#i did go to grief counselling briefly but the guy who did that was a volunteer. i mean i assume he had a certificate in something and he

[fingertipsmp3]

Btw I’ve never talked to an actual medical doctor about my mental health issues so I have no idea how to go about it. Lol

[make-it-mavis]

Homesick (Entry #41 - Finale)

02/03/88   11:53 PM

Hey.

...Hey.

I’m… really not sure where to begin. To be perfectly honest, part of me feels strange writing this at all. Not to say that filling this notebook has always made total sense to me, but today is different. Today is, well… today. This long-winded bedtime story has finally caught up to me. For the first time since I started, all I have to write about is what happened today.

I’ve never been quite so stuck on the fence between calling these entries ‘letters’ or ‘journals.’ I don’t know where I stand in this game of pretend I’ve been playing with myself for the past couple of months. Pretending I’m writing to you, pretending you’ll ever read all this. I don’t know. I guess I want to believe I don’t need to do this anymore, at least not today. Because with any luck, you saw everything that happened today, and heard everything that was said. What’s the point of telling someone about an event they attended?

But I’ll tell you about it anyway, because I want to record and remember every detail. It was overwhelming, and it somehow went by so fast, and I’m worried that I’ll forget something. My heart’s still kind of pounding. I feel a bit light-headed. I can still smell burning paper, and it’s making me a little sick, but it’s… well, it’s complicated.

Today was, of course, your funeral.

I’m not sure what I expected your funeral to be like. I’d never been to one. I’d certainly never prepared one. I wasn’t even sure a gathering of three could be called a funeral at all. But I did my best to make sure each of us would pay respects to you that were not given at the arcade-wide memorial.

I really had only one major request for Felix and Ralph. I wanted each of us, including myself, to write a letter to you. I could tell that they weren’t thrilled by the idea, but they didn’t fight me on it. I tried to make it as easy and open-ended as possible. I told them to just say whatever they would say to you if they had one more chance to do so, to be genuine about it, no matter what that might look like, and write it in the form of a letter. I didn’t tell them why that last part was so significant, and they didn’t ask. But it just felt right to me.

Once we fully settled on a plan together, it looked like this:

One hour after the arcade closed, we would meet behind Niceland. No articles of blue clothing would be allowed, and I would provide red color edits as needed, including on the flowers that Felix was tasked to bring. I would bring the picture frame with our drawings, and your scarf and goggles, to be placed on a table with the flowers. Each of us would read out our letters, and then fold them into paper boats, light them on fire, and send them down the river while I played a song I wrote for the occasion.

I was still working on the song by the time the evening came.

I was in Felix’s apartment when the arcade closed. I had spent most of the day in my den so that I could hear my own music over the sound of Niceland being pounded to bits, but eventually snuck into the building, picture frame and your belongings in hand, so that Felix would not have to come looking for me. When I heard ‘Quittin’ time’ announced and the wrecking stopped for good, I just tried my best to ignore it and keep plucking away on my guitar.

It was not long before I heard approaching thumps rising up the side of the building and, from the corner of my eye, saw Ralph’s face appear in one of the apartment’s windows. I was startled by the sound of glass breaking, and looked to see him still holding up the finger that he had tried to gently tap the window with. 

“D’oh, darn it,” he grunted, before smiling at me sheepishly. “Hey, Mavis. Sorry.”

I set my guitar aside and walked over, kind of annoyed that my heart rate had not fallen since the startle. “Hey, don’t be sorry,” I said with a bit of a sigh, “I hate that window, too.”

He laughed briefly and awkwardly before scratching the back of his head with his free hand. “So… I’ll get out of your hair in a sec, I just wanted to make sure we’re still… Y’know, that this is still--”

“Yup. Still on in an hour.”

“Okay,” he nodded, pretty clearly nervous. “Okay, I’ll go get ready, then.”

He almost dropped, but I called him back with a short whistle. “Hold on,” I told him, pulling out my brush. He watched me quizzically, but held still long enough for me to reach through the window and touch the color red into the otherwise aqua undershirt peeking up under his collar. “There. Now you’re set.”

“Oh,” he tugged his clothes away from his chest to inspect the change. “Right, right. Okay. At least the rest of me is pretty red already, huh?”

“Well, you’re better off than Felix,” I said, cracking a small smile.

We said a couple strained, awkward goodbyes, and he disappeared back down the side of the building almost the second Felix walked in the front door.

At first, he said “Oh, Mavy,” in pleasant surprise, but when he saw the broken window, he repeated in a less happy tone, “Oh, Mavy.”

“Hey, for once it wasn’t me,” I shrugged. “Take it up with the Bad Guy.”

Felix mended the broken window as quickly as ever, and from there, we more or less carried on like we would have any other evening. Felix brewed some tea, we sat at the table, and he told me about his day, as usual. I pretended to listen just enough to seem like I wasn’t snubbing him while I continued to work on the song. I just kept my notepad in my lap and darted my eyes down to it whenever he broke eye contact. Eventually, he couldn’t carry the conversation on his own anymore.

“You haven’t touched your tea,” he pointed out gently. “Can I get you more sugar?”

“No, thanks,” I mumbled absent-mindedly, eyes down, and reached to take a sip of the tea to placate him. Once the cold, minty drink was in my mouth, however, I found it hard to swallow. It tasted fine, but my throat felt almost too tense to allow it. I tried to subtly spit it back into the cup, but I know he saw.

“Are you… alright?” he asked gingerly, like he knew how stupid the question was, today of all days.

“I’m fine,” I sighed, drumming my pen against the paper, still not looking up. “I’m just working on the song I said I’d write. I’ve got the melody, but the words just aren’t coming together.”

“Oh,” I heard him take a slow, thoughtful sip. “Maybe it doesn’t need words. I’m sure it’s lovely anyway.”

I paused to consider that, accepted it, scratched out all my attempts at lyrics and tossed the notepad and pen over my shoulder. “Yeah,” I sighed sharply, planting my elbows on the table and rubbing my brow. “Screw it.”

Felix was quiet for a while. I just kept my eyes closed, trying to escape the headache I’d been fighting all day.

“You know, Mavy,” he said slowly, “we don’t have to do this today. If you need more time, that’s alright.”

“No, no,” I sighed again, folding my arms and staring down at my tea. “I want to do it today.”

“That’s fine, too,” he said. “Just… you know, there’s no rush.”

“Yeah, there is,” I muttered. “For me, there is. I know that a couple of days is not a long time to plan anything, but… I’ve wanted this for way more than a couple of days. I just… I’ve had a lot going on. I haven’t exactly had the mental space to realize just how… how mad I’ve been this whole time. Mad about…” I lifted my fingers, “everything. And I know I’ve been pissy as hell in general, but there’s just been this shade of it that I… I haven’t been able to see.”

I finally glanced up at Felix. He was just listening, cupping his empty mug on the table. There was no pain in his eyes, only a desire to understand. So I continued.

“In counselling, I learned about the stages of grief. Anger is the first. It had been long enough, and I had done enough work on myself, I thought I had moved past it. But there’s been this… underlying resentment that’s gone unaddressed. I know what it is now. It clicked when Ralph gave me that picture frame. I was hit by the fact that it was the first real gesture of respect for Turbo’s memory that I had seen since he died. Yeah, I’m not angry at Turbo anymore. But Devs, I’m angry for him.

“Angry that the arcade-wide memorial only served to vilify him. Angry that I was assaulted before even getting the chance to start mourning, and I’ve spent all this time dealing with what’s happened to me and ignoring what happened to him. Angry that other sprites in counselling get to talk about their grief and loss without a single judging look. Angry that I feel like I have to apologize any time I bring up Turbo in counselling. Angry that sprites out there are literally changing the meaning of his name to mean the act that killed him.”

I took a second to breathe. Felix waited patiently, and I continued once I found a calmer tone to speak in.

“I remember the night before he died. I remember the shape he was in. If anyone else had seen what I did, they wouldn’t be talking like they are. They would know he didn’t deserve to die. I can’t stand being the only sprite in the arcade who seems to understand that. And now I finally have time and energy to do something about it. Even if it’s just me, you, and Ralph. Ideally, Tapper would be there, too. Ideally, the whole arcade would care enough to be there. But I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got.” 

I shook my head. “I just can’t carry this anger a single step further. It has to be today.”

Felix smiled in a sad sort of way and nodded just a bit. “Okay,” he breathed. “Then we’ll do it today.”

The conversation ended after that, and shortly after, Felix excused himself to go gather the flowers he was tasked to bring, leaving me alone in the apartment for a while. It was enough time for me to practice the song a couple more times and try not to obsess over it. I felt like you deserved something better. Something grand. Something you would be happy to assign your name to while you were here. But I couldn’t manage it. I couldn’t even manage to write lyrics for the short, simple melody I came up with.

I guess missing you just doesn’t make me feel very musical.

After I was as satisfied as I was going to get with the song, I set to work coloring my clothes red, leaving only the already white parts unpainted. I was staring into the bathroom mirror, debating coloring the blue out of my eyes when Felix returned, arms full of flowers. I gave the flowers the same red-and-white treatment I gave myself, and eliminated every shade of blue from Felix’s outfit. He looks a bit weird in red, but I just couldn’t allow anything resembling Devout attire at your funeral. Nevermind blue being your least favorite color.

Once about an hour had passed since the arcade closed, we were all ready to go. There wasn’t a shade of blue on us. Felix held the color-coded flowers, and I held the picture frame and your belongings under an arm. Both of us had our respective letters we wrote to you in our pockets. I had my guitar slung over my back, tuned to perfection. Everything on the proverbial checklist was ticked. 

But still, I stood there at the front door, one hand on the knob, finding it hard to make myself turn it.

“It’s okay, Mavy,” Felix said softly from behind me. “Take your time.”

I sighed through my nose, closing my eyes and trying to fight the quivering in my stomach. The gravity of what I was about to do had been squeezing me tighter and tighter as the evening went on. 

“Hun,” Felix prompted gently, “I know you’re angry. But are you sure you want to do this in anger?”

