#i am simultaneously my adult self and my child self

[uncanny-tranny]

I think something that can be unironically helpful as a trans person is reclaiming the childhood you didn't get.

I didn't have the childhood I wanted - the one I needed - and now as an adult, I am honouring who I never got to be. I'm doing all the stuff kid me never felt he could do for fear of being unloved. I'm setting my child self free, and it's leading me to accepting not only my past but my present and my transness.

However it looks for you, whatever feels safest for you, honour your child self. They did the best they could, just like you are now.

[nejackdaw]

Thinking about Celann and his ever present grief at the life he could have had, he and his wife and (he always hoped) their daughter. A life where he was a father--he'd hardly ever wanted anything more than that. So full of love he was ready to burst and needed somewhere to put it, wanted a life with his favorite girls.

Thinking about how the ever present desire haunts him no matter how deep he buried it. It keeps coming back, relentlessly, this anguish that he threw it all away. He could have had exactly what he wanted and he was stupid enough to abandon it all, and for what? Because he was upset? But then he always remembers how hollow he felt after the incident, like if you rapped him with a knuckle you'd hear he was just a shell. He forgives himself, then, remembers how wrong everything felt, and he thinks about all the time he spent desperately trying to make everything feel right again.

Remembers when he realized he was the problem, what needed to be fixed. Removed.

He abandoned the life he had and every dream he'd ever held close because he wasn't him anymore. Celann would never have killed anyone, would never have done... that. He was some other Celann, different, trying to make himself fit in the life of a man that no longer existed. And so he left.

And he has no right to ache so badly at the thought of what he gave up, no right to ache at the loss of a family (of two families, but he starts thinking that and breaks every time, so he's gotten good at simply skipping over the thought) when he was a killer--an adept one, a practiced one--that could mangle and maul and kill and do it again and again. What right does he have to still want that happy little dream?

But the dream is a ghost and it haunts him, is there every time he's out on a supply run and sees kids playing around the marketplace, sees women cradling infants and fathers carrying sons on their shoulders. (He reminds himself of the blood on his hands, is scared he might stain them with it if he reaches out to touch them.) It's there when he has a bag and his axe hanging from his hips and finds a girl crying for her mother, lost and separated, jostled by the crowd.

It's there as he calms her, kneeling on wet and gritty stone, hovering between her and the flow of the crowd so they give her space. He lifts her and holds her against his side with one arm and something in him weeps, feels something soft in him as her tiny weight settles and she starts chattering at him about the groceries she and her mother came to buy.

They weave their way through the marketplace as they help each other--she tells him where he can find what he needs, and he silently curses the nords and their height as he tries to peer over shoulders to catch a glimpse of the woman she described--and that cold weight that's usually settled in his chest, his grief and remorse, lightens with every step. She's warm through his sweater and splutters indignantly every time the ever changing wind blows her brown hair into her mouth and he laughs, quiet and warm.

They check places she's already been, in case her mother doubled back looking for her, and take detours so Celann can fumble to place newly acquired groceries in the bag beneath her, unwilling to hold her over the side with his axe and equally unwilling to put her down, awkwardly shifting her weight as she laughs at him. He's silly for buying such expensive things, she tells him, and he light heartedly tells her Skyrim is silly for not having the things he used to use in High Rock. The revelation he hasn't always lived in Skyrim excites her to no end, and the rest of the trip is a Q&A of the sort only a small child can provide.

He feels warm inside, in his chest, where usually he feels vaguely cold at best, and for a moment he's reluctant to relinquish her when they finally find her mother, guided by the sounds of panicked calls of her name. There's a fond sadness as he sets her down on the stones again, and the woman looks at him oddly for a moment before the look turns knowing, though he's sure the conclusion she reached is slightly off.

She quietly asks if her daughter reminds him of her. He stands there silently for a moment, looking down at the little girl as she rifles through the things her mother's found.

He tells her yes.

[scarletttries]

Roman Roy x Age-Gap! Reader Headcanons:

Pairing: Roman Roy (Succession) x Reader

Word Count: 2k (warning: mention of Logany child abuse)

Author’s Note: Oh Roman Roy, you're really making me fall in love with your sad little face and your slightly softening heart this season. Thank you for this request, please enjoy these thoughts about Roman Roy with a younger, but still very much legal adult, reader. Also please fill my inbox with Kendall and Roman requests because I am thinking about little else! 😊

Update! Part two here 😀

- Roman Roy has always felt simultaneously like he's never really grown up, and that he was never allowed to be a child. Growing up as the youngest son of Logan Roy he wasn't allowed the chance to make the silly mistakes of childhood folly. Logan had been through that before and frankly he needed Roman to be a serious adult from the moment he could comprehend his father's disapproving glare. Naturally this was an impossible ask of a small, sensitive boy, and led to blows to back of the head when tears threatened to stain the silk shirt he'd been so uncomfortably forced into for another endless press event where he stood like a prop, just desperate not to get in any more trouble or let his dad down worse than he already had.

- As Roman entered adulthood he began to be left out of all the rooms where serious people met and talked about things he could never quite get right; he's wasn't self-interested enough, he didn't have those killer instincts, he couldn't rid his head of the thoughts of how many people would be affected by the company's every move. As Logan and Kendall started to tire of his quippy comments, relegating him to waiting outside for busy work, he could feel himself struggling to meet the thresholds of adulthood that Ken seemed to have carried with him for as long as Roman could remember. This dichotomy of boy and man left Roman feeling like he was never quite comfortable with his age, unsure what lense to see that number through. And then he met you.

- Getting a job at Waystar may have left you feeling a little morally uncomfortable, but you reminded yourself that ten years experience there and you'd be able to get any job in any industry you like, while also being able to pay for your own place. So you pushed that feeling down each day as you entered that office full of rich old white men. Given you'd actually had to earn your place there, rather than just knowing someone, it wasn't long until your work ethic, intelligence and ingenuity had you climbing the corporate ladder in your department and getting you noticed by some of the much higher-ups. Naturally they tried to just take credit for your work, but when the day came that Logan actually asked for an explanation of a report you'd produced, Frank had no choice but to put you in a room with the big boss face-to-face.

- You'd heard nothing but bad things about Logan Roy and as he stared at you in pure contempt while you answered his questions, wondering why his time was being wasted with this young thing from the bullpen, it took all your resolve to hold your nerve, giving short answers and trying not to give him anything to hold over you. Every so often you'd let your eyes flick over his shoulder to the man standing behind him, ten years older than you but pulling at the sleeves of his shirt like a little kid as he watched you face the interrogation, outwardly seeming far more nervous about the situation than you did. After fifteen minutes of watching you hold your head high and speak so confidently about your work, Roman was staring at you unashamedly in a mix of awe, intrigue and disbelief. Despite the age gap you seemed to have all the facets of a self-assured adult that he felt he'd never quite unlocked, while exuding the joyful exuberance of youth he'd never been allowed. He needed to know more about you, so when Logan shouted at Gerri to 'throw you in a dress and bring to this week's investor mixers' he could feel his heart pounding in his chest at the sheer hope and possibility of the answers you might hold.

- You weren't thrilled to spend your evenings surrounded by colleagues, stood to attention in case anyone needed a question answering, but you didn't hate the full railing of designer evening wear that had been sent to your apartment for the occasion. You found yourself trying to blend into the shadows of a corner, unsure of your place in this room and this crowd, wondering if any of the food on display was actually for eating, or if that would be seen as a massive faux pas. Luckily Roman had been keeping an interested eye on you all evening; who you'd spoken to, what you'd been dressed in, the frankly adorable face you'd pulled when Frank handed you a Whiskey twice your age and you took a very unwilling sip, feigning appreciation before slinking away to stick your tongue out at the burning taste. And finally he built up the nerve to approach you now that you were alone, trying to approach casually by picking up a grape from the ornate platter beside you, only to take a bite, realise it was plastic and having to hand it mortified to a waiter that had watched the whole thing from your side. He could feel the blood burning in his cheeks as he watched you try and stifle a laugh, both mortified that you already knew he was a fool and pleased that he'd been able to bring a smile to your face this evening.

"Yeah yeah fuck you." He laughed as he stopped just in front of you, all the words he'd planned to share failing him now that he was close enough to see the beauty in your sincere smile as you shook your head,

"Really I should thank you, now I'm one step closer to figuring out what's actually edible here." You replied with a warmth that almost made Roman recoil, so used to the icy chill he usually received from those around him.

"Well certainly not that whiskey." He nodded to the short crystal glass you'd been trying to put down since Frank handed it to you, tone sarcastic but without the cutting edge he was usually one to deliver. "Why is that the one thing these old fucks actually like to be their own age?" As you laughed again Roman felt a little victorious, he had set himself a pretty low bar but he was confident he was going to be the highlight of your evening.

- As you spent the next week being dragged to different events, you'd always find Roman slinking to your side before the night was through, as if you'd always been old friends, just counting down the hours of everyone else's company. You'd counter his one-liners and then ask him where he'd rather be on a Friday night and make him realise he didn't really know any other kind of night. So when you'd list off your weekend plans, and hobbies and interests, and tell him stories about your friends that had his hyena laugh echoing across the otherwise solemn room, he'd start to realise just how much he was missing out on, and how much he wanted to explore that with you as his guide.

