” theories of TFP (i.e. that it actually took place in a dream or in the head of a character) have some authenticity to them. Ugh.

Damn. I’d forgotten the “Hello. My name is Jim Moriarty” part of the intro. No need for that if the girl is just something in Eurus’s imagination.

Oh shit. I hate hate hate hate everything about this scene of Mycroft.

First of all, there is security in Mycroft’s house.

Second of all, he would have skewered any of those actors with the umbrella sword or shot one of them with the gun.

Why are the paintings crying blood? John and Sherlock couldn’t accomplish that... once we add scary clown it’s just too much. Even for Sherlock.

Oh stop with the heavy-handed East Wind references. Dammit, I loved this show for its subtly. Killer clowns are not subtle, even in pranks.

Now with Mycroft here, in the client position, refusing to sit, with the Baker Street Boys in their chairs - this is what I came for. The light, the look on their faces, the composition of the shot.

Oohh Hudson throwing some shade. John’s half smile...

Is the skull portrait glowing? I can’t tell.

“That’s why he stays!” Fuck yeah. John’s half smile again...

“Middle child. Explains a lot.” As a middle child, I resent that remark. And sort of get it.

So the flashing back and forth in time, with the ashes of Musgrave Hall in the apartment, 5 year old Eurus answering grown-up Mycroft’s questions, the pebble: all of that would be okay, if not a tiny bit less than subtle, had we not just fought a goddamn clown in the scene before.

Oh goddamn. The stupid fucking patience gernade and that song.

Of course Mrs. Hudson vacuums to Iron Maiden.

It’s Sherlock’s turn to half-smile. Cute.

Beautifully shot here with the above view and all three of them at different points on a circle around it.

Ugh. I have to turn away at the “action shot” of them jumping out the window. This is not “Die Hard.” It’s not a cop buddy movie. We just got a really well played, fun little scene where they talked a about Oscar Wilde to avoid talking about the fact that they might die. That’s what I watch Sherlock for.

There was a fan fic written around 2012 that mentions “The Importance of Being Ernest.” Coincidence? Creators reading fanfic? I know Wilde and ACD were contemporaries, but it’s interesting. I can’t think of any other literary works that are alluded to in canon. It’s funny it should be this one.

And now we’ve commandeered a boat. Seriously.

All of the other episodes, I had more patience with on this go-around where I get a chance to type out reactions and reflect on how they are put together. But I’m finding that isn’t the case with this one. I’m just pissed. Give me one or two unbelievable moments or plot twists in an episode and I can sustain it. But between the airplane, killer clowns at Mycroft’s, the patience gernade, and this, I’m already done and we’re 20 minutes in. Sherlock looks like a goddamn vampire bat. And seriously, why does Mycroft need to steal a boat? And write a message in the sand? What the hell? Why dress up?

Sherlock’s security guard act cracks me up.

Oh his face when he sees Eurus. His. Face. Curiosity. Heartbreak. Empathy. Pain. Doubt. Fear. THIS is my show. Not patience gernades, killer clowns, dressing up like a sea captain etc in one damn episode.

She “enslaves” people... magical Eurus who makes people kill their family. Really?!

Oh no. He ignores “Vatican cameos.” I forgot that. He chooses to ignore John’s warning.

His face.... Jesus Benedict can act.

Big bouncy red alert! Okay, what was with the spinning John face when he gets knocked out?

This constant shift between wondering what the hell is happening, wondering if the show has become a parody of itself, and then bouncing back to this heart wrenching narrative — is that the point of this episode? Like “The Empty Hearse” or “The Abominable Bride”? But those episodes explained themselves after they pulled the rug out. As soon as something got to the point of absurdity, it was explained. Sherlock didn’t swing in a window at Bart’s and kiss Molly but we briefly were led to believe he did. Moriarty and Sherlock aren’t really kissing on the roof. (By then we knew what was up though). Sherlock didn’t really attempt to dig up a dead Amelia Rocoletti. We understand it’s a drug-induced dream.

This rapid jumping back and forth with half-assed explainations — I’m coming to believe this off-balance feeling is the point of the episode but I don’t like it. I like it even less than I did before.

Oh Andrew Scott. I love you.

The bastards wait till 5 minutes into the Moriarty scene to tell us it’s 5 years ago. That constant pulling out the rug — I will at least excuse that because there is a plausible explaination given. But it’s a cheap trick. This episode is one cheap trick after another, with only a few moments, here and there, of characters actually interacting.

So it’s late and I don’t know if I have the heart to make it through this whole episode tonight. To be continued....

Edited:

Starting at scene 5 on the DVD because that's when Sherlock sees Eurus for the sort of first time. I kind of just want to bask in Ben's performance here again.

After the last episode, clean-shaven Sherlock in a suit is a relief. He's back... at least a little.

His small smile when he asks her how she got out. . .

I'm realizing how much of this scene had to be Benedict looking directly into the camera and talking to Eurus. That had to be intimidating.

***I've skipped ahead to closer than where I was last night because the small people in my house will want food soon. Parentig gets in the way of fangirling. ****

I still love the Hungry Donkey story.

OH MY GOD! I forgot how much I love Andrew Scott here!!!

Are they making out through the glass?

And now the four of them wake up in a cell but this one has glass. Ugh. The plane again. I love how Sherlock changes his voice here to talk to the girl. He isn't incapable of reading people and reacting to them. He just usually can't be bothered. There’s a fan theory that says Sherlock is autistic. I was going to comment that this skill of his is evidence that he’s not but I stopped myself. He -knows- HOW one needs to act to get people to respond to him, but it’s a learned skill. Which actually might add evidence to the “autism” theory more than the sociopath theory.

Mark Gatiss - I forget what an incredible actor he can be. Whoa.

These scenes - these scenes where they have to apply themselves to a task that Eurus sets for them -- they are so fucking good. Tense and well-acted. I can see every emotion on every actor's face. The rest of the episode should have been better to make it worthy of these performances. It physically hurt watching John try to shoot the governor.