I considered that, took a deep breath, and stood a bit straighter. “Yes, actually,” I looked back over my shoulder at him, speaking calmly despite my nerves. “I do. Waiting won’t help. I think I can safely say that delaying this is what made me angry in the first place. And... for once, I’d like to use my anger for something good,” I gave half a smile. “I won’t blow anything up this time. Don’t worry.”

Felix gave a quiet huff of a laugh, paused, and shook his head with a warm smile. “I’m not worried.”

I raised a brow.

He put one hand up a bit. “I know, I know how ridiculous that sounds. I know I’m the king of all worrywarts. But I mean it. I’m not worried.”

“Explain.”

Felix shrugged contentedly. “I trust you.”

I just stared at him, unsure if he had ever uttered those words to me before. I didn’t know what to say, so he continued.

“I trust you to do what’s best for you… and for Turbo. You’re the only one in the arcade who could,” he sighed, a bit of glassiness showing in his eyes. “And I’m proud of you. I know he would be, too.”

A bit blindsided in my already emotionally vulnerable state, I swallowed hard. Suddenly, my face felt much too hot. I nodded a bit, letting my eyes wander as the words sank in. I hoped he was right, but I tried not to think too deeply about that lest I turn into an emotional wreck before even making it downstairs.

So I just glanced at him and muttered, “Thanks, cuz.”

“Of course,” he smiled wider. “I know you’ll be alright. I’ve never been so sure of that.”

I allowed my own smile to show. “Yeah. I’ll make it.”

He chuckled. “It’s what you do.”

At that point, I finally found the resolve to open the door and walk down the hall to the elevator. We rode down in silence, and I managed to steady my breathing enough to gain confidence that I could keep it together through our modest little service. Once we reached the ground floor and stepped out into the hallway, however, Felix stopped me before the back doors of Niceland.

“Mavy,” he said, “a word before we go out.”

“What?”

“Well… I hope you don’t mind, but I took a couple... liberties with the service.”

I blinked. “Okay. What’d you do?”

“Just…” he stepped back, pushing open one of the double doors and nodding towards the outside, “...have a look.”

I had no idea what to expect -- Felix’s ideas of surprises are usually extremely underwhelming. But when I obliged him, and took a single step out of the building, what I saw stopped me in my tracks.

There was a crowd.

I saw the Nicelanders first. Behind them, I saw Tapper. And Peter Pepper. And Paperboy, two Joust knights, Mario, and Clyde. And Ralph, towering above them in the back. They were arranged in rows in front of one of the prepared tables, watching me, waiting for me in a reverent hush.

I felt, for just a moment, that I could pass out.

“Mavy… you okay?” Felix whispered.

I looked at him. Then back to the crowd. Then to him. I hadn’t the slightest clue what to say. My thoughts were struggling to keep up with my feelings. I was overwhelmed, equally on the verge of crying, yelling, and running away. But, somehow, all the same… my heart was swelling with gratitude.

“You did this?” I mouthed to Felix.

“I may have spread the word a little bit,” he replied, looking almost smug, in a very nervous way. “I just… I knew you wished he could have a bigger send off, and I knew you thought no one would even come, but… I wanted to prove you wrong. It’s not the whole arcade, but it’s something.”

I stared at him.

“Oh, Mavy,” he frowned, “I’m sorry. Did I do wrong?”

“No,” I whispered, looking back at the crowd. “Absolutely not.”

Finally, we both stepped fully out of Niceland. We crossed to the table in front of the crowd and found that a couple rows of bricks had been placed on it, almost like an altar to put the frame on. I did so, along with your scarf and goggles, and Felix laid out the flowers. After that, he clarified whether I was okay one more time, before stepping in line along the front row of the crowd, leaving me in the spotlight.

I looked at everyone. They looked at me. I silently thanked counselling for getting me accustomed to a certain level of vulnerability in a group setting, and I spoke.

“Wow… I’m almost speechless,” I told them, my voice faltering a bit. “I don’t know what to say, other than…”

At that point, my eyes landed on Gene.

I immediately snapped, “Gene, what the hell are you doing here? Get out.”

He threw his hands up, exclaimed, “THANK YOU,” and broke away from the crowd to return to Niceland. I watched him go, and waited until the door shut behind him to continue.

“Anyway,” I addressed the crowd with a bit more confidence, as Ralph struggled to stifle a laugh in the back, “it means a lot that the rest of you are here. Thank you for…” I sighed, “joining me in remembering Turbo properly. I… obviously have a few things to say, but I’ll hold off for now. Felix and Ralph have prepared remarks, and, uh… after that, if anyone else has something they’d like to say, you’re welcome to do so. I’ll take it from there after that. So…”

I met Felix’s gaze expectantly, and he gasped a little bit before nodding and switching places with me. I set my guitar down on a separate table, and then I stood by the crowd and watched him pull a folded piece of paper out of his chest pocket, clear his throat, and take a moment. The reverent silence from before settled over everyone once more as Felix found his voice.

“Turbo…” he began, “I’m afraid you’ll have to forgive me. This letter isn’t exactly the poetry you’d expect to be read aloud at a… gathering of this nature. Truthfully, writing this at all has been, well… a lot harder than I thought. I’ve written my fair share of letters on my own time. Boy, I even sent you one or two before, when you were still here to receive them. Whether you read them or just turned them into paper airplanes, I never really knew. But this one… I hope, wherever you are, you’re listening. Even if you don’t want to hear from me, there are things I need to say to you. More things than I realized.”

Felix paused to take a steadying breath before attempting the rest. “Turbo, I’m sorry. I’m sorry that it took me this long to truly think about you and how I feel. How I feel about losing you. I’ve been so preoccupied looking after the sprites who depend on me, I just… somehow, forgot to mourn. And once I did, once I started writing, I… Well, I cried. I know I’m a big crier, but even for me… I cried so much. Because golly, I… I didn’t realize just how much I’m going to miss you.

“It feels so strange to say it, because, well, you did drive me up the wall most days. You’d burst into my apartment in the wee hours of the morning, tracking in dirt on my carpet, raiding my fridge without so much as a ‘Hello.’ You’d show up uninvited to parties and be rude to the guests. On more than one occasion, you drove your car into our game and left tire tracks that tore up our lovely grass and flowers. But I miss it all, just the same. I miss feeling guilty for laughing at your... crass jokes. I miss being angry at you, angry enough that all my other problems felt like a breeze, comparatively. I miss seeing you in passing in Game Central and hearing every new, mean... frankly annoyingly clever nickname you chose to greet me with. I miss your laugh, your smile, your face… I miss seeing you at all. It’s strange, but I miss all the complicated emotions you brought into my life. You did drive me crazy. But I loved it. I’m just sorry it took losing you to make me realize that.”

At this point, he was pausing at the end of every sentence to wipe away tears from under his eyes, and as he went on, I could feel my own starting to sting a bit. “I wish you could have understood how loved you were. In the way that matters. I wish that you could have seen that you had nothing to be jealous of. You were one in a million, Turbo. No one will ever replace you. No one will ever forget you.”

Just for a moment, he glanced at me. “And I’ll never forget the happiness you brought to my family.” Then, sniffling, he closed out with, “Goodbye, Turbo. Goodbye, my friend.”

After that, he wandered over to join me next to the crowd and pulled out a handkerchief to blow his nose into. I watched him, eventually deciding to rub his back. Touching him is still a challenge, but… I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know if I could even say it right. 

I had expected his letter to be almost entirely about your relationship with me and how it made him feel. I expected to be the bridge between the two of you, like I always seemed to be before you died. But, seemingly out of nowhere, he pulled out these deeply personal feelings about you. He himself felt guilt over not mourning you properly, just as I did. It made me think about the conversation we had shared about an hour beforehand, and how he must have been angry, too. In his own Felix sort of way. And how that might have inspired him, in part, to invite all the extra guests.

It just meant a lot to me, knowing you meant something to him.

After a couple moments of clumsily comforting Felix, I saw no movement, so I looked back over the crowd at Ralph. He seemed to be doing his best to disappear all nine feet of himself, but once we locked eyes, he surrendered and trudged to the front of the crowd. He seemed kind of nervous, fumbling as he pulled out his letter and unfolded it.

“Turbo, uh…” he began, pausing to stare out at his audience one last time before shifting his feet and clearing his throat. “Okay. Look. I'll be honest with you. When Mavis asked me to write you a letter, I was kind of confused. The letters are a nice idea, but… me? I was never your friend. We never got along. In fact, the very first time I met you, I very clearly remember you saying--” and at this point, he poorly mimicked your accent, “--’Don't tell me. You're a Bad Guy. I can smell a professional loser from across the arcade, even without the help a’ your severe body odor. Take a shower, ya might like it.’”

I didn’t hide my chuckle. I even heard one or two behind me. Ralph noticed, and seemed unsure if he was being laughed at or with. Either way, he took on a bit more of a solid tone.

“Yeah, you were a jerk. You didn't like me, and I didn't like you. But I'm still… I don’t know. Somehow, part of me is still sad you're gone. And not just because things have been so messed up since you left. I think there was just one thing about you that I might have, possibly, maybe, sort of liked.

“You were a Good Guy, but… you didn’t really act like one. A lot of Good Guys are jerks who pretend to be nice, but you never pretended. You never hid how mean you were. It’s weird to think of that as a good thing. I don't know. I'm not sure I get why that sticks out to me in my memories of you, but it does, so... I guess I will miss you, Turbo. Even though you were basically a second Mavis most of the time.”

That one got a bigger laugh, especially from me. Ralph seemed very pleased with himself. He had to clear his throat to snap himself out of a poorly timed smile. Frowning appropriately, he said, “Goodbye, Turbo. Rest in peace.”

He then walked back to his spot in the rear of the crowd, and a blanket of silence settled softly over us all once again. 

By this point, I was feeling pretty sick. Somehow, I wasn’t crying yet, but I was incredibly anxious. The longer the service went on, the more I began to wonder if I was making a mistake, after all. Hearing the other two talk about you the way they did… It scared me for a lot of reasons. Not the least of which being I was probably going to have to read my letter in a moment, and it was a lot longer and a lot more personal than what they wrote. I knew that would be the case from the beginning, but when the moment finally came, I was not prepared for it.