- It stopped being enough, just finding you on odd evenings. Roman would start finding your desk at Waystar, pretending to just be wandering through a junior office coincidentally. He'd glance at his wrist, ignoring the fact he'd forgotten to put on a watch this morning, and comment that as 'technically kind of your boss' he needed to make sure his best employees were actually taking a lunch break, and also were you hungry? Sometimes during the day he'd just melt onto the floor beside your desk, chatting about nothing as you tried your best to type and pay him the attention he so desperately craved. He'd start having all of his meetings in the rooms on your floor so he could wave at you as he walked past the huge glass windows keeping your team contained, an apt metaphor for the walls up inside him he was worried you'd never cross.

- Poor insecure Roman, he'd really try and force himself to ask you out, but ultimately he'd be so afraid of the potential backlash of rejection, that it would be up to you to finally ask if he wanted to grab a drink after work, one Friday when he'd been particularly clingy. You'd take him to a fun, casual bar and watch his eye's light up at people playing darts or ordering fried food and generally the nice, relaxed atmosphere where he didn't feel he had to be the smartest person in the room. Occasionally a friend of yours would walk in a wave and ask how you were doing, and you'd introduce Roman as your friend with no shame or regret and he'd say something funny and get the same rush of pride at making you laugh that he did the first time, and he'd feel like maybe the more time he spent getting to know you, the better he could see himself, still young at heart but not the kid he once was. His lost childhood and misspent youth given a second chance as you offered to see him again next weekend.

- Once you open the affectionate floodgates Roman would be the clingiest koala you can imagine. He'd rarely be as direct as holding your hand, especially not in public, conscious of looking just like his father with a younger woman on his arm. But in the privacy of your little apartment, the one Roman fell in love with the moment he saw it, he'd take a slightly threadbare throw and toss it over the both of you as he all but crumbled into your lap when he wanted to talk about something he thought would make you run. Opening up about his father's wrath and his warped view of himself, glancing up periodically to check you hadn't ran away and left him behind, finding softness in your eyes instead of disappointment and sinking even more deeply into you.

- Roman would think you are an absolute fucking genius for everything you've done for yourself. Worked hard to be the best at your job? Genius. Manage your own bills and do your own laundry? Genius. Carry a water bottle around and make him drink some when he has a headache and somehow he feels better than he has in years? Genius.

- Roman would follow you to hell and back, but you'll have to forcibly remove him from your apartment when you want to go outside. He's never been somewhere that actually felt like home, every soft furnishing and mismatched bowl making him want to haunt your halls forever. If you ever make him a home cooked meal, he'll act like it's not a big deal, but honestly he's crying inside that anyone would go through the effort for him, and that he was the person they chose to be around. Cut to him going thrifting with you to buy five new dishes for you to cook in next time, plus anything else you like.

- Occasionally you'll successfully get him outside for a hike, or a walk, or even a day at a museum or arcade; and Roman will go full toddler on you. Pointing at everything excitedly, running around and shrieking, making sure he was your undivided attention and dragging you by the hand to look at everything. By the time you're home you're ready to collapse, only to notice Roman surreptitiously placing a little souvenir somewhere on your shelf, sneakily bought from a gift shop while you were in the bathroom, before pretending he has no idea how it got there.

- Roman is so enraptured by the incredible, rounded human-being that you are, that eventually some of your self-belief would start to rub off on him, making him feel more sure of himself than he ever has before. Thinking less about the approval of others (except you, he still desperately wants that), feeling confident in his ideas, and no longer feeling like he's stuck in Peter Pan mode - despite falling for someone ten years his junior, Roman would finally feel like he was becoming the man he was always supposed to be, thanks to you.

Let me know if you want a part two of this!

[1863-project]

For the ask game: common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about?

[ask meme]

8. common fandom opinion that everyone is wrong about

I...actually get frustrated with the infantilization and/or demonization of characters that could be read as autistic, because it happens so often and there's such a lack of self-awareness when people do it. If one person headcanons it, a bunch of other people pile on, and before you know it, your character is being treated like someone else entirely - and unfairly so.

Let's take the most obvious example and the reason I don't engage with fandom much:

I am so tired of what fandom at large has done to Emmet since 2010. He's been infantilized since day one, often being portrayed as needing Ingo to take care of him or otherwise be his brother's keeper. He's also been turned into a violent, 'unhinged' stereotype since day one. Neither of these things are new. They've been happening since the release of the games. Neither of them have any basis in his canon characterization - a competent railroad employee who's a goofball but simultaneously responsible and always puts safety first.

I was hoping people had moved past that the way they moved past Blankshipping (though some people still do this, too, EW), but it seems like they haven't. Emmet is still either a helpless child or a serial killer waiting to happen to so many of these people, and as someone who actually felt so validated and seen the first time she discovered Ingo and Emmet, it hurts so deeply.

In real life, I'm also infantilized. I turn 35 this year and have a Master’s degree and work a big grown-up adult archivist job and live outside my parents' house, but because I'm neurodivergent and short, I'm frequently assumed to be and am treated like a teenager way more often than you'd reasonably expect. It's incredibly frustrating to constantly be treated like an innocent child because you don't meet neurotypical benchmarks of adulthood the way they want you to or because of the way you carry yourself or enjoy things. But at the same time, people shy away from me because I'm "too intense" about the things I care about.

Sound familiar?

Fandom was, when I was a younger girl, a place where neurodivergent people (especially autistic and ADHD people) were safe from the real world not understanding, accommodating, and accepting us. We generally kept things on the down-low, since it was another thing we'd be bullied for if people knew, but for us, it was a safe space. Then people realized fandom could be commodified, and once capitalism got a hold on fandom and made it mainstream, all our bullies were suddenly in our little space again, and...well, you probably know the rest. (Yeah, they brought their ableism with them.)

I'm not saying old fandom didn't have its problems. It had a LOT of problems. But it was, altogether, a safer space for neurodivergent people to find community and themselves than it is now. Now it feels more about producing things and moving on to the next big thing to produce more "content" to keep engagement instead of an actual community of nerdy, passionate people getting excited about each other's fanworks and chatting about their favorite things together.

And that reflects in how people treat autistic and autistic-coded characters now. Emmet is one example of many - look at Papyrus, or Entrapta, or numerous others.

This trend really, really fucking hurts, and I cannot stand how willingly fandom spaces just go along with it without thinking critically about it.

[141goblin]

Soft: Chapter two.

CW: Mention of body image, reader feels inferior to her best friend. Slightly suggestive.

A/N: Thank you for all the love on part one, i’m so glad people like my writing. It’s heavily self indulgent so it makes me very happy to know it resonates with people other than me🥰

—>Part one

After a little encouragement from Johnny and the rest of my martini, I find myself stood in front of the group of men and Amelia as her and Johnny both introduce me to his friends. I got a wink and a “Nice to meet you, lovely” from Gaz, a firm handshake and a “Pleasure” from Simon…

“And this is Price, our Captain.”

The wide man smiles warmly and gives me a nod.

“Pleasure to meet you, dove.”

I give him a sweet smile and something between and a nod and an awkward bow/curtsy. Why the fuck am I curtsying? Jesus christ, I need another drink already. I feel my cheeks heating up with embarrassment but luckily, no one mentions it. They either didn’t notice or decide not to mention it. Either way, I don’t care.

Everyone begins to engage in small talk, leaving me stood there in the awkward predicament of being part of the group, but not being part of the conversation. I feel so ridiculous and out of place, like a child that’s stood with a group of adults, unable to join in on their conversation. I pretend like I don’t care and politely excuse myself and walk towards the exit.

I walk outside and sit down on the stone bench, my feet already aching because of my stupid heels, the cold night air nipping at my skin that simultaneously feels too hot because of the amount of alcohol i’ve consumed.

I rummage around in my handbag and pull out my half-empty packet of cigs that I save for when I drink. I always insist that i’m not a smoker, yet the minute I get a few drinks in my system, i’m puffing away like a chimney, making my breath stink. I light up and inhale it deep, feeling the all too familiar burn in my lungs. The smoke curls up into the night air as I exhale, leaving a ribbon of grey in front of me.

I think back to Amelia and how effortlessly pretty she looks, how she’s able to command everyone’s attention just by walking into a room. She doesn’t have to worry about what she looks like 24/7, she doesn’t have to worry about meeting someone in person for the first time after talking on a dating app and feeling terrified of being rejected and being labelled a ‘catfish’ because they didn’t know I was fat from my pictures. I know it’s not her fault, I know that. But deep down, there’s a bitterness, right in the pit of my stomach. She’s gorgeous, she doesn’t have to even try. The bitterness festers and claws at my insides on nights like this, where i’m left alone to entertain myself while she’s off with Johnny or her other friends. I sound like a child, i’m fully aware of that, but still, I feel it. Deep down in my stomach, a dull ache for more, a longing, a yearning to be that girl. Just as i’m stewing in my own grumpiness and general bitterness, I hear the rumble of a deep voice behind me.

“You alright, dove?”

Normally, i’d make an effort to impress a man like him. He’s handsome, too fucking handsome for his own good. Normally, i’d stub out my cigarette and sit up straight to hide the rolls of my stomach that protrude when I sit comfortably. But right now, I don’t care.

“Fine, thanks.”

Clipped, short, blunt. A subtle hint for him to leave me alone. He either ignores it or is too stupid to pick up on it, because he sits down beside me. Thighs spread, one hand on his thigh, the other wrapped around a cigar.

“Not a fan of parties like this, I take it?”

I scoff and flick some ash off the end of my cigarette before taking another deep puff, letting it fill my lungs, the stench of tobacco creating a cloud around me.

“You could say that.”

He laughs, his broad shoulders shaking up and down, the sound rumbly and deep, settling into my bones. He raises his cigar to his lips and takes a drag, the brown cylinder hissing and glowing red at the tip as he sucks. His voice is thick with smoke when he speaks.