Someone said that Jim Moriarty went from a criminal mastermid to manical Thomas the Train Engine on this episode and I can't unthink that any time he flashes on the screen.

I had a moment, when Eurus was using such clinical language of behavioralism ("prompts") etc that I flashed back onto my life as an ABA instructor. Seriously. I know they are a million miles away but no one watching this would ever think, even for a second, that Eurus was morally right. Why, then, do we do a smiliar thing to autistic children? I had a moment of revulsion then. (Restirct physical liberty and autonomy, make them complete a command that's nonsensical for either reward or aversive. Give prompts. Follow through (deny reward) if one deviates from the prompt). She might as well been saying "Touch table, Sherlock." ("Touch table" is one of the first directives often given in ABA. It's easy to manually prompt (force) a kid to do and helps the kid realize the link between following the requests and obtaining rewards.)

Sorry. ABA rant is slightly off topic.

To be continued in comments ..

[verytamenow]

1-74

1:How tall or short do you wish you were? - 5′9-5′10.

2:Do you have a favorite clothing style? - While I live in t-shirts and jeans, I love a sharp well tailored suit. My sense of style is on the masculine side of things.

3:Do you like makeup? if so, What's your daily makeup routine look like? - I don’t even own makeup.

4:What three things/people do you think of most each day: 1) whatever writing project I’m working on. 2) various grumblings about my job 3) my friends

5:If you had a warning label, what would yours say? - Where do I begin? I should probably come with a few warning labels.

6:What is your opinion on [insert person/thing here]? - You didn’t give me a topic, mate!

7:What is your Greek personality type? [Sanguine, Phlegmatic, Choleric, or Melancholic] - melancholic

8:What's your sexuality? - I am very very gay.

9:who's your favorite celebrity? - Taylor Swift.

10:who's your favorite viner? - Don’t have one. RIP Vine

11:favorite youtubers? - I quite like MiniLadd. His videos are good when I need a laugh. Also Karlie Kloss. 

12:cat or dogs? - Cats but mellow dogs are okay.

13:How tall are you? - 5′5

14:If you had to change your name, what would you change it to? - Probably something with a gender neutral nickname.

15:How much do you weigh? [Only ask this if you know the user doesn't mind!] - Pass. Need to drop some weight.

16:Would you rather be nocturnal or diurnal [opposite of nocturnal]? - I’d like to be more diurnal than I am just to function better. I’m naturally more nocturnal.

17:Any phobias or fears? - Spiders. Heights. Vague fear of the unknown of the afterlife.

18:Favorite movie? - Alien Series, Harry Potter, or Silence of the Lanbs

19:Do you get scared easily? - I get anxious easily but I don’t know that I get scared. It depends.

20:Blog rate me? - 10/10.

21:What is a color that calms you? - Blue

22:Where would you like to travel and/or live? - I’d like to travel pretty much anywhere. Ideally I’d like a lake or beach house or someplace secluded in a forest or something near a river - or in my home town. Realistically, I’ll take a decent house in my current city.

23:Where were you born? - SoCal

24:Introvert or extrovert? - Introvert

25:Do you believe in horoscopes and zodiacs? - I don’t know that I blieve in them but I don’t disbelieve in them either. I wouldn’t base a choice on it but I do find them interesting.

26:Hugs or kisses? - Can I have both? Right now though, I’d take a hug.

27:Who is someone you would like to see/visit right now? - I can’t think of anyone right now. I wouldn’t say no to meeting Taylor or Karlie. Or if I had the chance to hang out with a few buddies on here.

28:Talk about your crush, if you have one! - I don’t, mostly. I’m keeping my heart on lockdown as much as I can.

29:A sound you really love? - The rain!!!!

30:Can you do the splits? - No. Nowhere near that flexible.

31:Favorite actor and/or actress? - I don’t really have one.

32:Favorite movie? - This is on here twice, lol.

33:How are you feeling right now? - A bit down, but that may be self inflicted. But I’m also kinda happy/content because I did well on a test.

34:What color would you like your hair to be right now? - I’m content with the colour it is.

35:Something that calms you down? - Rain.

36:Have any disorders? - A few. Depression, anxiety, autism.

37:What does your URL mean? - That anything else I came up with was taken.

38:What makes you unfollow a blog? - Bigotry, being assholes, content I don’t like.

39:What makes you follow a blog? - Being Kaylor AF, good content, being funny and/or gay af.

40:Favorite kind of person: - Really anyone I click with. 

41:Name three of your favorite blogs. - @princessandsunshine, @kkobsessed, @gaylorswift

42:What is your MBTI personality type? - No idea. Anyone have a good test link?

43:What outfit out of all your clothes do you like to wear the most? - Jeans and a polo shirt because work. But I like to wear jeans, a t shirt, and a flannel.

44:Post a selfie or two? - Check the my face tag.

45:Do you like to swim? - I don’t mind it but I’m not a strong swimmer.

46:Is swimming or ice skating more fun to you? - I’m so fucking clumsy that ice skating is asking for me to fall on my ass. Swimming.

47:Something you wish didn't exist: - Fucking neonazis.

48:Some thing you wish did exist: - President Hilary Clinton. Also my exectutive function and the ability to write out ideas for original stories. 

49:Piercings you have? - None.

50:Something you really enjoy doing: - Writing when my muse plays nice.

51:Favorite person to talk to: - Kristen.

52:What was your first impression of Tumblr? - This seems cool.

53:How many followers do you have? - 1754.

54:Can you run a mile within ten minutes? - Probably not.

55:Do your socks always match? - Yes because other than a few pairs of fuzzy socks, they’re all white.

56:What are your birthstones? - Pearls and Alexandrite

57:Winter or summer? - Winter even though it tries to kill me.

58:Someone you look up to: - I can’t think of anyone at the moment. 

59:A store you love? - Does Amazon count?