And as the silence carried on, I only felt sicker. If no one else wanted to speak, then it would have to be my turn. I just stood there, fighting myself on whether I should wait longer or get it over with, until I heard the blessed sound of footsteps.

Tapper stepped out in front of the crowd.

Seeing him standing there alone, rescuing me from my anxiety for just a couple more minutes, I was finally able to process how happy I was to see him. Knowing that he must have closed the bar down to come support you and me, even after I nearly got his game unplugged… I mean, I could hardly believe it. A week ago, I thought he would never want to see me again. But he was there. He left his blue vest at home, out of respect for the dress code. He was responsible for the precious frame propped up on the table behind him. 

And he had something to say to you. 

“Turbo…” he began, sighing, “first, let me piss you off by talking about myself at your funeral. It won't take long. After all, I'm a pretty simple guy. I sell root beer, and that's about it. I barely ever even leave my game. But the truth is, I don't have to. I can go anywhere I want without ever stepping outside. I open my doors… and the arcade is brought to me. Everyone brings in little bits of their lives, whether they know it or not, and I get all the travel I need just from good conversation. But lately, well… I ain't been traveling so far. For the first time ever, my game isn't big enough for me. Not since my road to Turbo Time disappeared.”

He paused thoughtfully, eyes down for a moment. “I may not have ever physically set foot in there. Most of us didn't. But I know we all miss it. Some more than others, sure. And yeah, maybe it wasn't the center of the universe like someone would have liked us to believe. But Turbo Time was more than just a game. Turbo Time was a fact. Constant, stable, since the opening of the very arcade itself. I don't think any of us realized just how comforting it was, the idea that at least one thing in this strange, unpredictable world could remain unchanged -- Turbo Time's place in the spotlight. 

“Now... it's gone. And I'm sure there's not a sprite in the arcade who doesn't miss it. Who doesn't miss that stability. Doesn't miss the things we could still believe when Turbo Time was here. So I speak for everyone, and I mean everyone, when I say: Turbo, you will be missed. And thank you for the years you gave us. Goodbye, old friend.”

Tapper gave me one short, meaningful glance, and the corner of his moustache tipped up just a bit in the hint of a smile. He walked away, but not before flashing just a flicker of a wink at me. It took a couple of minutes to understand what he meant to convey with that, but knowing Tapper, I figured it out. And it just made me even more grateful that he came. 

I think that everyone else’s refusal to speak did not sit right with him. He knew everyone had something to say, so he said it for them. Because it was your freakin’ funeral, and it would be damn disrespectful to snub you like that.

Tapper’s the best.

Once he rejoined the crowd, I went back to waiting for a while. Deep down, I knew no one else would step up. I knew I was just prolonging my own suffering, but I felt rooted to the spot. I just stood there, staring at the point on the ground where I would have to stand. It was only a few steps away. It should have been easy. But everyone was waiting for me. I could feel more than one pair of eyes watching me expectantly. And in a moment, I would have to broadcast some very, very personal feelings to them. For a few moments, I wondered if I should have been mad at Felix for inviting everyone without permission, after all.

But then I thought back again to the conversation we had earlier. How I said, in a perfect world, the whole arcade would come to pay respects to you. In a perfect world, the arcade-wide memorial would have a complete do-over. The handful of sprites I stood next to was the best you were going to get. At that thought, I felt the same anger that inspired me to host the funeral in the first place. 

I pulled the letter I wrote to you out of my pocket and looked it over for just a moment, contemplating. It was everything I would say to you, if I could turn back time. But I asked myself whether, given this opportunity, I wanted to speak to you or to them.

I folded up the letter and put it back in my pocket. I told Felix earlier that anger could be used for good, and I figured it was time to practice what I preached.

I stepped out in front of everyone. I deliberately made them wait just a minute longer while I counted every gaze pointed my way. Every single sprite was watching me, listening, which was no longer off-putting.

It was perfect.

“Let me start by thanking you all for coming, once again, and thank Felix for inviting everyone,” I said clearly and calmly. “This… event is long overdue, and undersized. So, what few guests you may be, know that your appearance here means a lot. A special thank you in particular to the Devout here who skipped the blue clothing, as requested. You see, Turbo was not Devout. He never was. Yet, somehow, a Devout preacher was the only sprite given the authority to speak about him at the memorial after his death. That’s why we’re here today.”

I paused, letting that point sink in, and picking my next words carefully. I was angry, but I had to stay level-headed. I had to use that anger effectively, or the very important message I was about to deliver would not land. Once I felt confident in my emotional balance, I continued.

“The preacher never knew him. No one who spoke that day knew him. Admittedly, he was a tough sprite to know. I could easily count on one hand how many sprites actually did. But no one knew him like I did. By rights, it should have been me who spoke that day. It’s a bit late for that now, but I can tell you what I would have said. 

“I’d have told you what most people knew Turbo as. Arrogant, narcissistic, loud, belligerent, relentlessly competitive. You could get him to do pretty much anything just by suggesting he couldn’t. And no matter how badly he failed, he would always challenge you to do better.”

I heard a quiet chuckle or two from that, and smiled as I went on.

“Yeah, nothing, not even his game’s lofty track record, was ever so famous about Turbo as his ego. But he was also clever. And witty, and resourceful, and inventive. His garage was always cluttered with work-in-progress gizmos and sheets of... wildly intricate blueprints I never learned how to read. Framed on the table behind me is proof that we would draw together sometimes, and I always thought his art style was cooler than I let on. Sometimes we would sing, or even write music together, and it’ll likely surprise you to hear, but his voice and his poetry weren’t half-bad. Yeah. That guy was full of surprises, way more than anyone would have believed. And probably the hardest to believe of them all, was… he was afraid.”

I took another pause, figuring out how to continue without betraying your privacy too much. I needed to make everyone understand, but I still wanted to be respectful to you. Eventually, I continued carefully, a light tremor of emotion in my voice.

“He had the fame, the fortune, the status, the gamers’ full attention… but like anyone else in this arcade, he was… scared. He wanted to be loved. To be remembered. He wanted something real to hold onto. Some meaning that could hold its own against the universal fear of this life, the fear that someday our games will be unplugged and wheeled out that door to nowhere. Now, I know how I’ll remember him. I’ll remember him as the greatest racer this arcade’s ever seen. I’ll remember him as an artist, an inventor, a singer, a comedian. I’ll remember him as a person. Because that’s what he was. No matter how hard that preacher tried to twist his life into nothing but a cautionary tale, he was just as much a person as she is. As any of us are. Ignoring that goes far beyond disrespect. Ignoring that is outright dangerous. Because Turbo, no matter what connotations his name carries now, was not a monster. He was only ever one of us. We lost one of our own, and until we stop hiding and face the truth of his death, we will lose more the same way. What can kill one of us can kill more of us.”

I could see a few frowns in the audience. I knew my words were getting a bit scary, but that was good. It said to me that they were starting to get it. So I didn’t let up. I let my tone sharpen.

“Disobeying the program is not what killed him. Seeing no meaning outside of the program killed him. And yet, there was the preacher saying we ought to do the exact same thing. Place all our meaning on our code. She said that Turbo had a virus, that he was corrupted, that following the program will protect us from his fate. The program keeps your game alive, this much we can’t change. But it can’t protect us from everything. You can do everything right and still end up quarterless. New games are plugged in, gamers move on, for reasons we will probably never understand. That’s just life here. Life here is hard, and it’s confusing, and for the most part, our roles are the only things we can actually make sense of. But there has to be more. You have to find more. Your role is what you do, but it can’t be who you are. Because if that’s taken away, who are you? Why are you?”

I stopped. The silence that was once reverent had turned tense. I let my breathing slow as I took a good, long look at the crowd. I felt very little sympathy for the uncomfortable faces at first. Felix was just holding his hat in front of his belly, eyes wide, lips parted. Tapper’s gaze was steady on me, but his brow was furrowed in an almost pained sort of way. Ralph wasn’t looking at me at all. His eyes were low, staring at nothing in particular, squeezing his fingers anxiously.

I took in a deep breath, held it, and let a long sigh wash the anger and adrenaline out of me. That was enough. I could let them off the hook.

“Anyway,” I said lowly, sadly, “that’s my sermon for the day. Moving on... Well, speaking of roles... my role doesn't offer a whole lot in the first place. Some say Easter Eggs are good luck, but being one sure isn’t. You can go weeks without a second of gameplay. It’s hard to feel like you really belong anywhere, sometimes. You live in your game, sure, but… it’s hard to call it ‘home’ when you’re barely needed. It’s easy to feel like the least important sprite in the whole arcade. So, imagine my surprise when, four years ago, I found myself goofing off with the king of the arcade,” I smiled a bit at the memory. “It was so weird to me, hanging out with a guy so obsessed with status when I had basically none of my own. I thought it would have bothered him. But… that was one of the instances where his narcissism sort of… canceled itself out and made him a better person, I think. He was too concerned with himself to care. I asked him what he thought about me being an Easter Egg once, and he just shrugged and said, ‘The hell should I care?’ Like I’d asked him what I should have for dinner, or something. Not saying there weren’t things about me he didn’t like, and hey, he wasn’t perfect either. But there was trust there, I guess. Weird, snarky trust.

“So, I ended up spending a whole lot of time with him, and that was great, because being an Easter Egg frankly gives me more free time than I always know what to do with. Eventually, goofing off with him was one of the few things that made sense in my life. Even if it didn’t make sense to anyone else. I mean, not that everyone didn’t see why we got along so well. We were often told how similar we were, usually not in a good way. But why we did the things we did, I don't think many understood. And I wouldn't expect them to, because our fun usually came at everyone else's expense. Like the time we poured puddles of oil around game central just to watch everyone slip. Or when we'd play music in Ghosts n' Goblins so loud it literally woke the dead. Everyone here probably has their own story to tell…”

I made eye contact and managed a smile for each sprite I mentioned, “Like Mary, whose cake we ruined by switching her sugar and salt. Deanna, we were the reason the whole arcade started calling you ‘Dana’. Tapper could keep us up all night with his own tales of our misdeeds, and so could Gene for that matter, if he were allowed to speak. And Don, yes, any time one of your model boats went missing, it was nicked by us. We used to take them into Frogger and set them on fire, and watch them drift away down the river.”