“Mm, I get it. Not for everyone.”

I’ve either had too much to drink, am at the end of my tether, or just feel way too comfortable with this man, because what comes next is an outburst, an angry rant.

“I mean, is it for anyone other than rich arseholes or people who have been dragged into it by those rich arseholes? Groups of people pretending to be something they’re not, just to impress each other. I don’t get it. Fucking ridiculous if you ask me. I’d much rather be curled up on my couch with a shit bottle of wine and a takeaway than be here but I couldn’t say no to Amelia. Pain in the arse…”

I expected him to defend the party, or make some excuse that it’s a chance for like-minded people to ‘network’ or some ridiculous bullshit. But, to my surprise, he just laughs again. A warm, rumbling sound that makes me want to press my ear to his chest. I huff and cross my arms over my chest, glaring out into the night, the grassy courtyard scattered with multiple bush-sculptures, or whatever they’re called.

“Feel better, dove?”

I huff and laugh and hum in response. He gives me a tap on the thigh and stands up.

“I’ll be inside, if you decide to stay. I hope your night gets better, dove.”

I give him my best attempt at a warm smile and then he disappears inside again. I take a deep breath and try to shake off the festering bitterness and grumpiness. I should be inside, with my best friend. I stand up, feeling the ache of my heels and walk back inside to the ballroom, putting on a happy face. I spot Amelia, Johnny, Gaz and Simon at a table towards the front so I make my way over. Amelia gives me a concerned look, a silent ask of ‘You okay?’ and I just nod, dismissing it. I’m not getting into it, not here, not now.

A waiter appears and places a blueberry martini in front of me, without me even having to ask and i’ve never been so grateful. I take a large, burning swig and turn to the group with feigned confidence.

“So, what’d I miss?”

Johnny turns to me without taking his eyes off the stage, where a few people are setting up a microphone and some speakers.

“The birthday boy is about to make his big speech. Should be a good one, better than last year.”

The lads share a few knowing laughs, like they’re all giggling over an inside joke, and i’m about to ask what’s funny when a familiar, gravelly voice talks through the microphone and out of the speakers.

“If I could just have your attention for a minute or two-“

Fuck. Sake.

“Just want to say a quick thank you to all of you for coming to celebrate my birthday with me tonight. It’s lovely to see see you all. I hope you all enjoy your night and make complete use of the bar. Behave yourselves”

If there was ever a time I wanted the ground to open up and swallow me whole, it’d be now. I went on a big, angry rant to the poor man minutes previously, completely ignorant to the fact that the entire reason this party is taking place is because it’s his fucking birthday. I’ve never felt more like a dickhead in all my life, and i’m certain my face is bright red. Price raises a glass and speaks again.

“To us rich arseholes, at least pretend to be on your best behaviour, eh? Here’s to a good night.”

He ends the speech echoing my previous words with a wink in my direction and I’ve never been more embarrassed in my entire life. I must’ve sounded like some entitled, bitchy woman who thinks she’s above rich, fancy parties. I knew i’d never have a chance with a man like him anyway, but now any flicker of hope there was has been completely stubbed out by my own angry words, fuelled by alcohol and bitterness towards being the ‘single, fat friend’.

I down the rest of my martini in an attempt to hide my beetroot-red face and embarrassment, despite the fact that my head is already a little fuzzy and clouded by the way i’ve been chugging blueberry martinis like my life depends on it. Luckily, no one notices my embarrassment and Price goes off to mingle with other people rather than coming back to our table, so I don’t have to confront him. I make a silent ‘thank-you’ to whoever is up there in the sky, whether it be god or some other deity.

The next few hours go by without any more embarrassments, thank god. I do my best to engage in small talk with the lads while simultaneously avoiding Price. I should apologise, I know that, but I doubt he wants to see me. Or hear my whining voice ever again. Why didn’t he say anything? Why didn’t he cut me off and tell me it was his fucking birthday to save me the embarrassment of going off on some pathetic rant about ‘rich arseholes’? Why am I such a fucking idiot?

I excuse myself from the group and go back to the bar to order another drink. Except this time, I order a glass of water along with my martini. Arguably the only good decision i’ve made all night. No, the only good decision i’ve made in a long time. I plop myself down on the same tiny barstool as a few hours previous and take a few swigs of water to try and sober up a little and cool myself down. My hair has gone from being up in a bun and cute-messy, to being free and wild, cascading down my back. I don’t even remember undoing it, but i’m past the point of caring. My face is flushed, my eyes are glassy and my lipstick is faded and the tiniest bit smudged. A whole mess.

I force my thoughts away from considering the mess i’ve become over the course of the night and I look over to Amelia and the group of lads. Before I even have time to register that Price has joined the group, my stomach drops. He’s looking right at me with a fucking smirk on his face. If I wasn’t so embarrassed I’d probably think it was the sexiest thing i’ve ever seen. My face immediately blushes scarlet and I discard the glass of water for my martini. If i’m gonna get through this night with any semblance of dignity, I won’t be doing it sober. I debate getting up and sucking up my pride to apologise for being such a bitch. But then, what if he just laughs in my face and everyone else sees how much of a whiny child I was? Yeah, better not do that.

Amelia seems to notice him staring right at me because in a matter of seconds, she’s following his gaze and then walking over to me, that determined look on her face. She knows somethings going on, and she will demand to know.

“Okay, what the fuck. Did you and birthday boy get it on in the toilets or something without me knowing?”

I scoff and roll my eyes, not meeting her gaze and pouring some more blueberry flavoured courage down my throat.

“Obviously not, Amelia.”

She shakes her head and sits on the stool next to me, determined to get to the bottom of my awkward behaviour.

“Okay, listen. Me and you are gonna get out of here and go back to your apartment with a bottle of your favourite shit wine and we can talk all about it. I can tell you’re not enjoying yourself and I wanna know what’s going on. Gimme five minutes, i’ll be back and then we’re leaving.”

Before I can argue and tell her it’s okay, she’s going back to the group of lads and giving Johnny a kiss goodbye. It’s times like these where i’m reminded why she’s my best friend. She can read my feelings without me having to say a word, and she does truly care about me, even if my stupid little brain tries to convince me otherwise.

I leave the rest of my martini and make my way outside to have a cigarette while I wait for her. It’s well into the night now and considerably colder, and i’m mentally cursing myself for not wearing a jacket. I pull out another cigarette from my handbag and take a deep, long drag. The same burn, the same stench, the same short-lived relief. Just as i’m about to exhale-

“Leaving so soon, dove?”

For fuck sake. Why does this man have to show up at the worst times?

“Afraid so.. Past my bedtime.”

Again, the man laughs. Now, I know i’ve had too much to drink because I feel the warm, rumbly sound deep in my core, between my thighs. I don’t turn around to look at him, I can’t face him. I think i’ll die of embarrassment if I do.

I feel the warmth of something get draped around my shoulders, and the scent of spices and smoke mixed with expensive cologne. I’ve been nothing but a bitch to this man and here he is being chivalrous and giving me his jacket. I say nothing, but i’m grateful for the warmth.

“Hm. Shame. I quite enjoyed that little rant of yours.”

He’s doing in on purpose, i’m sure of it. He’s giving subtle digs to make me feel like even more of an idiot. It’s now when I spin on my heels to face him. I need to apologise. Now or never.

“Listen, about that.-“

“No need to apologise, dove. I liked the honesty. Not often I find a soft, beautiful thing like you with such fire in her.”

Just like that, i’m rendered speechless. I was expecting him to brush me off or belittle me or even scold me. But no. He’s giving me compliments like it’s the most normal thing in the world. I’m stuttering and fumbling over my words when Amelia walks about and grabs my hand, seemingly oblivious to the situation and pulling me into an uber. I get in, still speechless and head spinning. Is my head spinning because of the countless martinis I guzzled or because of him? I don’t know, and I can’t figure it out.

Amelia and I make it back to my apartment as we immediately kick off our shoes and crack open a bottle of shit wine and immediately I feel comfortable, i’m in my own space, drinking my favourite cheap wine with my best friend. Not surrounded by people I don’t know In some huge fucking mansion.

Amelia sits on the other end of the couch, legs intertwined with mine as she sips on the wine and gives me an expectant look, waiting for me to fill her in on tonight’s details.

“So… I went outside for a smoke and Captain Guy followed and sat down next to me. He asked if I was enjoying myself and I said no and went on a big rant, talking about how the only people that enjoy parties like that are rich arseholes and blah blah blah…”

I conveniently leave out the part at the end where he gave me his jacket and called me ‘soft and beautiful’. Which reminds me, I still have his jacket. I make a mental note to give it Johnny so he can give it back to him at some point.

Amelia’s eyes widen and she laughs.

“No way! Is that why he started talking about ‘rich arseholes’ in his speech?”

I nod, my face contorted into shame and embarrassment. Of course, Amelia thinks this is hilarious and nearly chokes on her wine.

“I felt like such a prat. It was the poor man’s birthday and here I am, basically calling him a rich arsehole…”

Amelia’s laughter dies down and she gives me a sympathetic look and a pat on the thigh.

“Girl, don’t even worry. He thought it was funny. Seemed interested in you. Even asked what your name was.”

My eyes instantly widen at the prospect of a man like Price being interested in a woman like me. I’m not exactly everyones cup of tea, i’m a big girl, rough around the edges, basically a hot mess on a good day.

“He what?!”

Amelia sports a shit-eating grin and nods, like she’s satisfied with herself.

“I swear. He came back inside and started asking about you.”