60:Favorite type of shoes? - My Redwings boots that I rarely ever wear.

61:Where do you live? - Middle of the fucking desert.

62:What color do you wish the sky was? - I quite like blue but right now I’d love a stormy grey.

63:Favorite thing about a person: - Their personality.

64:Something you hate about Tumblr: - It’s a hellsite.

65:Something you love about Tumblr: - It’s a hellsite with some content I like.

66:On a scale of 1-10, how attractive would you say you are? - 0? Maybe a 3.

67:What nicknames do you have/have had? - Zo, sometimes, or Z. Not much you can do with my name.

68:Did you have any pretend or imaginary friends? - Nope.

69:Have you ever seen a therapist/shrink? - Yes.

70:How many languages do you speak fluently? - 1. Very American of me.

71:Name three people you would like to talk to right now in person. - Taylor Swift, Karlie Kloss, maybe hanging with Kristen would be cool?

72:Do you like BuzzFeed? - It’s a good way to kill time.

73:How many people are you following? - 679

74:How many posts/likes/ and or drafts do you have on your blog? - 0 drafts, almost 65000 posts, almost 134000 likes.

[jeremyau]

The empathy layer

Can an app that lets strangers — and bots — become amateur therapists create a safer internet?

by Mar 2, 2017, 10:30am EST

Illustrations by Peter Steineck

In January 2016, police in Blacksburg, Virginia, began looking into the disappearance of a 13-year-old girl named Nicole Lovell. Her parents had discovered her bedroom door barricaded with a dresser, her window open. Lovell was the victim of frequent bullying, both at school and online, and her parents thought she might have run away.

On social media, Lovell posted openly about her anguish. On Kik, a messaging app, Lovell told one contact, “Yes, I’m getting ready to kill myself.” In another exchange, she grabbed a screenshot from a boy she liked who had changed his screen name to “Nicole is ugly as fuck.” She broadcasted these private interactions to the wider world by posting them on her Instagram, where she also snapped a photo of herself looking sad, adding the caption “Nobody cares about me.”

Starved for affection among her peers, Lovell sought it out online. Police found a trail of texts on Kik between Lovell and a user named Dr. Tombstone. Kik allows users to remain anonymous, and over the course of a few months, the conversation turned romantic. Tombstone’s real identity was David Eisenhauer, a freshman at Virginia Tech, five years older than Lovell. In a horrific turn of events, authorities say Eisenhauer lured Lovell to meet him, then murdered her.

According to Kik employees of the time, the tragedy was a moment of reckoning for the platform. In the beginning of 2016, the app laid claim to 200 million users, and 40 percent of teenagers in the US. Kik’s terms of service stated that anyone under the age of 18 needed a parent’s permission to use the app, but these rules were easily ignored. Because it allowed users to remain anonymous, a wave of negative press around Lovell’s murder painted Kik as a playground for predators. “It was, for the entire company, a shock,” says Yuriy Blokhin, an early Kik employee who left the company recently. “Everyone felt we had to do more, an increased sense of responsibility.”

Executives at Kik wanted a system to identify, protect, and offer resources to its most vulnerable users. But it had no way of knowing how to find them, and no system in place for administering care even if it did. Through their investors, Kik was put in touch with a small New York City startup named Koko. The company had created an iPhone app that let users post entries about their stresses, fears, and sorrows. Other users would weigh in with suggestions of how to rethink the problem — a very basic form of cognitive behavioral therapy. It was a peer-to-peer network for a limited form of mental health care, and, according to a clinical trial and beta users, it had shown very positive results. The two teams partnered with a simple goal: find a way to bring the support and care found on Koko to Kik users in need.

But as the two companies talked, a more ambitious idea emerged. What if you could combine the emotional intelligence of Koko’s crowdsourced network with the scale of a massive social network? Was there a way to distribute the mental health resources of Koko more broadly, not just in a single app, but to anywhere people gathered online to socialize and share their feelings? Over the last year the team at Koko has been building a system that would do just that, and in the process, create an empathy layer for the internet.

In 1999 Robert Morris, future co-founder of Koko, was a Princeton psychology major who got good grades but struggled to find direction — or a thesis advisor. “They didn't know what to do with me,” Morris told me recently. “I had a bunch of vague and strange research ideas and I would show up to their office with a bunch of bizarre gadgets I had hacked together: microphones, sensors, lots of wires.”

Morris finally found a home at the MIT Media Lab. A budding coder, Morris spent much of his time on a site called Stack Overflow, a critical resource for programmers looking for help on thorny problems. Morris was blown away by the community’s ability to help him on demand and free of charge and wondered if that crowdsourced model could be applied to other personal challenges. “I struggled with depression on and off for much of my life, but my early time at MIT was especially difficult,” he recalls. “I liked StackOverflow, but I needed something to help me 'debug' my brain, not just my code.” For his thesis project, he set out to build just that.

Based on the peer-to-peer model of StackOverflow, Morris’ MIT thesis, named Panoply, offered two basic options: submit a post about a negative feeling or respond to one. To quickly build and test the platform, Morris needed users. So he turned to Mechanical Turk, an online marketplace where anyone can crowdsource simple tasks for a small payment.

Morris taught MTurk workers a few basic cognitive behavioral techniques to respond to posts: how to empathize with a tough situation, how to recognize cognitive distortions that amplify life’s troubles, and how to reframe a user’s thinking to provide a more optimistic alternative. The only quality control Morris put in place was basic reading and writing comprehension. For each completed task the MTurk workers were paid a few cents.

Using an online ad for a stress-reduction study, Morris recruited a few hundred volunteers in order to fully test the system. Like the MTurk workers, the subjects were given some brief training and set loose to post their issues and reframe the issues of others. This random assemblage of people was about as far as you could get from trained and expensive therapists. But in a clinical trial conducted along with his dissertation, Morris found that users who spent two months with the Panoply system reported feeling less stressed, less depressed, and more resilient than the control group. And the most effective help was given not by the paid MTurk workers, but by the unpaid volunteers who were themselves part of the experiment.