Don in particular looked shocked, confused, and a bit scandalized, but resigned quickly with a small sigh.

“It all sounds… petty,” I continued, nodding. “Meaningless, shallow, self-indulgent wastes of time by two arrogant sprites who didn't give a damn about anything or anyone. And that's how I preferred to think of it too, most of the time. But I tell you… once, while we were watching one of Don's boats burn away as it floated along, Turbo asked me, ‘Where do you think it goes… after it's deleted for good? After the fire eats it all away?’ He wasn't looking at me, but I could tell… he wasn't smiling. I told him the only thing that made sense to me… ‘Anywhere but here.’ And… honestly, I think the idea of that was some kind of comfort. The idea that there was anything outside of what we knew. Many would say he only ever knew a perfect, privileged life. That he had everything he could have wanted. But, still… all we ever did was look for a way out.”

My eyes fell for a moment. I stared at the ground as I clenched my jaw, struggling to string together the heartache I felt into words. My emotions were finally starting to bubble over, and as much as I tried to fight it, my vision started to blur with tears. Almost at a loss, I just forced myself to start talking, my voice weak and quivering as I looked out at the crowd again.

“...Sprites said a lot of things about us. About… us. Some would call him my partner in crime, which wasn't the whole truth. Some called him my best friend, which... wasn’t the whole truth, either. A whole lot more called him my boyfriend, which, despite evidence to the contrary, he was not. Even I was never sure what to call him, or what he really was to me. But I think I understand, now that he's gone. Because I didn't just lose a friend... or a partner. I lost a place at his side… the first place I ever felt like I belonged. Turbo… he was my home. I... don’t know where the fire leads. I don’t know if it leads anywhere. I don’t know if he’s listening. I don’t know if he exists at all anymore. Out of all those, I don’t even know what I want to believe. Right now, all I know is… no matter how many games I see, no matter how many sprites I meet, no matter how many years I live… I’ll always be homesick. Always.”

I closed my eyes, unable to keep a few tears from falling. Trembling from the awful heat deep in my chest, I knew I was done. I couldn’t say another word on the matter. So, after a long, hushed moment, I turned my eyes to Felix and tipped my head in request for him to take my place. He obliged without question, wiping away the wetness on his own red cheeks. I wandered over to sling my guitar over my shoulder once again as he informed the crowd that it was time to take their paper boats over to the river.

Almost everyone started making their way over to the water, but a few stayed behind to exchange passing words with me or Felix, even though I was mostly staying quiet in an attempt to keep the tears reined in.

Mary approached me first, making an awkward, but genuine offer to bake me a cake when I was finished with my counselling. Even suggested that a small party be arranged. I wasn’t opposed to the idea, but I just thanked her and told her I would think about it. I wasn’t in any shape to be making decisions, and she seemed to get that.

Clyde didn’t get too close. He just put himself in my line of vision and offered a supportive, almost proud smile. I just smiled back and nodded, and that was enough for him. He floated away. I’m glad he was there -- I’m sure my grand display of vulnerability earned me some counselling points.

Peter Pepper, Mario, Paperboy, and the Joust knights came one after the other, all saying more or less the same thing. They had some fond memories of you and me, they wanted to show their support, and they were sorry for my loss. I didn’t know how to respond to most of it beyond muttered thanks. 

Then Tapper approached me. There was a whole lot of pride in his eyes, too, as he smiled at me. He reached out to do our patented air-handshake, but I fully clasped his hand and shook it gratefully. He seemed shocked for a second, but laughed a little in pleasant surprise. At that point, I began falling over myself a bit in some attempt to come up with an apology even a fraction as big as he deserved, but was quickly stopped short. He told me that me getting help was the best apology I could give him, and that when I’m done, I should come find him to continue our drawing business, since his walls are still pretty bare.

Again, Tapper is the best. 

Once all the conversations ended, Felix and I proceeded to fold our letters into boats, and I helped Ralph with his, since his fingers are so huge and clumsy. He thanked me, but he also seemed sadder and quieter than I expected him to be. Maybe someday I’ll talk to him about it, but I didn’t today. I just grabbed the picture frame, your scarf and goggles, and we all walked over to the river in silence.

I stepped up to the edge of the water, brush in hand. One by one, every guest approached me and gave me their boat, which I touched a shade of fire to with my paint, and gently placed them into the stream. As the process went along, I wondered what all of the letters might have said. I expected most of them to be blank, but a good portion of them had handwriting poking out under the folds. The thought of it put a terribly painful gratitude in my chest.

I sent Ralph’s down the water, and then Felix’s. And last of all came mine.

I held it and stared at it for a minute. It contained everything I wish I could say to you. Everything you should have known before leaving this world. Somehow, it seemed hard to let it go, to do any harm to it. But with all the faith I could possibly muster, I blessed it with a prayer, and sent it floating away in flames, like all the others.

I sat, set my guitar in my lap, and with the heaviest heart I carried in my life, I played your song.

Felix sat beside me, and Ralph followed a moment after, but everyone else remained standing for the soft, mournful serenade. I may not have found the right words to sing, but I hummed along gently anyway, quiet tears falling from my cheeks. I watched the little lights sail away, watched the paper blacken and curl, and the little embers escape into the air. I don’t need to tell you what it reminded me of. But, as painful as it was to relive even a moment of your passing, I knew that this was, maybe, the only way my prayer would be answered.

‘Wherever the fire took him, let it take these, too.’

My song ended before long, and I could barely see through the tears in my eyes, but we all watched until the very last flame burnt out, and only flecks of charred paper remained, carried away by the current. I sat there for a while, sniffing, wiping my eyes, keeping as tight a grip on my composure as possible. Felix pat my back very lightly until I was ready to stand up.

Once I did… it was over.

Everyone said their goodbyes, gave their thanks, gave their sympathies, but ultimately, had to go. Tapper and Peter Pepper had to reopen their games, after all. As the visitors made their way across the bridge and to the cord train to leave, Felix checked in on me. He asked if I wanted to come have dinner with what was left of the group, and just spend the rest of the night in each other’s company.

I declined. I told him that I needed some time alone, and that I was very tired. I haven’t slept much, the past couple days, and I told him so.

He understood, of course, and like a good friend, told me that he’ll be there whenever I need him. Ralph, finally speaking up, seconded the notion, saying that his ‘door’ was always open.

Felix almost went for a hug, but stopped himself, still unsure of my boundaries. On another night, I might have obliged him. Instead, I just clapped a hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Eyes glassy, with a loving smile, he did the same to me.

Then we went our separate ways. Felix, to Niceland. Ralph, to the dump. Me, to my den.

Where I fell to pieces and cried my heart out.

All the tears I had been holding back all night just… erupted out of me. I know I could have cried sooner. I know I would have been met with support. Felix and Ralph have been there for me in meaningful ways I won’t soon forget. But, today, I just… I need you. It’s physically painful how badly I need you. No one else will give me what I need tonight, and I can’t expect them to.

So, I guess that’s why I’m here, writing to you again. I can’t visit you any other way, now. I can’t believe how important this notebook has become. I started this ‘story’ in such a terrible, anxious, spiteful place. I was so angry at you for leaving me, and I wanted to tell you just how badly you’ve hurt me. But I’m not angry at you anymore. I almost wish that I was. Because now that it comes down to it, this notebook just feels like the only line to you I have left. There will be no more buff-fueled journeys into my memories, no more hallucinations taking the shape of you. And that’s all well and good, because buffs never filled the space you left behind like I hoped they would. Booze and buffs never kept me warm. Never listened. Never held me. 

I don’t want them anymore.

All I want is you.

Once upon a time, this would be too sappy to say, but… Devs, I just want to fall into your arms. I want to vent out everything I kept inside today. Everything I’ve kept inside since starting counselling. Everything I’ve been fighting to keep contained so I can stay strong.

I am strong. Staying strong is going to be worth it. But sometimes, I need to be weak. I’m sure ‘weak’ isn’t what the sprites at counselling would want me to use, but… tonight, I want to be weak. I don’t want to need to be strong. For a while, I want you to be strong for me, and just… let me feel the hurt without endangering myself or anyone else, for once.

Let me play pretend for a little while longer, and tell you everything that’s on my mind.

Maybe some of it will make sense once it’s on paper.

You know… I’m just remembering a moment in counselling, when a sprite talked about how his worst fear came true, but knowing he had lived through it was freeing. I think I mentioned it to Felix last week, but as time goes on, I just… I’m realizing how true it is.

So many horrible things have happened. So much has changed. Sometimes, I still have trouble recognizing my life, and the anxiety surrounding that is suffocating. But every time I come out the other side and calm down, I find that reality is as steady as ever. Slowly, I’m getting used to the new normal. Even the painful parts. I feel… safe. Which, given everything I’ve written here, is kind of amazing.

And, with that safety, I’m given a bit of room to actually look at the good changes that are underway.

One of the biggest sources of pain in my life, and indeed, one of the biggest fuels for my addictive habits, has been the idea that I’m trapped. Trapped in my role by the Devs. Trapped in the grief of losing you. Trapped in my addictions themselves, even. All I’ve ever wanted was a way to escape. Yet, somehow, being locked up in cabinet arrest, being forced to attend stupid, boring counselling… I don’t feel so confined anymore. The arcade feels like it’s getting bigger.

I’m still too big for the life I was made for. That much hasn’t changed. But I’m beginning to think that I don’t need to cut off pieces of myself to fit into it. I think I can just… make my life bigger. I’m not entirely sure how, but I have to believe it’s possible. I mean, I did just preach the idea at your funeral. I have to find more. I have to make more. You managed to show me that. Somehow, through all the loss, suffering, and mistakes, you’ve left me with the knowledge of how important it is to look for more than you’re given.

It’s hard to feel grateful for that.

Truthfully, letting anything good come of this whole nightmare has been incredibly difficult. It still is. There’s some horrible guilt to it. Why do I get to be the one to survive? Why am I the one with a chance to turn my life around? Why couldn’t I have learned all this without having to lose you first?