My face blushes like a fucking idiot and I have to bury my face in my hands. Since when did I become the type to get flustered and giddy over a man? Especially a man i’ve met once, and once only. But damn, what a man he is. That voice, broad shoulders, strong arms, thick thighs, strong hips…

The topic of conversation changes away from Price to Johnny and part of me feels grateful, though his words are still bouncing around my head like the DVD symbol on a TV.

“Not often I find a soft, beautiful thing like you with such fire in her.”

They bounce around in my head for the rest of the night, from when Amelia and I tuck into a greasy kebab, to when we settle into bed a good two hours later… The words are echoing around in my skull when my phone buzzes on my nightstand. I’m instantly ripped from my fantasies about the nice man with the wide shoulders when my brain reminds me the notification is probably from my shit-bag of an ex-boyfriend. I roll my eyes and breathe deeply before grabbing my phone, mentally preparing to read more false apologies when i’m completely stopped in my tracks.

Unknown: Nice seeing you tonight, dove. Think you still have my jacket. -JP

JP. The P is for Price, that much is obvious. But J? I begin to wonder about what his first name is… Jack? Jacob? James?

My thumbs hover over the keyboard as I rack my brain to come up with some sort of coherent response. I don’t even question how he got my number, i’m too busy focusing on the fact that he even texted me to begin with, and is calling me ‘Dove’. My stomach swirls. What do I say?

I put my phone down and decide i’ll reply in the morning when the alcohol is out of my system and i’ve had enough time to formulate a response that doesn’t make me sound like an absolute idiot. Until then, his words and text bounce against the corners of my skull, well into the hours of the morning.

[savagewildnerness]

If there’s a character you’re ride-or-die for: what was their moment?

I’m apparently in the mood for discussion today!

Bringing this question, from ShxsPrLady on reddit here for you all…

“If there’s a character you’re ride-or-die for: what was their moment?”

I began with TV-Lestat, primarily as people were mostly discussing TV characters first.  And - honestly? When he can’t abide the flat tenor. Lestat’s response to the experience of bad art is literally a cathartic acting-out of my internal feelings when I experience bad art & I feel like it is killing me inside. I’m so curious if some people find Lestat cruel here? To me, I find him empathetic: he separates the tenor from the art in the sense of giving him a peaceful, meditative death, not a cruel one & in so doing he is also trying to show Louis that there can be beauty in the creatures they are. And it’s simply satisfying to me to watch your deepest feelings (but which you would obviously never act or or want to act on as you're a human, not a monster!) played out in an extreme way!  And he's trying to get Louis to feed, too...

Book-Lestat - his philosophical ponderings on The Savage Garden, particularly in relation to the goodness of art and his idealistic optimism & empathy regarding the beauty of humanity. (Which I think tie into point 1.) Also: Lestat’s experience at The Witches Place & the way he can become overwhelmed by feeling in a way others do not comprehend. 

Essentially Lestat is ride-or-die to me because of his internal experience. I relate to how he sees the world; to his soul - to who he is at his core, internally. Externally, I am not like Lestat at all! I am almost his opposite! I am quiet, I am introverted.  I am not go-getting... (though I can be impulsive, emotional and determined I suppose... but in most ways I am zero like Lestat externally.)  But because who he is inside, in his heart connects so deeply to me, how could he not be ride-or-die? Since the age of 12, every time I have a deep topic to contemplate or ruminate on, Lestat is literally there in my mind, reasoning it with me. Lestat’s heart & soul entwined in my own as I grew from child to adult. Like I cannot fully separate myself from him as he was such a formative character for me.

Book-Nicolas - the way he is praised for his violin playing being emotional and moving - with feeling, but *knows* he will never be technically good *enough*. This aspect of Nicolas is PRECISELY how I felt about myself already aged 12 when I first read the books. And I didn’t just *feel* it. Like Nicolas, I *knew* it was true. There is no character I can think of in any book or story in any form that had so directly precise a connection to me. Nicolas’ ache for all he will never be is my own ache. I am he, he is me.  It's not that I feel similarly to Nicolas.  Nicolas' feelings, at least regarding his art *are* my feelings... and they were my feelings aged 8.  I know, because it is who I am too that Nicolas' feelings about his violin playing pre-date him ever even learning the violin.  It is a character-trait and a form of self-perception which I share, 100%.  I thought this way aged 5 too, before I began learning any instrument and when nobody, not even me could say I wasn't a child.  

I adore show-Armand & would adore him no matter what! But for me, Armand is quite different. I would not say I related to him. And I can also hate him.  Like I can truly despise Armand at times, but I never wouldn’t also love him.  I love how I can simutaneously hate and love Armand.  He is quite unique for me in that way.  I could never hate Nicolas or Lestat and other characters, when I hate them I cannot also love them.  But Armand - I can love AND hate him simultaneously and no depths of despising could diminish my simultaneous love.

And the saddest thing in the books for me is vampire-Nicolas. He is SO cruel to Lestat & so insane. And I hate it! But Lestat created that & Armand created it. And so I still cannot hate Nicolas. Nor can I place all the blame at Armand’s door, when human Nicki was a dying drunk who’s stopped eating & was slipping into madness before Armand ever kidnapped him. Nor can I blame Lestat, who was trying to protect Nicolas from his vampire self. It was all a horrible tragedy. I can’t even blame Armand. Because Nicki was mad! Screaming in the streets about vampires & killing publicly & risking everyone’s lives. All just a total disaster. But I’ll never not feel for you Nicki, because our hearts are the same. I’m not a cynic like you. But the bird of hopeless chaos in your mind is there in mine too…

I could honestly talk for DAYS on how I relate to Nicolas. I know I have shared it all before, though! Maybe I'll elaborate a little more here too...?

So, I always related to Nicki. I first read the vampire chronicles when I was around 12, and I started playing violin aged 8. But nobody in my family was musical. And the only reason I played violin was my school said “who wants to play violin” when we were 8 & “auditioned” us & picked 4 children, luckily including me. So I walked out of school with a violin one day. I was so scared my friends would be sad they weren’t picked I hadn’t mentioned anything about being chosen to them or my parents until I walked out with a violin. Aged 12, when I first read The Vampire Lestat, I would also have just gotten my own first violin. (Till then I just borrowed violins from school - they had yellow paint and a number scratched into them so you couldn't steal the violin and they were obviously never *my* violin as they had to be returned.). So now, I had my first ever violin. I've been playing for 4 years. And here is Nicolas. 

Even though nobody was musical in my family, I always loved music. There was a dance school at the bottom of my road & I danced from slightly before I turned 3 (my Mum would take me to watch as a toddler as I begged her to before I was eventually allowed to join in!) & could always imagine when my teacher said stuff like “the music is water in the stream & your hand is running through it”… Like, I saw a stream in my mind. I saw the water drip from my fingers as I held them up. Music was always feeling and imagery to me.

Anyway, from aged 8-18 I only ever had free 15-minute violin lessons in school. I never had a private lesson. My violin teacher (who hated children, haha, but liked us a bit more when we got to 17/18) told me I was the only student she'd even gotten to do grade 8 violin without ever having had a private violin lesson.

But, though I'd met them earlier through orchestras, it was when I moved to secondary school, aged 11 I was fully confronted with several kids (actually it was just 2 sisters) from richer & more musical families who had learned violin since they were toddlers and had musician parents and were full of confidence. They were SO incredible at playing violin already & I realised missing science for 15 minutes a week… I’d always be rubbish in comparison to them.  To make it worse, the younger sister (who was about my age) hated me. I still don't understand why it was. It remains a mystery to me even now. I saw her a few years ago and actually HID because while I admire her talent and never hated her at all, I was always terrified of her. I just don't understand. She used to bully me in these weird, surreptitious, mocking ways so other people would likely not notice, but I was a knife to my heart.

Anyway, I started playing piano aged 12 (which is so old to begin an instrument!) & these girls were also taught piano by my piano teacher. But they’d been learning since they were 3. It’s funny. I always had this awful side to me (even aged 5) where if I wasn’t “the best” at any thing I considered myself “the worst” & music is one of few things I stuck with even though I knew my inevitable lack in.

Soon after I started piano lessons, my piano teacher was looking to cut back on students as she was looking to semi-retire. I was still only a beginner & she was going to stop my lessons. Then, I had a lesson & she told my Mum “Oh, I can’t stop with her. She plays with too much emotion!” So I got to continue piano lessons. And this was to me such a Nicolas thing to have been told - I would never be truly good at piano or violin… but there was *something* in my playing? (I don't know whether there is anything in my playing, but music certainly means something to me.)

Perhaps a fatalistic side of my personality (though I perceive it as simply realistic), but I always knew I would never be good enough to be a musician, even though I was a lot younger than Nicolas. I think I probably didn’t fully understand Nicolas’ full cynicism. But how he felt about his music… oh, I understood that! I was (& am!) that!!!

I’m sure there must be thousands of us in the world who always felt that ache of what we can never be. If not in music, then in something else. Likely it’s a character flaw, really - a deep lack of self belief, turned to self-pity. 

Loads of humans must share that experience. Way more of us are Nicolas’ than are Lestat’s - with all the natural charm & gifts to succeed…

Eventually I learned (I learned it as I actually did a maths degree at Cambridge (LOL! Ridiculous! Yet it happened), which I only did as I was objectively good at maths and then when I got there I was RUBBISH compared to most people... so I honestly didn't begin to learn this till I was 18/19!) that reality is you’ll never be the best human in the world at any thing, so you may as well strive to just do whatever you love in some way, if possible. If you can do it in a useful way to others: even better (I still do not consider myself a musician AT ALL, but I am a music therapist. Not The Best Music Therapist, but if someone is connected with for a moment, maybe it means something?) But it took me a long time to even begin to understand that.