It was a single study and has not yet been replicated, but it gave Morris confidence that he was onto something big. And then a stranger came calling. “A week after I defended my dissertation, I got several manic emails out of the blue from some guy named Fraser,” Morris said. “It was immediately apparent that he had an incredibly deep understanding of the problem.”

At the same moment that Morris was building Panoply at MIT, Fraser Kelton and Kareem Kouddous, a pair of tech entrepreneurs, had been pursuing the same idea. The pair had hacked together their own version of a peer-to-peer system for therapy. They recruited participants off Twitter and put them into WhatsApp groups, then had one group teach the other group the basics of cognitive behavioral therapy. “At the end of testing, 100 percent of helpers thanked us for the opportunity to participate and asked if they could keep doing it,” said Kelton. “When we asked why, they all said something along the lines of "for the first time since I finished therapy I found a way to put 5 or 10 minutes a day toward practicing these techniques."

A month later Kelton came across Morris’ work and emailed him immediately. “This is embarrassing, but I think I emailed him two or three times that night,” says Kelton. “We thought we had a clever idea, but he had taken it and jumped miles ahead of where our thinking was, run a clinical trial, gotten results, and defended a dissertation.” Within a few weeks Kelton, Kouddous, and Morris had mocked up a wire frame of an app that became the blueprint for Koko. They called the company Koko because the service is meant to help users by showing them different perspectives. Koko backwards is “ok ok.”

Fraser, who knew the startup scene, approached investors. “It seemed to us that there was a possibility that a peer to peer network in this space was kind of a perfect application,” says Brad Burnham, a managing partner from Union Square Ventures. The firm had previously invested in a number of startups that relied on networks of highly engaged users: Twitter, Tumblr, Foursquare. But Burnham had never seen something quite like Koko before. When Koko users added value to the network by rethinking problems, they actually provided value to themselves, by practicing the core techniques of cognitive behavioral therapy. “By helping others, they were helping themselves, and that seemed like a great synergy," said Burnham. In January of 2015 Union Square Ventures, along with MIT’s Joi Ito, invested $1 million into Koko. Less than a month later, the company launched its iOS in beta.

The first time Zelig used Koko, she was sitting in a parking lot waiting to pick up one of her kids from a summer program. She had downloaded the app in search of emotional relief. Her son, an intelligent and outgoing boy with Asperger’s syndrome, seemed to have no place of acceptance outside of home, and was facing the increasing isolation often prevalent in the lives of teens on the autism spectrum. Her younger daughter had just been diagnosed with Obsessive-Compulsive Disorder.

“I have a special needs kid and high needs kid. My life is not typical,” Zelig explained in a phone call. “It’s pretty stressful and it’s always on. You make attempts to do your best and things don’t work, which is really scary.” She asked that we only use her Koko screen name in this story to preserve her family’s privacy. “My kids were struggling mightily, and there just wasn’t a way for me to see anything that could possibly make it better.”

The Koko app offered Zelig two choices. She could write a post laying out her troubles and share it with everyone who opened the app. They would give her advice on how to rethink her problems — not offer a solution, but rather suggest a more optimistic spin on the way she saw the world. But Zelig didn’t feel ready to open up about her own struggles. “It was hard for me to take the big things going on in my life and make them the size of a tweet, to get to the core. It was hard to turn loose those emotions.”

Instead, Zelig started reading through posts from other users. The Koko app starts users off with a short tutorial on “rethinking.” The app explains that rethinking isn’t about solving problems, but offering a more optimistic take. It uses memes and cartoons to illustrate the idea: if you choose the right reframe, a cute puppy offers his paw for a high-five. The app walks new users through posts and potential reframes, indicating which rethinks are good and which aren’t. The tutorial can be completed in as little as five minutes.

Once users finish the tutorial, they can scroll through live posts on the site. Despite the minimal training, the issues they are confronted with can be quite serious: an individual who is afraid to tell her family that she’s taking anti-depressants because they might think she’s crazy; a user stressed from school who believes “no one actually likes the real me, and if they see it, they will hate me”; a user with an abusive boyfriend who has come to feel “I am a failure and worth being yelled at.” I walked a friend through the tutorial recently, and they were shocked by how quickly Koko throws you into the deep end of human despair.

Koko lets you write anything you want for a rethink, but also offers simple prompts: “This could turn out better than you think because…,” “A more balanced take on this could be…,” etc. The company screens both the posts and rethinks before they become public, attempting to direct certain users to critical care and weed trolls out of the system. Originally, this was accomplished with human moderators, but increasingly, the company is turning to AI.

Accepting and offering rethinks is meant to help users get away from bad mental habits, cycles of negative thought that can perpetuate their anxiety and depression. Over the next few months, Zelig found herself offering rethinks of other Koko users almost every day. “Having it in your pocket is really good. All of sudden it would hit me what I needed say in the reframe, so I would pull my car over, or stand in the produce aisle.”

In the process of giving advice Zelig felt, almost immediately, a sense of relief and control. She began to recognize her own dark moods as variations on the problems she was helping others with. Zelig says the peculiar power of Koko is that by helping others, users are able to help themselves. She eventually got around to sharing her issues, but always felt that “I was more helped by the reframing action than I was by the posting. It trained me to be able to see my world that way.”

The last few years have seen an explosion of startup and mobile apps offering users mental health care on demand. Some, like MoodKit and Anxiety Coach, offer self-guided cognitive behavioral therapy. Others, like Pacifica, mix self-guided lessons with online support groups where users can chat with one another. Apps like Talkspace use the smartphone as a platform for connecting patients with professional therapists who treat them through calls and text messages.

For the moment, Koko is one of just a few company built primarily around a peer-to-peer model. Its best analog might be companies like Airbnb or Lyft. Why pay for a hotel room or black car when the spare apartment or neighbor’s car is just as good? Why pay for therapy when the advice of strangers has proven to be helpful and free?