But, you know… falling apart didn’t bring you back. It was no honor to your memory. It just caused needless pain, almost to the point of total disaster.

I learn from all this because I have to. I joined counselling because I had to make a change. I have to believe you’d be happy for me. Especially because… I can feel big changes happening, deep down.

I feel like I’m on my way to finding what ‘good’ feels like again.

I once told Felix that the search for ‘good’ had never felt so daunting before. I had so many fears holding me back. I was afraid to feel much of anything at all. Afraid to put down roots of any kind. Afraid to have anything real out of belief that I would break it. Afraid to be loved because I didn’t know how to accept it.

Accepting love is still hard, but I’m starting to see that it’s not a decision you can make for anyone else.

Even things about yourself you’ve deemed completely unforgivable will, somehow, still be forgiven. It’s a tough thing to wrap your head around, but hating yourself will not make others hate you, too. I mean… I still can’t manage to hate you, even after all the pain you put me through. Devs know I’ve caused a lot of pain to sprites who care about me, even before all this happened.

But, somehow… I’m not alone. I was never doomed to be alone. It’s taken me five years to realize that.

Along with it, I’ve realized that your mind can really become a world you’ve created around yourself. It feels like absolute truth and reality. But when you manage to look outside of that world, you realize how small your mind really is. The real world is a whole lot bigger than how you perceive it. Everyone has their own perception, too, probably very different from yours.

Everyone’s got their own colors. I have to remember that I can choose mine.

I choose to heal. I’m already on my way.

Even the funeral, scary as it was, felt like a big step.

I was afraid of how I would feel after. I was scared of the finality of it. I once believed all this to be a prank or a dream, and while I wanted to believe I'd abandoned those delusions… I think, even today, some small part of me still wanted to believe that you would spring out of hiding and relieve me of this cruel joke. Or that I could still wake up next to you and forget this whole nightmare by the end of breakfast. I was afraid that the funeral would feel like giving up hope, and in the process, I'd lose you even more than I already have.

It didn't feel like that, exactly. At least, not yet. For now, I feel… relieved. But exhausted. Like a huge weight has been lifted off my back, and after carrying it for so long, all I want to do is collapse into bed and rest. I am in bed as I write this, and I'm admittedly having trouble keeping my eyes open.

But I can’t seem to stop writing.

I know I should. I know I’m just pretending. I know I should get some sleep, because there is still so much more work ahead of me. Work that’s far more real and important than writing letters to a ghost. I’ve had an ache in my wrist for about a week, I keep having to shake this pen to get any ink out of it, and there are only a couple pages left in this notebook.

I’m just… afraid to stop. I’m afraid that it will mean this bedtime story is over. I’m afraid it will mean that it’s time to move on, and I’m not ready.

I’m not ready.

I’m glad I was able to give you some manner of send-off. I’m glad I was able to defend your memory. I feel relief from dealing with the anger I had been carrying on your behalf, and from the knowledge that I don’t have to mourn you alone anymore. I do not regret the funeral, not in the slightest. But that doesn’t mean it didn’t terrify me. You see, as the service went on, I noticed a pattern that just kept stabbing pins into my heart. Felix, Ralph, and Tapper’s letters all had a certain word in common, one that I neither wrote nor spoke.

‘Goodbye.’

As I wrote your letter, as I attempted to write lyrics for your song, as I improvised that speech about you, that word never crossed my mind. I did not arrange a funeral for the purpose of letting you go. I’m starting to see that I arranged it for the purpose of holding you tighter.

Through the whole service, I just couldn’t stop thinking about that moment in Felix’s apartment, when I was helping him clean up the ashes after my… explosive incident. When I was scrubbing the black off of his wall, and it struck me how time was moving forward without you. That feeling managed to be so healing and so devastating all at once. I accepted that I could never go back to our days together, but I refused to accept that I had to leave you behind entirely.

I can’t say goodbye. I knew you for four years, and I barely feel like I said hello. It feels like our story didn’t even end, it just trailed off into nothing. We began a new chapter the last night we were together, and then we just… stopped.

I just want to go back to that night. That moment when I realized how I really felt about you, and the few precious hours I was able to spend with you after. If I could do it all over again, I would have stayed up all night telling you everything I was too cowardly to say at the time. And the morning would never come to steal you away from me.

That must be part of why it’s so hard to move on. You were stolen. We promised to stay together forever. We had a future. For me, that’s everything. I came into this world already lost, with barely a role, barely any context. I could only ever see the day to day. The future was just this dark fog I ran into blindly. But then you came along. And you told me that no matter my future, you would be in it. You didn’t blow the fog away. You weren’t my destination. But you were a light. You were my star. 

Then the sun came up, and took you away. 

It’s so hard to accept that I can’t win you back. I can’t accept that my promise to you is out of my hands. I have to find a way to move on, and I will. But I can’t let you go. I won’t.

Listen, T… I said I was afraid the funeral would feel like giving up hope. It didn’t. I’m scared, but I’m more hopeful now than I’ve been since you left. I may have lost your light, but I have a clear direction to move in. I’m going to finish counselling and stay sober. I’m going to be free to roam the arcade again. I’m going to repair the relationships I nearly broke. I’m going to regain full color in my brush and take to the skies again very soon. It’s going to be hard. I know that. But I also know that I’ll be okay. I hope Felix is right, and you’re proud of me. I’m getting there myself.

But I swear… I can, and will, do it all without letting you go.

Forever. That’s what we promised. You being out of reach makes it harder, but I’ll find a way. 

And… this is my most wishful thinking of all, but… I hope you’re keeping your promise, too.

Maybe it’s just the lack of sleep, but… I swear I can feel your eyes on me. I swear you’re curled up behind me, right now. My bed is never this warm when I’m alone. I know the illusion will be broken if I roll over, so for now… 

If you really are reading over my shoulder… if the act of writing this feels like holding your hand for a reason… if I’m not just a lonely, heartbroken fool with an overactive imagination… 

Keep your promise. Don’t let me go.

Rest here with me.

If there’s anything at all you can do for me, have it be this. Just stay by my side when I lie down at night. I’m so tired, Turbo. I am. I’ve dodged death more than once since you left. I’ve fought so hard to keep my head above water. I haven’t had a minute to just lay down my burdens and feel safe. But feeling you here, even in the small way I do now… I feel like I can breathe. I feel like our last night together never ended.

And it never will, because in Fix-it Felix Jr., the sun never rises. I’ve had many complicated emotions regarding the stars that glitter in the endless sky of my game, but tonight, I’m giving them a meaning better than any they’ve had before.

As long as I can see the stars, I’ll know you haven’t left me.

There’s never going to be a goodbye between us, Turbo. I promise you that. I’ll just say ‘goodnight.’ And I’ll say it again tomorrow. 

And a thousand times more.

Forever isn’t over yet.

[saleintothe90s]

406. Stalking

I’m always fascinated about how a stalker works — what drives them to never forget a person. To think about them every day, all day. The money spent on following the person around, the postage spent.

One of the most infamous celebrity stalkers of the 1980s and 1990s was Margaret Ray, who stalked David Letterman. Ray, who was schizophrenic, constantly broke into Letterman’s home in Connecticut, often sleeping on the tennis court. In 1988, she convinced housepainters that she was his housekeeper and she drove off with his Porsche—when she was arrested on the New Jersey side of the  Lincoln Tunnel, she told cops she was David Letterman’s wife and her child (who was in the car with her) was the son she had with Letterman.

In October of 1998, Ray committed suicide by kneeling in front of a train. Before her death, she turned her obsessions to astronaut Story Musgrave. 1 Letterman didn’t escape his stalkers however, in 2005 a former painter at his ranch in Montana plotted to take Letterman’s son, Harry for ransom. 2

The young actress Rebecca Schaffer was murdered by a deranged fan while her career was on the rise. Robert Jean Bardo tried to come on the set of her short lived sitcom My Sister Sam several times (including bringing a knife one time), but was turned away each time. Bardo’s decision to kill Schaffer came when he saw her in the movie Scenes from the Class Struggle in Beverly Hills in which there was a scene in which she was in bed with a character. 3 He accessed Schaffer’s address through a personal detective who attained the address through DMV records. 4. On July 18, 1989 he arrived at her doorstep. He spoke with her briefly, she signed an autograph, and told him to leave. Bardo arrived back at the apartment shortly after.  Schaffer opened the door thinking it was the script to Godfather III in which she was going to audition for later that day. Bardo shot her in the chest, killing her almost immediately.

One of the earliest cases of internet stalking came in 1994 when Andrew C. Archambeau wouldn’t stop emailing and leaving voicemails to a woman he met through a video dating service. In one of his emails he said:

"I've been trying to court you, not stalk you," Mr. Archambeau wrote her electronically on April 15. "If you let me, I would be the best man, friend, lover you ever could have."

Unfortunately, he lived in Michigan which was one of the earliest states to extend stalking laws to cyber space.  5  It was hard to find information, but I believe he was charged with a misdemeanor. 6

 7

(source) 

Former White House intern Tangela Burkhart stalked George Stephanopoulos (then President Clinton’s communications adviser) while at the White House and in the years following. When he moved to New York City, so did she.  8 In late 1999, Burkhart was spotted three days in a row at a coffeehouse Stephanopoulos frequented.  In 1998, she was arrested twice for stalking him. 9 In early 2000, she was ordered to stay away from parts of New York City. 8

After their daughter went missing in 1974, the family of Amy Billig received consent phone calls for nearly 20 years from a man who claimed that he knew where Amy was, or he knew what was being done to Amy:

Throughout the ordeal, the one constant in their lives was the caller -- Mrs. Billig describes his voice as "low, threatening" -- from whom they began hearing within weeks of the disappearance. In one call, according to court documents filed in the case against Mr. Blair, the man told Mrs. Billig that "she would be abducted like her daughter and sold into a slave trade." In another, he told her she only had two weeks to live. 10.