So yeah... Lestat is my heart and soul and I reason with him... and Nicolas is literally who I am in so many ways that it actually makes me a little afraid to see how he is adapted for TV... because what if he reveals terrible things about ME? Because he is so me and I am so him. Or what if he isn't presented very in depth?

Obviously Nicolas is important in terms of his relationship to Lestat. I was rewatching S1E1 last night and was struck by Louis saying "For the first time in my life, I was seen." I think this is what Lestat wants to gift Louis, in part because this is what Nicolas offered Lestat. Oh, Nicolas and Lestat would never have lasted forever even if they had remained mortals. Nicolas would have simultaneously clung to Lestat, while resenting him increasingly as Lestat, no doubt would have grown increasingly successful, famous and would have been increasingly loved by all. And I don't even know that they would have split up. I think actually that Lestat would have had to watch Nicolas self-destruct, had they both remained humans. And for Lestat's fragile core, watching a human Nicolas self-destruct and eventually die may have led to Lestat's own death in the end. I don't know that a mortal Lestat could have borne that? I see that they would have ended in a Shakespearean (satisfying) DOOM had they remained mortal. But maybe you disagree. I suppose my vision isn't too dissimilar to Nicolas' vision, even though I don't consider myself a cynic... so maybe I am merely revealing that I am even *more* Nicolas than I know!!?!?!

But yeah... I say this because although Nicolas is important to Lestat, I love Nicolas so much because I relate to him deeply as his self, separate from Lestat. Like, I don't see Nickistat as the greatest love story. I think Nicolas was maybe the only being who could have dragged even the ever-enduring Lestat to his own self-destruction. (Of course Louis' death could do that too, but with Nicolas it would have been a more active impact from Nicolas' own actions.)

Yeah.... I am rambling on and on about Nicolas. But I just can't think of any other character I have read that was... like he's parts of myself that I wouldn't normally discuss with other people. Parts of myself that I had never heard anyone else talk about as being their experience either in reality or in fiction. Even though, I imagine many people must feel similarly? Or I don't know... I suppose it is aspects of my personality. And please know, I am way more of an idealist than Nicolas... although... maybe Nicolas is too? I don't know. When you're Lestat-idealist, you make things happen! You never believe any thing is impossible! It can result in mad, impulsive disaster... but it means all hope is never lost. I speak for myself now... but as not-a-cynic, but an idealist, at my core I always believe in the most beautiful outcome and even while I don't fully believe it will happen, the core of me *does* believe it will... and it never does. As I do not possess Lestat's go-getting nature to make such things happen. I possess none of Lestat's self-belief or drive. And yet I do have his hope and it's shattered over and over again on the rocks of reality.

"I saw a bird soaring out of a cave above the open sea. And there was something terrifying about the bird and the endless waves over which it flew. Higher and higher it went and the sky turned to silver and then gradually the silver faded and the sky went dark. The darkness of evening nothing to fear, really, nothing. Blessed darkness. But it was falling gradually and inexorably over nothing save this one tiny creature cawing in the wind above a great wasteland that was the world. Empty caves, empty sands, empty sea. All I had ever loved to look upon, or listen to, or felt with my hands was gone, or never existed, and the bird, circling and gliding, flew on and on, upwards past me, or more truly past no one, holding the entire landscape, without history or meaning, in the flat blackness of one tiny eye. I screamed but without a sound. I felt my mouth full of blood and each swallow passing down my throat and into fathomless thirst. And I wanted to say, yes, I understand now, I understand how terrible, how unbearable, this darkness. I didn't know. Couldn't know. The bird sailing on through the darkness over the barren shore, the seamless sea. Dear God, stop it. Worse than the horror in the inn. Worse than the helpless trumpeting of the fallen horse in the snow. But the blood was the blood after all, and the heart -- the luscious heart that was all hearts -- was right there, on tiptoe against my lips. Now, my love, now's the moment. I can swallow the life that beats from your heart and send you into the oblivion in which nothing may ever be understood or forgiven, or I can bring you to me. I pushed him backwards. I held him to me like a crushed thing. But the vision wouldn't stop. His arms slipped around my neck, his face wet, eyes rolling up into his head. Then his tongue shot out. It licked hard at the gash I had made for him in my own throat. Yes, eager. But please stop this vision. Stop the upward flight and the great slant of the colorless landscape, the cawing that meant nothing over the howl of the wind. The pain is nothing compared to this darkness. I don't want to ... I don't want to . . ."

So yeah... well done if you got this far. Tell me your ride-or-dies and why....?

[billpottsismygf]

I've been stewing a little over the last few days about the news regarding the Doctor Who airing times and, although there's been a lot of discourse and probably everything has been said already, I just need to get my rant out there anyway.

For the uninitiated or the unsure, the brief rundown is that new episodes will drop online at the same time worldwide before the BBC 1 broadcast. This will be Fridays 7pm US time (EST I think) and Saturdays midnight in the UK. There will also be the usual Saturday evening broadcast on BBC 1, 18 or 19 hours later. Also, the premiere (10th/11th May) will drop the first two episodes of the series at once.

Simultaneous broadcast is pretty cool, and I believe the 60th specials dropped at the same time as the UK evening broadcast, giving an afternoon time for the US. That's great, but it's really messing with me that this new system completely shafts the UK in terms of viewing times. I'm not saying that only the UK has passionate fans, but I am saying that the UK is where Doctor Who is a cultural institution more so than anywhere else in the world, and seeing it prioritise the US is incredibly frustrating.

Moving to the specific fallout, there's the part of me that is upset on my own behalf, as my autistic self is really struggling with the notion that to watch the show ASAP I will now have to do so at midnight (on a Friday night too!). Since I was 9 in 2005, I have only twice gone to bed with a new episode unwatched. Occasionally that has been at stupid times in the early morning because I've been doing things for Saturday night, but generally I have watched the broadcast as much as possible, and often with other people as a community event. As a child it was always with my dad; as an adult it's often with friends!

Ultimately, though, I'll be fine. I'll watch by myself on iplayer at midnight because I am an adult who can make these choices, even if I'm sad that I probably won't get to have the viewing parties I had started to have with friends in recent years. (Though, who knows, we all have weird sleep schedules. Maybe midnight viewing parties are still on the cards.)

However, for all the kids out there I am so incredibly annoyed. I can't imagine if any of the iconic episodes from my childhood had aired the night before and I'd been unable to stay up for them. Blink? The Stolen Earth? Doomsday? I don't wish to overstate the matter, but I truly believe Doctor Who has remained such a cultural institution precisely because of its status as a family show. People are raised on it and then raise their kids on it and so on.

What are kids going to do now? Some might be allowed to stay up for the midnight release, though not many, especially for that double release which will end at like 1:30am. Others might watch it when they get up, but likely without the community aspect of the whole family sitting down for it. Still others might wait for the Saturday evening broadcast, having to dodge spoilers from other kids and adults as they go about whatever Saturday activities they have.

Regarding spoilers, I've seen some snarky comments saying 'just avoid social media lol', but firstly that's quite difficult in this day and age, and secondly it's not just social media. For one, there are all the tabloids that will plaster any new details across the front page, but also I can vividly remember talking about the brand new Doctor Who episodes at school, and how big an aspect that was of the community excitement. My teacher even did an impression of a weeping angel the week Blink aired, moving closer with a scary face when I looked away for a moment. Sure, there won't be school on a Saturday, but plenty of kids will be doing activities with other kids (dance classes, football, drama clubs etc.). What will happen when some kids have been allowed to watch the new episode and others haven't?

It may seem trivial to some, but I don't think it is. Where's the event aspect of it? Where's the community? Sure, I'm biased as an autistic Brit who grew up with the show and doesn't like change, but this new model seems designed to dilute both the excitement and importance of a new Doctor Who episode on a cultural level.

[mbti-notes]

Anon wrote: Hello, mbti-notes! I will quit trying to be creative and will just thank you for this blog. I always come here when I need to somehow freshen up my thoughts. I like your approach and your wording.

I was going to ask you a question about a better way of socialising, but before that I wanted to explain my current mental state. It got long, sorry in advance.

So, lately I have been socialising my a** off. Like literally hopping on every opportunity to have a conversation with anybody. Even with people that I feel no sympathy for and initially despise. I tried to prove to myself a theory that I can have a nice conversation with any kind of person. For what?

Maybe, I am thinking, I was just trying to become a «better adult». I have always been told by my parents and elders that I am a sloppy, slow to react child, that is spending too much time in its head. And I felt uncomfortable with that. Though I doubt anyone would be comfortable with listening to such half-teasing accusations )). But I respect and love my elders, though can be bitter sometimes. Unconditional love is a thing, yeah. No one is perfect.

And I just tried to prove myself that I can be that easy-going, light, happy person. I tried and I succeeded. Because you think what you believe - in a lot of cases. And you can go a pretty long way with silencing that tiny voice in your head that keeps asking: «Is that the real you? Why are you trying to become the person that you despise the most? And why do you not feel anything?»

But because there is (Thank God!) such thing as one’s nature, I am entering my usual state currently. With constant cold showers of mild social anxiety, but having my own projects back on the forefront and exploring new interesting topics that fill me with knowledge (and thus providing comfort/sense of self).

But there is a doubt in my head that is always present: may it be that I am just «slacking off»? Not doing enough of my Extraverted Feeling exercises? Should I go back to caring about people around me even if it seems to be pointless, emptying all of my resources and making me feel miserable and hollow? Maybe it is true that «what doesn’t kill me makes me stronger» and I should continue this slightly destructive way of self-exploration?