Studies have found that cognitive behavioral therapy can be as effective at treating depression and anxiety as prescription drugs. Since the 1980s, people have been practicing self-guided cognitive behavioral therapy through workbooks, CD-ROMs, and web portals. But left to their own devices, most people don’t finish courses or stop practicing fairly quickly.

Koko is still a tiny company, staffed by the three co-founders and one full-time employee, all based out of New York City. To date, over 230,000 people have used Koko, and more than 26 million messages have been sent through the app over the last six months. Many, like Zelig, have used it on a daily basis for more than a year. But like so many mobile apps these days, Koko has struggled to attract a large following.

The Koko team always knew it would be difficult to charge users for the app, or to make money advertising to a relatively small number of anonymous users. It was at this critical juncture that the team from Kik came calling. After the murder of Nicole Lovell, Kik reached out to its investors at Union Square Ventures for advice. Burnham connected Kik with Koko, setting in motion an entirely new direction for the young company.

When users sign up for Kik, the first contact added to their address book is a chatbot. It answers questions about the service, tells jokes, and posts updates about new features. “A few months before meeting with Koko, we noticed something interesting happening with the Kik bot,” said Yuriy Blokhin, the former Kik engineer who helped forge the partnership with Koko. “People were not only talking to it the way it was meant to be, as a brand ambassador, but also sometimes people were mentioning they were depressed, concerned about their parents getting a divorce, or being unpopular at school.”

Kik didn’t know how to respond to these kinds of emotional confessions, but Koko did. It had millions of posts, carefully labeled by workers from Mechanical Turk to describe the type of problem they represented. It used that database to train artificial intelligence that could respond to posts sent to a chatbot. If the content of a message was critical — defined by Kokobot as being a danger to themselves or others — it would connect users with a service like Crisis Textline; if the issue was manageable, the bot would pass the person on to Koko users; if it was a troll, the bot would hide the post. This is the same AI approach Koko now uses to classify posts on its peer-to-peer network.

Once that approach proved successful, Koko went one step further. If a user posted about a stress Koko had a highly rated response for — a sick family member, a difficult test at school, a spat with a significant other — the chatbot would automatically offer up that rethink. The AI was now acting as a node in the peer-to-peer network.

Beginning in August 2016, any user on Kik could share their stress with the Kokobot. Most received a reply in just a few minutes. Working with Kik made Koko realize how big the business opportunity was. “Do a search on Twitter, Reddit, Tumblr, any social network, and you will find a cohort of users reaching out into the ether with their problems,” said Kelton. The team realized that if they could train an AI to identify and respond to users sharing emotional stress, they might also be able to train algorithms to automatically detect users who were at risk, even if they hadn’t reached out. Koko was transforming itself into an intervention tool, scanning platforms and stepping in on its own volition. Koko hopes to provide these tools to online communities for free, using the feedback to train an AI with services it can one day sell to digital assistants like Siri and Alexa.

The move into detection and intervention, however, has been complicated. This past January, the team set up the Koko bot on two Reddit forums r/depression and r/SuicideWatch. It scanned incoming posts, and messaged several users offering help.

The response wasn’t what Koko engineers had expected: the community was outraged.

“I feel deeply disturbed that they would use a bot to do this,” wrote one user. “Disgusting that assholes would try and take advantage of people,” wrote another. The moderator of the two forums set up a warning advising users to ignore Koko’s chatbot. “I have to say that the technology itself looks like an interesting idea,” the moderator wrote. “But if it's in the hands of people who behave in this way, that is incredibly disturbing.” The Verge reached out to both moderators and users who left angry comments about Koko, but did not hear back.

The Koko team acknowledged it made a mistake by allowing its chatbot to send messages on Reddit without warning, and not educating users and moderators about who they were and what their goal was. But Kelton believes that the feedback from users who did interact with the bot on Reddit shows the system can do real good there. “One mod bent out of shape on how we handled the launch vs. many at-risk people helped in a way that they appreciated,” was a trade-off Kelton could live with. “Helping mods understand and embrace the service is a containable problem, one that we're already having good success with.”

In January 2017, top officials from the US military met with executives from Facebook, Google, and Apple at the Pentagon. The topic was suicide prevention in the age of social media. The federal government considers the subject a top priority, as suicide has become the leading cause of death among veterans. For the tech companies, the problem is wide ranging. Among teenagers in the United States, most of whom spend six and a half hours each with their smartphones and tablets daily, suicide is the second leading cause of death.

In attendance was Matthew Nock, a professor of psychology at Harvard and an expert in suicide prediction and prevention. When it comes to using technology for detection and intervention, “the consensus in the academic community is there is great potential promise here, but the jury is still out,” says Nock. “Personally I have seen a lot of interest in people using social media and the latest technologies to understand, predict, and prevent suicidal behavior. But so far many of the claims have outstripped the actual data.”

Despite those concerns, Nock is interested in what companies like Koko might offer. “We know that cognitive behavioral therapy is effective for treating people with clinical depression. There is not enough cognitive therapy to reach everyone who needs it.” Koko provides people with the simple tools they can use to help themselves and others. “These people aren’t clinicians, they have been trained in the basics, but for scaling purposes, I think it’s what we can do right now.”

The scalability of tech makes it an alluring tool for mental health — but the business comes with unique risks. “Everyone wants to be the Uber of mental health,” says Stephen Schueller, an assistant professor at Northwestern University who specializes in behavioral intervention technologies. “The thing I worry about is, unless you have a way to make sure the drivers are behaving appropriately, it’s hard to make sure people are getting quality care. Psychotherapy is a lot more complicated than driving a car.”