In October of 1995, the police finally caught up with him. By tracing his calls to a cell phone they discovered that the caller was Henry J. Blair, a 47 year old veteran of the United States Customs Service. A married guy with two kids. He was found guilty of  misdemeanor stalking in March of 1996. Blair claimed:

In his confession, Blair blamed his calls on obsessive-compulsive behavior arising, he said, from the stress of his job. He claimed he never sought psychiatric counseling because it might have wrecked his career. “Just a bunch of crank calls” is how he described his vicious campaign, insisting that he “would never act out on anything…. The pressures would mount. I would call, and then it would subside.” 11

Finally, this article:

What 9 year old pre-internet says that?! I guess he got it from a song?

1. Bruni, Frank. “Behind the Jokes, a Life Of Pain and Delusion; For Letterman Stalker, Mental Illness Was Family Curse and Scarring Legacy.” The New York Times, November 22, 1998, sec. New York. https://www.nytimes.com/1998/11/22/nyregion/behind-jokes-life-pain-delusion-for-letterman-stalker-mental-illness-was-family.html

2. “Letterman Tot Kidnap Plot Foiled.” Accessed February 13, 2020. https://www.cbsnews.com/news/letterman-tot-kidnap-plot-foiled/.

3. Moffatt, Gregory K. Blind-Sided: Homicide Where It Is Least Expected. Westport, Conn: Praeger, 2000. 94-95.

4. EW.com. “Six Years Ago Rebecca Schaeffer Was Fatally Shot.” Accessed February 13, 2020. https://ew.com/article/1995/07/14/six-years-ago-rebecca-schaeffer-was-fatally-shot/

5. Lewis, Peter H. “Persistent E-Mail: Electronic Stalking or Innocent Courtship?” The New York Times, September 16, 1994, sec. U.S. https://www.nytimes.com/1994/09/16/us/persistent-e-mail-electronic-stalking-or-innocent-courtship.html.

6. Casey, Eoghan. Digital Evidence and Computer Crime: Forensic Science, Computers and the Internet. 2nd ed. London ; San Diego, Calif: Academic Press, 2004. 160.

7. Stephanopoulos, George. All Too Human: A Political Education. Boston: Back Bay Books, 1999. 298.

8. The Buffalo News. “EX-BUFFALONIAN IS ORDERED TO AVOID STEPHANOPOULOS,” January 13, 2000. https://buffalonews.com/2000/01/13/ex-buffalonian-is-ordered-to-avoid-stephanopoulos/.

9. Barron, James. “Public Lives.” The New York Times, September 21, 1999, sec. New York. https://www.nytimes.com/1999/09/21/nyregion/public-lives.html.

10. Navarro, Mireya. “The Night Caller: 21 Years of Unspeakable Grief.” The New York Times, December 3, 1995, sec. U.S. https://www.nytimes.com/1995/12/03/us/the-night-caller-21-years-of-unspeakable-grief.html.

11. PEOPLE.com. “The Night Caller.” Accessed February 14, 2020. https://people.com/archive/the-night-caller-vol-45-no-8/.

[celebrate-the-clone-wars]

10/17 Writing Wednesday Submit

Story: Tallying Scars Chapter: A Fading Echo (48 of ??) Published: Wattpad (https://my.w.tt/tLMf7qqYZQ)

CONTENT:

“Fives? Are you- do you- wanna talk about it?” Tup asked quietly, his voice small and unsure. Fives, lying face down on Echo’s bunk in the barracks, turned his head slightly so that he was facing the wall.

“Okay, maybe later then.” Tup sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat as he turned away. They were much narrower in breadth, Rex suddenly realized, than either his or his other brothers of same age, and he wondered if he had ever looked that young and vulnerable.

Glancing about the barracks he noticed for the first time that the younger recruits were slimmer in build and slightly shorter than the Old Guard were, and it made his breath catch in his throat. They were all just so… young. Echo had only been ten years old and four months when he’d- and most of the newest troops were still nine. Rex himself was just shy of eleven and a half and aside from Jesse, Brye, and Kix he was the oldest there. Ailen and Denal had both only just turned eleven.

The door opened and they all started sharply as General Kenobi halted in the entrance, wary of stepping fully in and crossing some sort of unspoken line that they were all aware existed. To invade the personal space of those who had never had nor never would have anything else left to call their own without prior consent was a serious matter.

“Any news?” Rex asked. His voice was hoarse. Obi-wan shook his head ‘no,’ eyes dark with defeat. The room, only seconds before full of hope, seemed to have the light sucked out of it.

“No. They still haven’t found her yet.”

“First we lose-” Brye swallowed heavily as everyone turned to look at him. His eyes were dark and shimmering with suppressed tears. “And now Ahsoka’s gone missing. Are we cursed or something?”

“Or are we making up for lost time?” a Shiny asked sourly. “We’ve had the lowest casualty to difficulty of assignment ratio in the entire frontlines GAR since the war started. Are we catching up with everyone else?”

“You weren’t on Teth,” Ailen snapped, eyes blazing hot with anger. “Don’t ever say we’ve had it lucky with our numbers.” Obi-wan managed to catch Rex’s eye as the entire barracks erupted into loud and angry argument, and the two slipped out into the hall.

“Anakin won’t leave the Temple,” Kenobi explained quietly. It was easy for Rex to see, after having spent extended time with the man, that he was upset. “He won’t even leave the tactical room. Nothing I say seems to make a difference.”

“I’ll have a word with him,” Rex assured. Obi-wan gave an appreciative nod, hesitated before laying a comforting hand briefly on the Captain’s shoulder, and then departed. Rex braced himself before walking back in to the chaos.

“ALL RIGHT THAT’S ENOUGH!” He shouted. The entire barracks froze, all eyes wide and shocked. Rex never yelled at them when he could more effectively issue commands with quiet authority. He cleared his throat and then continued on with soft disappointed firmness, which scared them more. When he sounded disappointed it meant he was so angry that he was physically restraining himself from throttling someone (usually Hardcase or Brye).

“This is a difficult time for the entire Company. If we’re gonna get through this we need to stick together. We’re not cursed, and we’re not lucky. We’re skilled, and we use smart tactics. You can’t expect the newcomers to understand what it was like at the beginning, and the newcomers can’t expect the veterans to understand the pressure they have since their training ended before it was completed. But we can all understand just fine that we’re scared, and that we’re hurting. Focus on what you do know and put aside what you don’t, because I promise you this: if we can’t come together now then this will tear us apart. And the next time we gear up to fight it’s likely most of us won’t be coming back.” He fixed them with a tired look.

“I’m going to the Temple to check in with Skywalker,” he continued in a normal tone and stress of voice. “I expect you to have figured it out by the time I get back. Fives, with me. Better wear your formal fatigues.”

\•!•!•!•!•!•!•!•/

Rex hadn’t actually been sure that Fives would obey, but a few minutes later they had left the Coruscant GAR barracks and were headed for the Jedi Temple in their smart formal uniforms. As usual, people stopped what they were doing long enough to stare; it was rare that they ever got to see a clone trooper out of armor or even simply with their helmets off.

“They look so young,” someone whispered. To anyone else it would have been impossible to catch the words, but they had been trained to utilize all their senses to their utmost and optimum efficiency, and it carried easily. Rex’s step faltered slightly, breaking perfect and subconscious rhythm with Fives.

“Sir?” He murmured uncertainly.

“I’m fine. Just… it’s been a hard few days.” Fives nodded in understanding, swallowing hard to stop himself from crying in a public venue. “The Temple’s not far. Come on.”

They had been raised to suppress their feelings. Emotions were messy and inconvenient, so unlike the machine efficiency the Kaminoans wanted and so incredibly sentient that they had no place in the perfect slave army. If you had a problem, you dealt with it rationally and compartmentalized. Above all, the issue was not to interfere with one’s work.

It meant that they had a hard time properly expressing grief or trauma, and it was leading to a lot of problems with PTS and ghosting. There was no counseling in the GAR because they didn’t require it. Truth was, they probably required it just for the problem that they didn’t.

Rex shook his head slightly. He was confusing himself now. But one thing struck him as something of note, and that had been his knee-jerk reaction to immediately label himself and his brothers as part of a slave army. Did he really think that?

They passed by a group of civilians protesting the war and the use of the clone army and was surprised to find that he actually did.

They’d had no choice but to go out and fight. To serve and take orders unquestioningly. They’d been born for it, and it was all they knew how to do. They had no pay, no leave. Just the endless toil until they eventually died or the war ended, whichever came first.

If given the choice, Echo would probably have become a teacher to a young group of children instead of fight.

“Why did you take me with you, sir?” Fives asked quietly as they ascended the Temple’s steps.

“You needed a change of scenery, and you’ve never been.”

“I didn’t need a-”

“Fives.”

“…Thanks.” He was looking anywhere except into Rex’s eyes. “I’m not taking this well.”

“You just lost your last Squad Brother. I wouldn’t expect you to.” Fives hesitated before speaking again.

“Ever had it happen to you?”

“No.”

“Really?” He registered surprise. “I thought, because it’s just you and Brye…”

“Most do.” Rex’s smile was dark. “Teri, Aeric, and Chester. Our other squad mates. We were too good at what we did, unfortunately. They separated us for specialized training in different respective fields right before Geo I. That was the last time we fought together, and I got split from the rest early into the battle. Haven’t seen them since, and I don’t know where they’re stationed so I can’t call. Don’t have the time to look either, the way you guys keep me running about putting out fires.”

“I think that’s worse than knowing they’re gone,” Fives murmured sympathetically. “The not knowing.” They were walking through the ornate halls with the vaulted ceilings now. Rex considered for a moment.

“I suppose. But I wouldn’t wish either on anyone for the world.”

“No.”

They went to talk to General Skywalker in the Tactical Room, and while they couldn’t get him to leave or sleep they did succeed in persuading him to eat something, which was a small victory that they were willing to accept. Afterward, Rex made a detour accompanied by a confused Fives to the Room of a Thousand Fountains.

Rex was pretty sure they weren’t supposed to just roam the Temple without supervision when the area wasn’t designated as military for the duration of the war, but no one seemed to care that they were there. In fact, they passed several Jedi both too old and too young to do any field fighting as they moved through the little pools and rivers to sit in the soft, thick grass next to the waterfall.