Because of those constant intrusive (and self-deprecating) thoughts I feel the need to go back in time somehow. In a way, return to the foetus version of me and tell it to feel less guilty for not liking people around it, for not having answer for everything and being a little bit slow to grow up. And maybe take with me that precious naivety of my younger self, that openness which helped me overcome dark pessimistic thoughts with ease.

But I based my whole socialising experiment on trying to prove that the child me was wrong. That elders are right because they are more experienced and know the flow of things better. Simultaneously, though only a little bit, it helps with fear of dying a mediocre person. At least there is a possibility that you will gain «enlightenment» skill with age. It could have been worse, right?

And of course it is not my first experiment. I did a lot of it in my teens too. Now I am just being more conscious about the steps that I am taking.

And my sentences may be lacking structure, that’s why I will try to sum up everything I wrote in one question. If you would be so kind, please answer. I would really appreciate your feedback.

My question:

Is there some better way to stop feeling disgusted with yourself while trying to socialise, other than just straight-up ignoring your feelings and discomfort?

Example:

I am talking with a person. At some point I understand that I do not care about them. Then I feel hollow, because somewhere deep I start to feel that I sincerely do not care for anyone. I even question if I have any feelings at all. Maybe I am just a piece of egotistic shit and that is all to me. To avoid this dark thought I just throw it away. Stuff it in a metaphorical drawer. And maybe try to justify my lack of empathy by thinking that we are all the same and I am not the only one with a social mask. And maybe feel manipulated/tricked by society/media/literature/art for putting in our minds this concept of sincere empathy afterwards.

Thank you for finishing my long ask!

Hoping to receive a reply.

An INTP (early twenties, female)

--------------------

I appreciate that you have a desire to improve yourself and I certainly wouldn't want to discourage you. However, I would never suggest anyone try your method. What can I say when people go against my advice? Your case is a textbook example of two mistakes I have repeatedly warned people about:

1) It is important to wait until one is psychologically mature enough to pursue inferior function development, otherwise, one could easily get trapped in inferior grip. You are not yet at the stage of ego development where healthy inferior function development is possible or desirable. The results of your "experiment" only confirm this.

2) It is important to approach type development with the right intention, armed with the right understanding of its grand purpose, otherwise, one is likely to exacerbate developmental issues or create even more. Your motivation for function development was suspect from the start. It is apparent in your admissions that you are driven by ego, childishness, and faulty reasoning (that keeps you trapped in your own world of distorted beliefs).

Why do people socialize? They need relationship. To be successful in interpersonal relationships, you have to: invest in strengthening relationship bonds over the long term; care about psychological well-being; open yourself up to being seen and loved. It doesn't sound like any of this was happening. How can a proper relationship form when your intention in socializing is merely to prove some imaginary point? Other people don't really exist for you except as objects to be used and discarded once the point is proven. There is no "social" in your socializing. There is no "Feeling" in your Extraverted Feeling actions.

As far as I can tell, one reason you've faltered is that you don't know what exact problem you're trying to solve. From your description, it seems the main problem is a lack of feeling and empathy. Forcing yourself into inappropriate socializing situations isn't going to solve this problem. If lack of feeling/empathy is indeed at the root, then you ought to focus primarily on it. Lack of feeling/empathy isn't a crime and doesn't automatically make you a bad person; it is a legitimate psychological issue that people experience for a variety of possible reasons. Take time to understand how and why you suffer from this issue. Perhaps consult some experts on the matter.

Putting yourself down or destroying yourself is unnecessary and counter-productive. Self-denial and self-hatred are major impediments to personal growth. If you truly want to grow as a person, the first thing you have to do is face facts and accept the truth of what you are, rather than live in a fantasy world where you believe that weaknesses and faults can be eliminated with the wave of a magic wand. Only by being seated firmly in reality will you have the right frame of mind to learn effective coping and adaptation strategies to make the best of what you have.

[atlasira]

Out of all of RC’s characters that I’ve encountered so far, Malbonte still remains one of my top favorite of all time. He’s so well written and compelling.

My first playthrough I sided With Him because, while his methods are controversial, his ideals made sense. On my most recent playthrough I chose to Stand Against Him and the different perspective was worth it.

(DISCLAIMER: I have not played HS2 yet, and am unaware of any new information revealed in HS2.)

Antagonists like Malbonte are simultaneously right and wrong which is a large reason why they’re some of my faves.

> How He’s Right

Malbonte is right in that a significant chunk of his path was the result of other people’s actions. His birth and (natural) abilities were not his fault. He did not ask Shephamalum to whisper in his ear and force him to be the only living immortal that knew of Heaven’s Secret. He did not ask his parents to murder a child. And he certainly did not ask Shepha to brutally split him in two and imprison the halves of himself for a millennium.

SHEPHA

Shepha fucked up. No, Shepha is fucked up, and the more I learned about Him in the Season 3 finale, the more agitated I got. Demon!Vicky alludes to it all the way back in Season 1, but she could not have known how accurate she was about Shepha’s corruption.

Shepha is not the symbol of purity He and the Angels believe Him to be. He offers support only as long as He has control over who gets it and how they use it. He explicitly says He wasn’t opposed to the oppression of Demons because he has lesser power over them, and therefore felt uncomfortable with them being treated as equals under his rule. He feels no shame sharing this bias.

And if you so choose, Vicky then has to beg to enlighten other immortals about Heaven’s Secret. This is up for debate, but I also felt that if she hadn’t been able to convince Shepha of the value in revealing the truth, He would’ve killed her “for the greater good” and to protect the Secret. He says He regrets not killing Malbonte as an infant, making it clear He is not opposed to murder if, in His eyes, it helps more than harms.

Malbonte was right in that everything that was done to him simply for being born was majorly fucked up. He is also right in saying Shepha is flawed. Shepha is not evil, but He is power hungry and corrupt, and change needed to come.

> How He’s Wrong

“SELF DEFENSE”

However, Malbonte’s most damning flaw is his narrow-mindedness.

While his rage and indignation are the understandable result of what came before, his actions after he escapes confinement are his own doing. He says several times that he does not want to kill certain people, but will “if he has to.” He does not have to, he is the aggressor here. Malbonte has the skewed belief that his war is in self defense when it is not.

While it’s true he was seen as a monster, that rumor was created and spread by immortals that, from what we see, have been gone for a long time. Aside from Eragon, most of the present day immortals only know Malbonte by what they’ve heard. They do not know anything about him personally. So now, as an adult capable of complex understanding and self expression, he could’ve introduced and explained the truth about himself. But he does not even attempt to.

I don’t fault him for his actions when he was nothing more than a spirit of hatred, that I blame on Shepha and Shephamalum, but once he and Bont merged, that was Malbonte’s opportunity to set things straight. Or at least try to — whether the Angels and Demons actually believed him isn’t the point. Malbonte faults all immortals for seeing him as a monster, but he does nothing to enlighten the ones of today (who know nothing about him!!) on how that’s not the case. Instead he proudly proves their inaccurate beliefs. He resorted to bloodshed without even attempting peace first.

UNCLEAR GOALS

Another one of Malbonte’s issues is that his solution is black-and-white with zero nuance. He intended to kill Shepha and replace Him as the ruler of all. But his exact plan were he to succeed gets confusing every time he explained it, and it quickly becomes clear he can’t make up his mind.

Sometimes Malbonte says he’ll place Demons on top because they’ve been mistreated for so long.

Sometimes he says he’ll make sure Demons and Angels are finally equal to one another.

So which is it?? Because these are VERY different approaches. The more time you spend with him, while he denies it, the clearer it is he’s more focused on revenge than brainstorming new political policies.

SHEPHAMALUM

He also just does not account for Shephamalum at all. One of Malbonte’s defining traits is his arrogance. Now, I fully understand that self confidence can be an act of rebellion against those that hate you. However, Malbonte’s arrogance is just too short sighted.

Malbonte is incredibly strong, but he still needed Shephamalum’s power/darkness to defeat Shepha. Let’s say he succeeds. What did he think Shephamalum was going to do once Shepha was gone? Did he think Shephamalum would just give him a thumbs up and then take a nap??

Malbonte says he only wants to change the world for the better, but he either could not see or simply didn’t care that he was obviously Shephamalum’s pawn to eliminate Shepha. And by removing Shepha and having a less powerful being take his place, there would be no one to challenge Him should Shephamalum find a way to return. Malbonte either could not figure this out (which I doubt) or cared more about getting his revenge than helping and “liberating” the immortals he swore the war was for (which I believe.)

It can be taken into account that Shephamalum was manipulating Malbonte since he was a child. Manipulation from childhood is always a sure fire tactic monsters use (ala Palpatine and Vader). On the other hand, Malbonte has proven to be quite intelligent. Well to me anyway lmao. So while manipulation can be a factor, I highly doubt he trusted Shephamalum 100% and didn’t suspect he was being used as a pawn. He simply didn’t care because, as I said earlier, his main goal was revenge on Shepha rather than true fairness, so Shephamalum’s ulterior motives was just a “cross that bridge when we get to it” issue in his eyes.

HONESTY

Malbonte is brutally honest with others, but he is not truthful with himself. He was not honest with himself about what his primary goal for the war was. He was not honest with himself about how Shephamalum only saw him as a pawn and how his actions would play a role in a much larger problem. And he was not honest with himself in that the immortals of today are not to blame for things that happened thousands of years ago.