Koko’s experience with Reddit wasn’t the first mishap to befall company trying to scale mental health, an industry traditionally made up of heavily regulated, sensitive, one-on-one clinical relationships across an online community. Those challenges were made apparent in the case of Talkspace, where therapists didn’t feel they were able to warn authorities about patients who may have been a danger to themselves or others. That led some therapists to abandon the platform. Samaritans, a 65-year-old organization aimed at helping those in emotional distress, released an app in 2014 called Samaritan Radar. It attempted to identify Twitter users in need of help and offer assistance. But due to the public nature of the interaction, the warnings ended up encouraging bullies and angering users who felt their privacy had been invaded.

The ethics of using of artificial intelligence for this work has become a central question for the industry at large. “The potential demand for mental health is likely to always outstrip the professional resources,” says John Draper, project director at the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline. “There is increasingly a push to see what can technology do.” If AI can detect users at risk and engage them in emotionally intelligent conversations, should that be the first line of defense? “These are important ethical questions that we haven’t answered yet.”

In a recent manifesto on the state of Facebook, CEO Mark Zuckerberg noted that as people move online, society has seen a tremendous weakening of the traditional community ties that once provided mental and emotional support. To date, creating software that restores or reinforces those safeguards has been a reactionary afterthought, not an overarching goal. Systems designed to foster clicks, likes, retweets, and shares have become global communities of unprecedented scale. But Zuckerberg was left to ask, “Are we building the world we all want?”

“There have been terribly tragic events -- like suicides, some live streamed -- that perhaps could have been prevented if someone had realized what was happening and reported them sooner. There are cases of bullying and harassment every day, that our team must be alerted to before we can help out. These stories show we must find a way to do more,” Zuckerberg wrote. “Artificial intelligence can help provide a better approach. We are researching systems that can look at photos and videos to flag content our team should review.” In early March it was reported that Facebook had begun testing an AI system which scanned for vulnerable users and reached out to offer help.

The goal for Koko is the same, but distributed across any online community or social network. Its AI hopes to reach vulnerable users, people like Nicole Lovell, who are posting cries for help online, searching for an empathic community. On a recent afternoon I opened the Koko app, and spent an hour scrolling through a litany of angst: not having the money to complete school, feeling obsessed with an older married man, overwhelmed at the prospect of caring for sick relatives who can no longer remember your name. Beneath each post, three or four users had suggested rethinks, blueprints for coping that users could learn from.

For people who are suffering, knowing that others are in pain, and that they can do something about it, is one way of healing themselves. “Something that caught me right away and kept me coming back to the app again and again was the amazing feeling of hope,” said Zelig, when I emailed her recently to ask a few questions about Koko. “That regardless of all the crap that seemed to be happening in my life, that I could still be of help to someone and could take a positive action.”

Zelig’s kids, like most teenagers, have become keenly interested in what keeps their mother occupied on her smartphone. “They see me typing away and want to know what I’m doing,” Zelig explained. “I’ll ask them, do you think this is a reframe? How would you do it? It was cool, because it’s a puzzle we solve together. What is the critical thing this person was dealing with? [It’s] an emotional, social puzzle.”

A year and a half after she downloaded the app, Zelig still uses it almost every day, but she doesn’t consider herself to be in a state of crisis anymore. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Koko using chatbots and AI to reach out to people who had never heard of the service. At first she told me that if a chatbot had approached her out of the blue, she would have ignored it. But she wrote back later to say that, if these technologies mean more people find their way into the Koko community, she’s in favor. “Life really had me and our family by the throat there for a while,” she told me. “Koko was part of what gave me the ability to see a way through to the other side.”

Illustrations by Peter Steineck

[perfectlittlesatellites]

October 3, 2018

I’ve had a really long day of running around. Grading during free periods, ending my day with 3 classes in a row and office hours, driving down to the hospital for a staff meeting and then back to school for the Freshman Parent Guidance Meeting, which I was asked to attended and have been hounded about for a month and have always received grief for not attending the evening session, only for Mark to ask me when I arrived, “What are you doing here?” because I was the only advisor to show up. The rage-filled live-texting  I did was an excellent sample of the pettiness of school idiocy and politics, (and the violence of my creative streak).

I get home and S looks very grave and says he has to tell me something, and he didn’t want to tell me earlier because he knew the type of day I was having. He starts talking about my grandmother, who beat breast cancer-but we found out a year or so ago (when she fell and broke her hip) that her numbers were up, and it turned out the cancer was back and had metastasized in her bones. It’s terminal. We know that. She has been slowly but steadily declining in the two years since she broke her hip, but she’s also 86. She recently began experiencing difficulties urinating, got catheterized 2 weeks ago, and her urologist told my mom and my grandparents earlier this week at their appointment that the bladder itself is fine, but the issue could be tumors in her spine compressing her bladder, so they now have another appointment scheduled with her oncologist to get a prognosis. 

All of which I knew-except, obviously, that last part, about spinal tumors and worse cancer news. Because despite telling me she’d keep me posted, when we talked this week my mother said everything’s “fine, nothing new.”

That information slipped out to S in a conversation with my brother yesterday morning, when when S let him know that our mom had specifically not mentioned that news, G turned white, looked sheepish, indicating to my husband that there was a reason I hadn’t been told, and that he had fucked up by sharing that information.

Needless to say, I’m fucking furious. 

This has been my relationship with my parents and G more and more since moving out, reaching a really noticeable point about 4 years ago. My mom had called my at work one night and told me the cancer was back and that it getting into her bones was terminal. My voice shook a little when I asked about prognosis and next steps, and my mom said to me, “There’s no use crying about it. She’s in her 80′s. She’s had a good run. However long we have her, we have her.”

Like she’s a horse we’re sending out to pasture or something, and like I was unstable to react otherwise. This is where the alienation began to shift, and slowly turned into secret-keeping.