The holographic ceiling portrayed a synthetic view of the stars visible in the Coruscant night sky above them, and they laid out on their backs side by side and just soaked in the peace and calm for a while.

After a little bit Fives hesitantly tapped Rex on the top of his hand. He was asking. Rex responded in like kind to let him know it was okay, and they entwined their fingers together. Just laid there, looking at the stars and missing their brothers, quietly grieving for Echo. Rex didn’t need to look over to see that Fives was crying.

Things had quieted down by the time they got back to barracks; everyone was heaped together in a mess of blankets and pillows on the floor. Legs and arms were tangled hopelessly together, everyone needing the reassurance of the warmth of their brothers beside them that night. Fives and Rex exchanged a glance before changing into their fatigues and worming their way into the group.

\•!•!•!•!•!•!•!•/

When Ahsoka got back from her ordeal as Trandoshan ceremonial hunting prey she was pretty shaken, and she was admitted immediately into the Temple’s med wing with the other Padawans. While she was in there she had terrible nightmares, so when she was released Obi-wan and Anakin decided to camp out in front of her quarters for the first night or so to let her know that she was safe and that she wasn’t alone.

They had a hard time even getting close to the door because they had to step over 150 sleeping troopers who had already beaten them to it, but eventually they fell asleep against the wall with Obi-wan’s head resting against Anakin’s shoulder and Anakin’s chin resting on his forehead. Fives was curled into a tight ball against Rex’s side a few feet away surrounded by the rest of the Old Guard.

Everyone needed companionship every now and again, even troopers and Jedi.

[for-f0rever]

I Miss You - Zoe Murphy x Connor Murphy

i had the inspiration to write this yesterday afternoon and well, this happened pretty quickly. i'm sorry i know it's probably a mess and sad and everything that i never thought i'd write at least in this moment? but i did and now we're here and there's just a lot of emotion.

please let me know if you like it :)

title is from I Miss You by Blink-182

--

Graduation day is supposed to be a day of celebration, a day of happiness.

Zoe Murphy’s graduation day is the opposite.

She knows she should be excited. Graduating with honors is a huge deal, and spending the night celebrating with her friends and family is all Zoe wanted. She wanted to be happy, she wanted to be excited about leaving high school behind, moving onto college where she knew she’d make a ton of friends and a million new memories.

But there was a hole in her heart. A hole that nothing could ever heal or replace.

She and Connor were not best friends, at least not when they were teenagers. Often times they fought, Connor would threaten to kill her and she’d call him a psychopath. She feared him, to put it lightly. She feared for her safety, that one day he would try to kill her. But most of all, she feared for his own safety.

She remembers hearing the news that Connor had died like it was yesterday. She remembers her mother hysterical on the phone with her father, saying that he had been found by the police in the park with an empty pill bottle in his pocket. He died at the hospital just over an hour later with Cynthia and Larry both by his side.

Zoe had waited in the waiting room after briefly mumbling some sort of goodbye to him. She couldn’t see him take his last breaths. She hated that the last image of her brother was him with a breathing tube shoved down his throat, and the last words he said to her was that she was an annoying bitch.

She remembers the chills that ran through her body when everything began to process. Her brother had taken his own life, the burdens of the world too much for him. She hated that that’s what it had come to, hated that they didn’t try to get him help sooner, that he felt like no one cared about him.

The weeks and months following his death were the worst of Zoe’s life. Her parents fought more than ever, finally enrolling in marriage counseling at Zoe’s insistence that what little piece of the family was left was falling apart. Her dad never wavered once in his opinion that Connor wanted attention, and Zoe spent nights fighting with her parents about how they failed Connor, that they barely put in the effort to help him.

One by one her friends began to trickle away, and Zoe became more withdrawn. She had a few friends when she graduated, but none of them understood how she felt.

She hoped none of them had to understand.

Zoe had gone to a grief counselor in the months after Connor's death, talking through things with the woman who explained that it was okay to feel anything that she felt. It ended in a lot of tears, a lot of closed fists and questions as to why she didn’t miss her brother as much as she thought she should. She was told that it had a lot to do with their relationship when he died, how things were rocky and that contributed to how she felt about him dying.

Zoe didn’t buy it.

The first holiday season without Connor was the worst that Zoe had ever remembered, and she felt like that was saying something judging by how the last few holiday seasons went when Connor was alive.

They exchanged gifts, but Connor’s stocking stays hung on the fireplace, no gifts overflowing from it and no presents under the tree with his name on them. It doesn’t feel right, Zoe thinks. None of this felt right, and she knew her parents felt the same way.

Larry ends up at the bar by mid-afternoon, and Zoe and Cynthia end up ordering Chinese. It’s the only thing that Zoe felt like was appropriate in the whole day.

Now she finds herself, a year and a half after her brother’s death, standing at her graduation ceremony. A year to the day since they were supposed to be sitting at Connor’s own high school graduation. Her skin crawls at the thought of her making it further in school than him. That’s not how it’s supposed to be.

She hates it.

She receives her diploma, looking out to where she knew her parents were sitting with her grandparents.

Connor wasn’t there.

She bites her lip until it bleeds to stop the tears. The guy she’s sitting next to asks her if she’s okay, and she just nods. She doesn’t trust herself to talk to him without crying.

She thinks he knows why she’s so upset. She’s just grateful he doesn’t say anything about it.

She meets up with her family when the ceremony ends, the hugs lasting longer than normal. Zoe’s okay with that.

“We’re so proud of you,” Cynthia says, her eyes filled with tears. Zoe knows they’re not all for her.

“Thanks,” Zoe whispers, turning to hug her father and grandparents quickly. “I know my party is in a few hours, but would you mind if I went out for a little while alone? I’ll be home well before the party, and I’ll help set up when I’m back,” She promises, and Cynthia nods immediately.

“Take your time,” She says, and Zoe has a feeling her mom knows where she’s going.

She walks back to her car, stopping for photos with some friends with promises to take a million more that night when they come over for her party. They smile at her and she attempts to smile back, but her eyes are glossy and she's fairly sure it comes out as a grimace. She walks to her car before they say anything about it.

Zoe turns her radio far too loud when she leaves the parking lot of her high school for the final time, blasting Blink-182 and singing along at the top of her lungs.

It’s the most alive she’s felt all day.

She doesn’t have to think about where she’s going, her mind subconsciously takes her there.

When she drives through the gates of the cemetery she turns the radio down to a more acceptable level, finding it slightly inappropriate to blast songs where people are mourning the loss of loved ones.

She tries not to think about how if Connor were sat in the passenger seat he would’ve turned the music right back up, rolling down all the windows and singing at the top of his lungs. It makes her laugh.

Pulling her car over to the side of the road Zoe takes a deep breath, shutting the car off. Her legs suddenly feel like lead, like if she steps out of the car she’s going to collapse.

She forces herself to do it anyway.

She’s been to the cemetery more than she thought she would have been since Connor was buried, mostly when she needed to get out of the house and away from her parents fighting. She brings flowers sometimes, despite knowing full well that Connor would’ve hated flowers.

She does it mostly for herself. It helps her feel like she’s being nice after years of not being great towards him.

She doesn’t have anything this time except for the flowers her parents had given her after graduation. Shrugging her graduation gown off she leaves it on the driver’s seat and reaches across to the passenger seat, pulling the flowers into her hands. Her mom will understand why she doesn’t come home with them.

The sun is beating down on the cemetery, birds chirping in the trees lining the streets next to the plots. Zoe’s legs carry her through the rows of headstones, stopping when she reaches the one that’s all too familiar.

                                         CONNOR L. MURPHY                                 A LOVING SON AND BROTHER                                                   2000-2017

Sinking down to the prickly grass, Zoe sets the flowers at the base of her brother’s headstone, running her fingers over the cool granite.

“Hey,” She says, sitting down on the grass and taking a deep breath. “I um, I’m sorry I haven’t been to see you in a while. Exams were crazy, and I was trying to enjoy my last few weeks of high school. Which was basically impossible to enjoy with everything going on, by the way,” She says quietly, fiddling with the bracelet on her wrist.

The bracelet Connor had given her for Christmas when she was 12. The one that she now never took off.

“I graduated high school today. I’d like to think that you were there in spirit, you know? That you would’ve been proud of me if you were here in person. You would’ve probably been so obnoxious at the ceremony. Yelling my name and embarrassing me,” She laughs, because in the state Connor left the Earth that would’ve been opposite of how he would’ve reacted.

She likes to pretend that that Connor didn’t exist. That the Connor that left this Earth was the one that was her best friend, that was always proud of her — even when she messed up.

She knows that’s an awful coping mechanism, but it’s all that works.

“I’m going to college in the fall. Studying to be a grief counselor. It’s going to take me forever before I’m finally certified, but I hope maybe I’ll be able to help people feel better the way that the grief counselors helped me feel better when you…when you died.”

Zoe swallows the lump in her throat, taking a moment to look away from her brother’s headstone. She notice an older woman in the row behind Connor’s leaving flowers at a headstone. She wonders if she's going to sit and talk to her family member, too.

“Everyone is back at the house getting ready for my graduation party. Grandma and Grandpa have been here all week. Mom and Dad aren’t letting them stay in your room, obviously. That hasn’t been touched since…well since everything happened. But I think Mom is about to suffocate with them staying with us. You’d probably have made some stupid joke about it by now, and I would’ve laughed but Mom would’ve given us that look and Dad would’ve said how we needed to behave in front of family.”

“All our aunts and uncles and cousins are coming, but all I can think about is how much I wish you were going to be there with us. How I wish I could find you in the sea of relatives we barely know, and you and I could sneak upstairs to your room and play games until Dad would find us and we’d get in trouble. Because all I really want to do today is hide away from everyone.”

Zoe wipes at her eyes, sniffling as she takes a shaky breath. She looks up towards the sky, squinting her eyes when the sun became too bright.

“I miss you, Connor. I miss you more than I ever thought I would. More than I ever wanted to miss you, if we’re being honest,” She laughs at that, blinking away the tears. “I just wish you were here, and that I could’ve done more to help you, to save you.”