> Despite Everything, He Was Needed

Malbonte is a flawed individual and as such, his methods and motivations were too. However, like other antagonists like him, I believe he needed to happen in order for there to be actual change.

Change only happens when there’s an interruption in routine. Malbonte’s return was a massive one. Am I saying his war was good? Not necessarily. (Am I saying his war was bad? Also not necessarily!) Regardless of how we view his methods, he revealed the truth about Heaven’s Secret, shined a spotlight on the discrimination Demons faced, and unveiled how inappropriate the Law of Segregation was.

For a time, he gave those who felt wronged a voice that all immortals were forced to pay attention to. Whether Vicky reveals the truth about Shephamalum or not, whether Malbonte survives the final fight or not, the world of immortals will never be the same.

> Conclusion

Malbonte continues be a very beloved character to me because of how complex his storyline and development are. He is very well written and I could probably talk about him all day.

[struggling-to-find-home]

An incredibly fucked up part of my life, now that I think about it, is that I simultaneously had two childhoods and also didn't have a childhood at all.

Like, obviously I was a child, at some point, considering that is how time works. I was a child, who had a personality, and thoughts, and feelings, and memories.

Then, I was a teenager - and, as a teenager, I killed my personality, got my thoughts indoctrinated by my abusers, denied all of my feelings, and had a constant stream of poisonous memories fuck up all my decisions in the backround. I knew what it was like to live through a childhood, an actual one, lasting multiple years.

Then, everything broke, my psyche broke, and, after swimming in dissociative hell for a good six months, I woke up after what I jokingly call my "factory reset" - and I had to memories. Like. At all. Literally, a black wall lasting seventeen years of my life, and then, all of a sudden - I was there.

My first ever conscious thought, the one I remember, at least, was - "Holy shit, I can actually think". Not very exciting for a first thought, I guess, but it was very exciting for me at the time, considering that my dissociation was so bad I couldn't count to five most days without getting lost.

Do you understand just how fucking terrifying it is, to suddenly gain awareness and realise that you don't know how you are, what has your life been life, and how to interact with the world, with the only information actually being in your brain being memories of abuse which were too horrible to forget? Because I fucking do, I lived it. You read isekai for the plot, I read it because it's the one genre that can describe my experience. I literally was the "born sexy yesterday" trope - a mind with no knowledge of how life works, who was, let's be real, at the emotional regulation level of a toddler, stuck in an body of an adult.

I had to teach myself everything - how to talk to people, how to focus for more than three seconds at a time, how to extract my memories, one by one, and slowly piece together who inhabited this body, my body, for all of my life. I was literally learning how to person from scratch, and in the beginning, you can bet your ass I didn't feel any close to, well, an actual adult, like I was supposed to be. I had to stumble over every mistake, and learn every lesson you learn as you grow older.

Fucking hell, for one and a half years, I lived in a world where I physically couldn't comprehend that someone wouldn't like me. When I say I had to learn everything, I mean it.

Sometimes, it gets to me - the fact that I am technically inhabiting the body of a corpse. She - the child, the teenager, the one who actually lived through hell - is dead. I am somebody else. I will never be her. All I can do is live - like this, in this bizzare existence - and try not to wince every time someone mentions their childhood.

I don't remember what it's like to be a kid - to be able to grow, make mistakes, and not be judged for being in the process of figuring things out. In all honesty, I'm not sure whether I was allowed to be a kid - I got some memories back, but none of them give me that kind of info. I don't remember what it's like to be a teenager.

I remember what it's like to try to live a normal life when your first memory was yesterday, a week ago, a month ago, a year ago. I remember what it's like - to have that innocence, that naivety, that additude of not having any shame or self-consciousness that you usually only see in children, going through the world without looking at any obstacles because your enthusiasm hasn't ever been crushed yet.

For a child, every obstacle they encounter can be the biggest one in their life yet - even if it's something as simple as learning to tie your shoes. Fortunately for me, the first obstacle I encountered as myself was a horrible, terrifying monster - my mother - raging at me and disowning me in a week-long fight over me not wanting to take a math test. Everything else seemed like a small problem after that. Well, until my brother pulled a gun on me, but that's besides the point.

So now, when people say "Childhood" - I think about my first days as myself, the amnesiac teenager. Being young, moldable, soaking every piece of information up with no filter because I didn't know better. But then I think to myself.

Oh. Right.

I was a child, but it wasn't a childhood.

I was a child, but that childhood is lost forever.

And then, internally, I weep.

[jerseyoklahomo]

Day #3

My New Journey

Today starts my journey, well technically it was a couple of days ago, but the idea came to me today...so we are going a bit retro!

So, I am about to do the improbable. Well, first let me start off with a little about me. I just turned 36 last week (WOO! PISCES!) and I spent it in rehab for alcohol. Not what I would have expected when I was a kid, but I also didn't become a dinosaur, the king of my own country, or a doctor.

ANYWAY...I am currently 43 days sober (PARTY...err, tame party) and have picked up everything I own (not much at the moment) and moved to Jersey City, NJ. I grew up in Oklahoma and spent most of my life there until 10 years ago when I moved to Dallas. During my time in Dallas I had many ups and downs, and much like a relationship...I learned what to do and what NOT to do.

Anyway...back to the improbable thing. I know you're excited...

Literally, as long as I have been an adult I have been working to tear my life apart, while simultaneously working to build it up. But, that's in the past. Two days ago was the start for my first year in New Jersey/New York living sober and rebuilding my life that I pretty much blew up over the past 18 years. By the time I am 37, I am going to prove to myself that I can live the life that I dreamed up back as a wee child in rural Southwest Oklahoma. I always loved #tumblr when I was very happy with life, so I have decided to use it as my platform for keeping a journal of my journey.

I WILL post daily with random stuff, pictures, etc. I plan to use this platform and Instagram @jerseyoklahomo to keep up with my progress. This will be a journey of sobriety, rebirth, self-love, self-esteem, and positive mental health.

I will recount the past 2 days in the next posts...

[bad0mens]

Yesterday was an emotional day for me and not in a good way.

Under the cut because I need it out.

I'm not sure what the 'inciting' incident was, or if there even was one. I think it was honestly just a build up of working retail during the holidays where I'm inundated with people who are rude and impatient and it's been getting to me. My situation at home isn't a bad one. But I constantly feel the 'quiet older middle child syndrome' as well as 'high masking autistic adult who is largely self sufficient disorder'. So I feel like in some ways, I fall through the cracks in the minds of my family. They don't feel they need to worry about me because I'm usually good at taking care of myself.

The problem arises here. In a lot of ways, especially yesterday, I felt like an after thought to my own family. Allow me to explain.

Three of the specific things that got me yesterday, and maybe they sound petty, were:

1. We drove three hours there, expecting a short event packed with lots of people but it was instead a long event packed with people and my social battery is all but dead on my off days because it has to work on my on days. I was able to keep myself mostly sane by working on fics and keeping my earplugs in because my family, especially my younger sister, is very loud. I want to spend time with my family on the holidays, but I also want to relax and be comfortable when the tense of working this time of year is finally starting to ebb.

2. There was a lot of food to go around... But only about 3 things I could actually eat. Mac and cheese, mashed potatoes, and stuffing. You may notice there is no protein or real vegetables in any of those options. I've been a vegetarian for going on 20 years. This isn't something new for my family. My mother and younger sister did the cooking and thought to make the stuffing safe for me to eat. But that was it. The worst part of this is, I also forgot to even bring myself something like that to cook, so it's really on me as well (which is a part of the problem I'll get to in a moment).

3. I had two presents to unwrap. I know how ungrateful this sounds. But it's not about the number of presents. It's really not. I got things I asked for and I am grateful for them! It's a chunk of the larger problem, though. There was lots of presentation and fun in other people's gifts. One of mine was thrown haphazardly in a bag with nothing to cover it. The other was a wrapped cardboard box with the item inside.

Normally, any of these one things by themselves is fine, but emotions were running high after a season of working retail (not to mention I got in an argument with my boomer father who started the "no one wants to work these days" that I had to shut down pretty hard").

The problem was that, even on this day about family, I was an after thought. And the problem stems from my own behavior. I'm a helper, I care about other people, I put other people first, constantly. So constantly that I almost never put myself first. So no one else thinks to either. I'm not asking to be the specialist girl at Christmas. I'm asking to feel like I'm cared about as more than a "oh shit we can't forget about--".

I don't put myself first, so why should anyone else? I brush off this behavior in myself and others as fine. I pick pieces of myself apart to try and help other people feel whole when I've never felt whole in my entire life. And the worst part, the most painful part, is that I've ultimately done this to myself.

I sat at the dinner table, feeling alien and broken and alone surrounded by my own family, simultaneously dissociating and trying not to cry. It was my college graduation all over again, when weeks before my father reminded me that art degrees were functionally useless and I was wasting my time and money after a lifetime of hearing the lie that I could be whatever I wanted to be if I worked hard enough. It was that moment all over again. But amplified. It felt like everyone was in on the joke now.

And I still played to other people's comfort. I did not cry about it no matter how increasingly painful it became until 4 hours later when I was finally at home and my older sister asked me what was wrong. And I finally said something. I told her I felt like an after thought.

But it isn't until this moment, nearly 10 hours later, that I'm realizing the truth of it.

Who's going to put me first when I never put me first? Why would anyone bother? I don't. And after what feels like a lifetime of putting other people before myself, I'm left with the fact that my family can't be blamed. I did this to myself.

[artekai]

“Fight me!” Artekai cried out, a little ways away from where Ignama was sitting on a log, apart from the rest of the werak.