Like the dozen or so times over the last 2 years that my parents and G would have dinner out with my grandparents (and sometimes my aunt, if she was down from MA) and were eating 10 minutes away from our house and never thought to ask if S and I would like to be included, only to talk casually about it the next time we talked. Or my cousin’s autism diagnosis, which I had called 2 years beforehand anyway as a possible explanation for his over-stimulation and social lag. Or my older cousin’s anxiety diagnosis that eventually came out of all the GI tests he had done. At their anniversary dinner 2 weeks ago, my mom super conspicuously ducked out to our living room to take a phone call. After a few minutes I got a sinking feeling it was about my grandmother, since they had cancelled with us last minute because of her ER visit, and she looked like she got caught in a drug deal when I entered the room, only to tell me that she was getting an update from her cousin on my great aunt, who had been in the hospital and was being discharged to a rehab. And even then, that day it had taken all sorts of awkwardness and borderline aggression to get the information about my grandmother. My grandfather left me a message simply stating he was canceling and wouldn’t answer the phone when I called back to communicate my regret about it. So I called home and no one answered. When I texted G and asked what was going on, he hemmed and hawed and pretended not to know anything (because he was buying time to text/call my mom), who then called me from the beach and still resisted telling me what was happening until I pushed. So this whole keeping me out of the loop about family business has been building and building, and now it’s got me pissed off. Because it’s like since I don’t live under the same roof anymore, that dynamic I had always pushed back against-like my mom, dad, and G are family and I’m not-has just escalated, and now I’m not privy to any information whatsoever.

It’s like I’m no longer family-or at least truly family-because I was married and out of the house by 26, and did what I was supposed to by leaving the nest. And while before when we were kids G woudn’t stick up for me, but cling nervously to his position as the favorite, he is willingly watching me be cut out of this family-like, surgically, participating in the secrecy towards me and not really questioning it more than a superficial shrug.

So my dad bullies me with or without an audience, my mom and brother allow it, and my mom and brother block me from knowing what’s going on in the family, like I don’t have a right to be a part of it.

What. The. Fuck.

All because I got a little choked up when my mom dropped the bomb on me at work that my grandmother’s cancer was back when she had been cancer-free for so long?

Or is it because I cry at all?

Because here’s the thing: I know my grandma will likely not be with us much longer, especially if this tumor hypothesis ends up being true. If she has to be permanently catheterized, she will become demoralized, depressed, and give up, and she will deteriorate even faster. I know her well enough to know that. I don’t need a medical degree to get that.

And when she eventually passes away, I will cry. I will mourn the loss of my only grandmother that I really knew. I will miss her. I will grieve the impossibility of her getting to meet the next Eileen, her great granddaughter, and it will suck that she, my mom, my baby and I will not ever get to all be together. That sucks. I will shed a tear for the fact that when she and Grandpa went to Florida, and when mom and dad made up their minds about me, this altered the course of my relationship with her for a long time, and what it could have been, which I’ve only recently been able to enjoy. That we weren’t closer, especially as I became a woman and an adult. Sure I will.

Because I’m a fucking human being.

But I’m not going to lose my shit. I won’t be fucked up about it. Because I realized a while back that my parents had their own version of me that they presented to other adults in my life. And that while my grandma sipped the Kool-Aid for a little bit, and has spent most of the last decade living a mile or two away from my parents and G, she has been at times vocal about her preference for G-not directly, mind, but the message was there. But she also never did it at my expense. She clearly preferred him because he was the one my parents deployed to help them with tech in their house, and he was the one at all those dinners my mom was telling them I was busy for but I was actually ignorant of, and all offers I made to chip in were brushed off by my mom. But when she and I were alone, when we had our time together, she let me know what’s what.

I remember back in 2009 she was the one who requested my mom invite me to join her Mother’s Day trip to New York for an evening dinner and show since I lived there. She insisted on coming to see my apartment-she beamed at how, “metropolitan” I was, and as she was getting ready to get in the cab at the end of the night, she hugged me tight, and she kissed her bold red lipstick all over my face, and she told me,

“I am so proud of the brave woman you are. Keep going. I want you to stay here and see this through as far as you can take it. Don’t let anyone tell you you’re not smart or you can’t do it, because you are! I love you for it, so much, my girlfriend.”

I obviously minimized and self-deprecated, just like I’ve always been taught. She whacked me in the leg with her cane and said, “Stop it. I love you, girlfriend. You keep all of this up-don’t you disappoint me by stopping too soon. I love you too much for you to ever settle. You got this.”

“I love you, too.”

“I know you do. You show me all the time by how proud you make me, every day.”

I cried so hard after that cab pulled away because that was the first time in at least a decade that anyone in my family had told me they were proud of me, especially without a qualifier (especially one that involved G), and it was the first time an adult in my family had said, “I love you,” in almost as long.

Since then she has often reminded S to, “worship” me because I am a catch, because I am her girl.

She gushed throughout the entire wedding process.

Every time I see her, she is happy to see me and she tells me how glad she is I continue to invite her for holidays (as if I wouldn’t?) and I get her her favorite snacks, and get her, “cool” gifts that help her feel hip and chic.

We had a long conversation when I saw her the 2nd or 3rd time after she fell, when she was in my mom’s nursing home for rehab. She was depressed and self-pitying and angry with mom for making her go to PT. I talked to her about the validity of her feelings and fears, but encouraged her to start the antidepressants that were being recommended by the staff psychiatrist-that there’s no shame in needing a little help-that her body and mind are connected, and it’s not as simply as willing the pain away. I encouraged her to talk to the social worker, to have someone on her side whose only agenda was to provide her with safety and validation and encouragement. And if she wouldn’t, to call me and yell and wail and bitch and that I could hold that for her. She got tearful and asked, “When did you become so smart, and so wise?”

I told her simply that it had been a while, but that mom and dad didn’t quite see it that way, and that it could stay our secret. And she took me up on it a few times, and she was always grateful for the ear.

So maybe she only sipped that Kool-Aid, and as much as she sings G’s praises and S’s in front of others, it will only ever earn an eye roll from me. 