She sighs, biting her lip as words fly through her mind at a million miles a minute. She doesn’t know what she wants to say, but often times she just comes and spends a few minutes with him. She needs more now, more time with him, more time to cope. There's so many things on her mind that she wants to say to him, but she struggles with where to begin.

Finding those words doesn’t come easy.

“I drove here with Blink-182 blaring. I turned it down when I pulled in the gates, but I thought about how you would’ve probably turned it louder and left all the windows down while you sang obnoxiously.”

“Sometimes when I’m driving in my car I think about how you used to sit slumped in the passenger seat, whining about how lame it was your younger sister had to drive you everywhere. That Mom and Dad shouldn’t have taken your car keys even though you know they had every reason to. I know you hated those car rides with me and you would’ve rather driven yourself. I didn't really like them back then either, but now they’re my favorite memories. They’re my favorite because we rarely fought in the car. You were just there and things felt okay even though they were the furthest thing from okay.”

Her bottom lip wobbles, and she laughs sadly. “Fuck, this is supposed to be a happy day, but all I can think about is how you never made it to your graduation. We never got to see the person you were going to be. We never even got to see the person you were behind all that hurting.”

Another deep breath. A rough, wet cough. “I’m so sorry, Connor. I’m so sorry you hurt so much that you felt like the only way to escape was to take your own life. I’m sorry we failed you. I'm sorry that you and I stopped getting along and I didn't do enough to help you like I know I could've, and that you felt like you couldn't come and tell me how you were feeling. I’m sorry that you’re not here today and you’re not here to make me laugh, or to sneak me away from everyone when things are going to be too overwhelming.”

She punches the ground once, covering her mouth as she sobs. The older woman looks back, giving her a sympathetic smile.

Zoe just lets her head fall.

“I love you, Connor. I know we didn’t have the best relationship. I know that you left this world hating me and I deserved it. I know that you weren’t my favorite either. But I fucking love you, and I never stopped loving you, even when you made it impossible for me to. Even when you threatened to kill me, or you yelled at me when I didn’t deserve it. You're my brother and I always loved you.”

She leans back on her knees, reaching forward and running her fingers along the cool granite, tracing the etching of his name with her fingers. Her nail polish is chipped, just like Connor’s always was.

“I’m going to come more often, if that’s okay with you. I know that it’s not the same as you being here in person, but maybe me visiting will heal some things,” She sighs, memorizing the way his name feels under her touch. “I’m so sorry, Connor. I’m so sorry that I wasn’t the sister you needed.”

She lets her hands fall to her lap, biting her lip. “I should probably go home. Mom and Dad probably need my help before everyone comes over,” She mumbles, as if Connor is going to answer. “I um, I miss you Connor. I’m never going to just stop missing you, I don’t think. I don’t think this is going to get any easier. Please, can you look out for me? Steer me in the right direction, help me through this crazy life. I can’t…I can’t do this alone.”

Slowly, on shaky legs and tears still streaming down her face Zoe stands up, taking a deep breath and running her fingers along the rough edges of the top of her brother’s headstone. “I’ll be back soon, Connor. I love you.”

Her legs carry her back to her car, where she shuts the door and lets her head fall against the steering wheel. She hits it a few times, letting out a strangled sob as the tears fall again. She gives herself a few minutes before wiping her eyes, slowly making her way home when she feels like it's safe for her to drive.

Later that night, when the Murphy’s house and backyard are filled with friends and family celebrating her graduation Zoe looks up at the sky, noticing a blue balloon that didn’t come from her party decorations floating by.

She pretends it’s from Connor. Giving her a sign that he’s there, just like she asked from him hours before.

Somehow she feels like everything is going to be okay.

[gyrlversion]

‘‘He Stomped On My Stomach”: This Is What It’s Like When Violence And Coercion Are Involved In An Abortion

Milanvirijevic / Getty Images

Liana was 21 and dating a man a decade older than her who she says was emotionally and physically abusive.

“When I met him I was at a vulnerable state in my life and he picked up on that,” the now 32-year-old tells BuzzFeed News.

Her boyfriend would insist on having unprotected sex.

“I was on the pill but he told me he had a vasectomy, so when I missed a pill I didn’t think it was a big deal,” she says.

When Liana found out she was pregnant she confronted her boyfriend who admitted he had lied about having had a vasectomy.

“It is disgusting and it is as bad as stealthing,” she says, referring to when someone removes a condom during sex without permission. “I feel like it should be illegal.”

Reproductive coercion is any behaviour that deliberately prevents a person from making decisions about their reproductive health. It includes contraceptive sabotage; pressuring another person into falling pregnant, continuing a pregnancy, or ending a pregnancy; or forcing a person into sterilisation.

Liana decided she did not want to continue with the pregnancy but faced added pressure from her boyfriend: “He got really physical one night and was pretty much trying to beat the baby out of me. At the time I felt like it was mostly my choice but I did feel a bit rushed and pressured.”

The abortion was free at a public hospital in regional Victoria.

“Even though my abortion experience was quite OK, it was still an experience,” she says. “It is still a medical procedure and it was still something I had to work through for a few years after, and he just got to walk away.”

Liana broke up with her boyfriend after the abortion but says it took months for him to stop contacting her.

“It was an awful relationship and I can’t imagine having a child and being tied to him for the rest of my life.”

Jamie fell pregnant in 2014 to her partner, who was ultimately charged and jailed for assaulting her. She says he refused to wear protection as it “didn’t feel as good”.

“He knew I would take risks if he didn’t want to use protection because in this abusive dynamic, I would have done anything to make him happy,” she says.

Jamie was 21, had a young son from a previous relationship, and wanted to terminate the pregnancy, but she also wanted “support and reassurance” from her partner about that decision.

“I just needed time and space to briefly feel grief for a pregnancy and accept the course of action,” she says. “He responded violently, assaulted me, stomped on my stomach and grabbed me by the throat.”

Even though she had complicated feelings about the child she might have had, Jamie says access to affordable abortion saved her life.

“I could never condemn myself, my son or that child to being tied to an abusive man for 18 years, giving him that hold on me, giving him any right to contact me ever again,” she says. “I had to make that sacrifice to sever that tie.”

Jamie had been hospitalised for severe postpartum depression seven months after the birth of her son.

“I started a relationship with my abuser a few months later,” she says. “I was in women’s-only mental health housing and a vulnerable person with a young child.”

Surgical abortion was the only option available for Jamie, so a few years later when there was a successful push to legalise medical abortion in the Northern Territory, where she lives, she was very supportive.

“I found out early enough, and was proactive enough, that had medical abortion been legal at the time I could have used it and stayed home with my son,” she says.

RU486 is now legal for up to nine weeks gestation in the Northern Territory.

Jamie was on Centrelink and lived close enough to the Royal Darwin Hospital so was able to have her abortion at no cost.

“If it has not been free, I have no idea if I would have been able to get one,” she says.

“[And] if I hadn’t lived in a metropolitan area with ease of access to the hospital where surgical terminations could only be provided there, and [if I hadn’t had] childcare, I would have had another child my mental health couldn’t handle,” she says. “If I had not been able to afford the doctor or termination, I’d be stuck with an abuser.”

Jamie felt “completely isolated” before and after her abortion and had no support network.

“At my first ultrasound the doctor was very brusque and asked if I had a husband,” she says. “Through the whole process, at every interval, despite being in tears, no-one asked if I was okay.”

Jamie went for counselling after her abortion.

“I was able to meet with a social worker who ended up supporting me through my attempts to leave my abusive relationship for quite a while,” she says. “If I was not lucky enough to have access to counselling I might not have ever had the strength to eventually call the police and leave that relationship.”

Eggeeggjiew / Getty Images

West Australian mother Mary had just ended a relationship with someone she described as abusive.

“His behaviour had just started to escalate to the point where I thought, ‘If I don’t leave soon I’m going to end up a statistic’,” the 44-year-old tells BuzzFeed News. “I sent the kids to live with their dad [a previous relationship] because I thought the environment was bad for them to live in.”

Mary says she then “went off the rails for a bit” after the break-up and began abusing alcohol and drugs.

“I wasn’t in a great mental state,” she says. “I ended up meeting a guy and falling pregnant after a very drunken night. I’m pretty sure there would have been a discussion about whether or not there was a condom because he knew I wasn’t on birth control, but I don’t remember it.”

Mary made an appointment with her doctor to organise an abortion.

“I was going through a transitional time in my life and for a long period of time I was virtually homeless while I was settling finances with my ex, and there’s just no way I could bring a child into that,” she says.

But when Mary told the man involved in the pregnancy that she was having an abortion he proposed another plan.

“He wanted me to carry to full term and give him the baby and then he would have a nanny to look after the child,” she says. “I couldn’t wrap my head around how I could possibly do that… his version of what that looked like was very simplified and I had a lot of questions, like who pays for the medical bills and what about work?”

Mary didn’t know the man very well but later found out he had been jailed for violent offences.

“There were some alarming signs early on,” she says, adding that some of his behaviours might have been influenced by trauma, including a stillbirth with an ex-partner.

“I could empathise with that, but at the same time it wasn’t my responsibility to fix that by giving him a perfect child that would take that all away,” she says.

On the day of Mary’s abortion, the man attended the clinic with her.

“It was awkward and uncomfortable but he paid half and sat in the waiting room, and I think that was actually really good,” she says. “You can’t just say on the one hand, ‘I want you to go through with it and hand the child over’, but then on the other hand say, ‘Well actually if the decision you make isn’t that one, then I want nothing to do with it’.”

Mary had cobbled together the entire cost of the abortion ($880) in case she ended up at the clinic alone.

“I can’t remember where I pulled that money from because I was on Newstart and my ex had cut off all my financial resources, but I knew this wasn’t optional and there was no way I couldn’t have it.”

All women in this story have requested pseudonyms to protect their privacy.

If you or someone you know is experiencing violence and needs help or support, there are national and state-based agencies that can assist you 24 hours a day, seven days a week. Call 1800 RESPECT (1800 737 732).

The post ‘‘He Stomped On My Stomach”: This Is What It’s Like When Violence And Coercion Are Involved In An Abortion appeared first on Gyrlversion.

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