His voice was high pitched and strained, and Ignama suspected it wasn’t coming across as self-assured as he intended. She barely moved as she tilted her head to look up at the kid, who scowled down at her from where he was standing, legs a bit apart in a careful warrior’s stance, as he held his child-sized spear in one hand and curled the other into a fist.

She then turned her gaze away again and went back to sharpening her spear.

“A self-respecting warrior would not pick a fight with an opponent who cannot fight back.” She said, punctuating her words with the sound of metal. “There is no challenge in that.”

“So you admit defeat before we’ve even fought?” Artekai turned his nose up, a shit-eating grin on his face. “That’s just sad.”

A ghost of a smirk tugged at Ignama’s lips.

“Child, you are nine winters old.” She said. “You are barely half my height. You can hardly take down a measly Watcher by yourself.” She then shook her head, gaze still fixed on her own spear. “I won’t fight you until you are, at the very least, fifteen.”

“Coward! Fight me now!” Artekai said. “I might be nine, but you’re old and weak and missing one eye. Someone ought to challenge you for the chieftaincy before you become too weak to protect our werak.”

Now… that rubbed Ignama the wrong way.

With a flick of her wrist, she let her spear hit the snow with a crunching sound that seemed to attract Artekai’s attention. She stood up with a groan, reaffirming her grip around her weapon, but gave Artekai nothing more than a stony glance as she saw his face lit up with mischief.

“Very well.” She said. “If you insist.”

That child needed to be knocked down a peg. For the sake of his own chances at survival in the harsh world of southern Ban-Ur.

She had seen him fight plenty of times before, of course. He was strong, quick-witted, and assertive — he was quite impressive for a kid his age — but he was still a child. Not only was he physically smaller and more vulnerable, but he hadn’t seen a fraction of the world Ignama had seen, and so he was obviously no match for a seasoned adult like her.

He had barely only been able to try to land a hit on her when she knocked him down to the snow, drawing an “oof!” out of him.

“No fair!” He whined. “I wasn’t really ready! Let’s go at it again!”

He writhed around, kicked his feet, and tried to push Ignama’s spear off him with his own, but she was placing enough weight on it to keep him from wiggling away. The way she was holding her spear also left part of it positioned awfully close to Artekai’s head, so he turned his face up as much as he could to stay away, as if the spear were a sword and he were scared that she would cut him.

“It was a weak opening.” Ignama conceded with a nod. “You clearly are but a child.”

“But I was made by the machines!” Artekai shrieked, his voice cracking, as he wrenched harder and kicked his feet again. “I am Banukai’s successor. I am as good a vessel of the Blue Light as any flesh-and-blood human can be. You shouldn’t be able to beat me so easily!”

“You sing too loud for someone who doesn’t have a chorus to back him up.” Ignama said.  “Made by machines or not, you must fight to earn your rightful place in the hierarchy like your elders did long before you. Do you understand?”

Artekai pouted, scrunching up his face and puffing his cheeks in a way that made him look, simultaneously, cute as shit and like he was about to explode out of anger. He sucked in a deep breath, chest rising exaggeratedly high as if he was trying to look bigger and stronger than he was on purpose, but he then seemed to realize there was no point in arguing back. And so, he huffed, closing his eyes as he admitted defeat.

“Yes, my chieftain.” He grumbled.

“Very well.” Ignama put her spear aside and began getting up, taking Artekai’s hand to help him up as well. Once he was standing, she gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Keep up your training, Artekai. The rest of the world won’t hold back like I do.”

Artekai nodded curtly, though he avoided eye contact. With no more acknowledgment, he held his spear close to him and took off, as if hoping to spare himself any more embarrassment.

Good. Ignama has achieved her purpose if that was the case. The last thing she wanted was to dishearten the kid, but a little bit of caution would serve him well.

Thankfully, it seemed like she had found that sweet spot. When he was, once again, on higher ground than Ignama, and could look down at her comfortably, Artekai stopped in his tracks and turned on his heel to face her.

“I will be back.” He said, with an overly serious air, unfitting for his childish looks, that only made him look all the more adorable. “Next week.”

Ignama couldn’t help the smile that softened her expression, as she looked up at the kid. And so, she caved in. “Fine.” She said. “I’ll track your progress.”

[archiesfagfantasy]

adult problems suck but my adolescent problems were like "fix fundemental metaphysical cracks in my soul" and "travel through time and space to meet my child self and free them from auto- haunting" and "simultaneously deepen and separate myself from the Other such that i am able to main a singular Will that doesn't divide into a telosless stream of desires” so at least that's over ✅

[aspd-culture]

piggybacking on the last anon... i sorta... ran off my friends when i finally noticed- at 30- that i was not behaving like a normal adult emotionally or generally. in retrospect i see that i got self conscious about my "differences" and tried to manipulate everyone into simultaneously propping up an image of me as a very put together mature person- while still expecting everyone else to do virtually everything for me and generally let me occupy a "child role". and i found that while i was not so great at showing appreciation in that little kid role i naturally default in... when i'm intentionally dissociating to seem more mature? i am not only my regular unappreciative self but actually overtly cruel to people when they help me in ways i want and expect them to do. then i get mad if they stop helping me too. so i just hated them more and more because they weren't doing the impossible contradicty stuffs i wanted. what would you do? i wish i could just go back.

Honestly? Whenever I've had issues with my own past behavior like this, I've done two things.

First, anyone who is important to me and has not asked me not to contact them again, I try and send a "hey, I'm really sorry about how things went/what I did/specific thing if you want and if you'd be willing, I'd like to talk about it". If they don't answer, or they are unwilling, or you just don't wanna do that - all three of which are valid - then onto step two.

I work personally on changing the things I don't like about myself. It takes time and generally is not easily done without a professional, but it *is* doable. Work on how you respond to things and get your brain used to forming new habits. It sounds like, for you, the first step might be privately getting used to accepting that feeling of not being like prosocials. It takes time to learn to stop holding yourself to every prosocial standard. You've probably heard the phrase "you wouldn't judge a fish by its ability to walk," and that goes for this. You can't ask yourself to be everything a prosocial person is. It's ok to accept how you are - even if that doesn't match what they call mature.

They can call our relationships codependent or toxic or whatever, but the only things that really matter are if anyone involved is getting hurt, and if everyone involved wants the relationship (of any variety - friend, partner, etc.) to end. If no one wants out and no one is getting hurt, work on "yeah sure whatever"-ing your way out of the conversations where people not in the relationship call you codependent or toxic. Nod along and act like you're intaking that info (if you do that they won't keep talking for as long) and then disregard it.

I cannot stress enough how many times my partner with BPD and I have been called codependent or toxic or told we should "take time apart because separation is important in a relationship". "Yep, ok, sure" and then disregarded every time. Why? Because when me and the person - the only two people affected by it - talk about it, we both agree that would make things *worse* or just not make us feel any happier.

It sounds like what you're saying is that your friendships were relatively happy and/or healthy before you started worrying about seeming mature by normal standards besides the need to learn to show appreciation more. So, once you've gotten through that to a place where you are unlikely to get shaken again, you can by all means make new friendships with that knowledge and changes you've made to get back to accepting yourself for who you are and being more appreciative. Try not to feel pressured by people around you because literally no one is as mature and put together as they seem. I know it's easier said than done, but it can be done. One at a time, over time, rebuild and make friends again and this time go into it knowing what you know now about what didn't work before.

You may not be able to go back with the same people, but you *can* learn to go back to the version of yourself you were - with new knowledge about things that didn't work back then. You can start again with new people and go back to the things you felt worked better for you before you pushed the old friends away.

It is never too late to make those kinds of changes and everyone - prosocial, antisocial, literally everyone - does this throughout life. We are all learning and growing every day, regardless of what anyone wants you to think.

You've got this.

[traumasurvivorshelpingsurvivors]

Hey, would you just please just listen to me? You don't even need to write a big answer or anything. You know, when I was a child, my mom was always so... anti-child. I wasn't allowed to play the games of my age range, I always had to play games for older children, read books for older children, was never allowed to wear any bright colors or pink, wasn't allowed to like horses "because that's so girly". She just wanted a small adult. She was also emotionally abusive in other ways that made me sure she hated me.

I often overthought if she just hated me (and if, because of my personality or because she's overwhelmed by being responsible 247) or hated all children. But I never found out because there were no other children in our lives.

Now my cousins all got children and my mom is so in love with all of them. She buys them toys all the time, babysits them, asks how they are. They can't do wrong. She buys them childrens games, gives them the brightest and funniest clothes as presents and so on. And I am simultaneously pissed and so hurt. (I personally don't have any particular feelings towards these children, I have only seen them once or twice in their lives, unlike my mom).

Why do they get presents? Why are they better than I was? Why are they more loved than I was? Why couldn't I have that? Was I really not worth it?

And I ask myself if my mom just became softer with the age, or if she really only hated me and always liked other children.

There'll be a huge family meeting tomorrow, and my mom already got two bags full of toys for the children. And I am so envious...

Hi anon,

I'm so sorry to hear that you've been going through this. You don't deserve to be treated this way, especially by your mom. Your envy is understandable. It can feel incredibly betraying and hurtful for your mom to not only mistreat you, but to turn around and treat others well, and I can imagine how easy it must be to wonder if there's something wrong with you. But please know that you deserve to be treated just as well as your cousins.

If you can access or afford it, a mental health professional such as a therapist could help you process your relationship with your mom and how it may have affected your self image. Please know that you deserve the best care available.

If anyone has any comments or suggestions, feel free to add on. Otherwise, I hope I could help, and please let us know if you need anything.

-Bun