I won’t have unfinished business with her when she passes, whenever that is. Will I wish she had been more public in her acknowledgement of me? Sure. But that’s about me, not about her. She is a black and white thinking, and can only have one favorite. It doesn’t mean she devalues me. I will wish we were closer. But she knows I love her. She loves me the way she knows how: by outwardly favoring the boy, and sharing her quiet, more vulnerable moments with me.

I will not have any regrets. Because she saw me, and I let go of the need for her proclaimed approval once I knew it existed at all.

You know who will be really fucked up?

G, when he loses his most vocal source of praise and one of the few people who, “needs” him.

My uncle, the favorite child who has been largely uninvolved with her care despite being 15 minutes away, and missing many opportunities for time with her.

My aunt, who is depressive and perfectionistic, and who will struggle with guilt and anger towards her husband for uprooting her and the kids to MA, and couldn’t be more involved despite desperately wanting to be.

The most fucked up of all will be my mom. The oldest child who was never the outward source of pride, who broke her own heart to get the approval she wanted and is bearing the brunt of her care now. Who rarely gets a thank you but gets bitched at simply because she’s there, because she’s safe and reliable to receive her anger. I know she’s internalizing this. She is already batshit crazy about all of the praise she’s not getting, the reciprocity that’s not obtainable so long as my grandma is as bitter and angry and lost as she is right now.

The woman scolding me for having a human reaction to a cancer relapse is going to need the most whenever Grandma’s time comes. She is going to be bereft and lost. 

And who does she think is going to provide her emotional support and hear all of this? 

My, “feminine logic,” emotionally retarded bully of a father?

My emotionally stunted, overgrown adolescent brother who still sleeps in the same twin bed and lets his dad make his bagged lunch?

Or her daughter, who can speak about and hold emotions and provide empathy and gentleness, not just because she’s a compassionate person, but because she’s a trained fucking counselor, and not a cyborg?

THIS. THIS is what makes me so insane about all of this shit with my family.

I’m never smart enough until there’s a question G can’t answer because it’s my area of expertise. I’m never wanted around until I heed that response and back away. No gift good enough. What have you.

And I’m unstable and emotional when I communicate that they hurt me, and ask for what I need, or am overwhelmed or stressed about how my family treats me. It makes me angry and unworthy.

But when you need a free therapist? That’s when you want me to provide all of the things you denied me for all of these years, even as you’re still excluding me and hurting and keeping secrets from me?

When do I get to become a fully operational person to them?

Maybe I need to cut away from my family for a while. Or maybe altogether. 

I feel like they just make me so angry all the time, and I hate the person I am in those moments.

I feel like with all of this, I’m being poisoned. I hate it.

[mrswrocks]

Homesick

I’d never cried like that before. Tears just flowed. Like a river. I couldn’t force them back. My eyes didn’t swell. It didn’t even feel like I was crying.

I guess I naively thought I--to some degree--had felt almost any emotion a person can feel. But I’d never felt this. Homesick. A sad ache that was somehow dull and piercing at the same time.

Of course, this is happening while I’m driving my younger brother to a movie. But I know the roads so well, it doesn’t matter. He asks if I’m okay, and I don’t want to upset him, so I wipe the weird, thin tears from my face and try to keep my voice from cracking as I answer. I tell him I’m fine, and his sister is just crying because she misses him.

“It’s okay,” he replies, “emotions are hard sometimes.”

December was my first time home since I relocated two months earlier, and I must say, the Carrie Winchel Reunion Tour 2016 was pretty much perfect. I stayed with my friend, who is more like a sister. Her house is cozy and welcoming. She doesn’t expect anything from me, and I can totally be my zany self around her and her family. She made me delicious food and fun winter drinks and we watched movies and put puzzles together while it snowed. I miss her like crazy. Pulling out of her driveway for that last time was the hardest thing ever.

I miss my parents, and I’m sad I’m not around to check in and share what’s going on. But what broke my heart is my brother, who has autism, asking me if I was going to miss his December 30th birthday. Here, bro, take this knife and stab me in the heart.

Back to that movie...I took him to see Moana, and I started bawling like a baby during a preview for Lego Batman when I realized I wouldn’t be able to take him to see it. He’s been left behind by his peers. He doesn’t get out much and is longing for friends and fun. Mom and dad don’t count. Sister and brother-in-law tried to fill that void, and now sister and brother-in-law are 500 miles away. I feel like a piece of shit for leaving him.

In the year before I left, I quickly grew close to some non-work friends--a new and fantastic concept for me. Spending time with them leaves me feeling energized instead of drained. We can talk for hours, and I can see myself being friends with them for the rest of my life. I miss them. I miss happy hours and lunches and workouts and talks about clothes and hair and family and husbands and dream houses. During my little trip, we talked about all of those things and more.

I never thought I’d miss my hometown if I moved away. I have always had this strong desire to move to a big city...spread my wings, blah blah blah...insert generic crappy cliche here--Think Queen Reba’s classic “Is There Life Out There.” I just wanted to Mary Tyler Moore through the city streets while wearing a snappy blazer.

My home is not a small town, but moving to a legit, large city made me realize how small it actually is. I could get anywhere I wanted to go in 15 minutes without fearing I’d die on the interstate. I’m now convinced my Ford Escape will serve as my steely grave. I’ll draw my last breath as my blue tooth speaker continues to play some profanity-filled podcast about metal music.

There isn’t that much to do in the town I lived in, but being a part of the small pockets of culture that did exist made me feel special. And I didn’t have to pay $25 to park downtown. And I didn’t have to worry about getting shot. Usually.

So I’ve done this thing I’ve wanted to do for literally half my life.

And all I can think about is how much I miss home. Everything about it. Am I sad because I actually miss it? Or because I miss what’s familiar? Will this pass? What is wrong with me? 20-year-old me would lose her damn MIND with delight if I could go back in time and tell her she’s actually going to live in Nashville, and she’d want to slap 32 year old me for whining like a little bitch about it.

One of my wise friends said, “what if you hadn’t left?”

Good question. That���s the one thing I keep going back to.