#ive been having joint issues that make it hard to draw and it's a pain in the ass

[spinetrick]

a guilty man

[magnoliamyrrh]

and another thing that chronic pain brings that i find is less talked about and that people without chronic pain can't wrap their head around, is the emotional pain and just straight up despair of feeling like your body is useless, knowing you'll never be able to do the things you want to that "normal" people can do.

^^^^^ Exactly

especially when it hits you when youre young. even if and when you manage to get used to the pain itself (tho even "getting used to it" takes a prepetual toll) theres still always that part of it too. of feeling trapped in a body that seems so weak and fragile, and there being things you want to do that you used to be able to at some point, or dreamed of being able to do that you just.... have to accept you either cant, or that if you do them theyre going to make you exponentially worse....... it feels like being forced to miss out on so many things, and its so damn hard and mentally draining and scary and,,,,yea,, a lot of dispair hits you. its hard to accept

i always lose it when i realize how much i can't rly do anymore. even when i had chronic pain some years back and my joints were going to shit, id still push myself and walk for hours upon hours almost every day, it was relaxing and one of my favourite things to do.... now there are many times when walking for 30-40 minutes a day or several times a week feels like it absolutely cripples me. such seeminly low effort things take it out of me for days on end.... i cant play guitar anymore because my hands cant handle it. when my pain was worse, thank god its better now, i couldn't draw anymore... theres so many hobbies i wanted to try, but cant because some part of my body wouldnt handle it. many times ive been too dizzy or exhausted to cook, despite it being one of my favourite things to do.... i had an entire weeks-long mental breakdown and spiraled horribly when i realized i couldnt really ski anymore, despite being very, very good at it. id rather die than think i could never ride horses again, but i know there is a high chance doing so will ruin my hips...... the list is fucking endless

it feels like some sort of nightmare you just cant seem to wake up from. past a point damned be the pain, but realizing your body just cant handle or do shit or doesnt have the strengh, or that the pain is just too sharp, its just... fucking horrible.... it almost breaks you more than the pain itself past a point. and idk personally its been a nightmare for me to see how fast a lot of my health issues have progressed. i was certain i wouldnt be as bad as i am now until i was in my 30s.... but in just a few years, its gotten so much fucking worse

..... its one of those things that i guess you cant do nothing about but accept...? and try to make the best out of??? because getting endlessly upset about it doesnt help, and being upset only feeds the chronic pain. but its very hard, especially when daily things in your life constantly remind you. i still havent been able to figure out some sort of way or mindset to do that at all

i assume from this ask you also struggle with this? im very sorry ❤️🧡❤️ it truly is a lot to handle to say the least. thank u for this ask tho, helps to feel less alone, and if u ever need to vent to someone who gets it ur more than welcome to 🌸 i hope this week will be easier on you and that youll feel a little bit better, and i hope with time you'll maybe be able to find some things which make it easier to bare. god knows what the chances are, but maybe with all the science nowadays well both have the insane luck for some cure or actual treatment, as far fetched as that seems at times

[luckyfirerabbit]

Jaune Doe: pt 7

(short and sweet, it’s how it came out)

It's been hills and valleys for him the last couple weeks. The nightmares come and go in waves, a few nights on, then off, then on again for a few more. His appetite is inconsistent but he doesn't appear to have an issue with it, though the staff is worried about his weight. But, on the positive side, they've got him off the IV completely and are managing his pain rather well with Ibuprofen. He's up and walking as expected. His concussion is healing as it should as well, but his memory is still spotty at best. Aside from his sleep disturbances his mood is stable, even pleasant, and he's able to tolerate what few visitors he receives with little issue.

Today, however, Jaune is noticeably concerned, lounging in his bed and staring at the ceiling with a sever knit to his brow. His transfer date is coming up and he doesn't know what to do. Pyrrha said she would figure it out, or at least help him do it, but she hasn't brought him anything yet, not even the copy of his file that she promised.

What's going to happen to him? Will they just toss him out? No, no...would they really?

"Knock, knock,"

Jaune blinks out of his troubled haze, reflexively smiling. "Hey, Pyrrha, I was just thinking about you."

"Oh yeah? Good things I hope." Oh my gods, why did I say that? She's starting to second guess herself already.

"You could say that." he lilts his head, noncommittal. "Everything okay? What's in the bag?"

"Well," she knows he's referring to the duffel bag she has in one hand. She approaches the bed and sets it down near the foot of it, asking for permission to sit on the edge before continuing. "I actually wanted to talk to you about your transfer."

"Oh, good. What did you find out?"

"I've got all the information on the hospital campuses available for you right here." she props her briefcase on her lap and opens it, passing him a folder that he had expected to be much thicker. "Most of them are nearby, and a few of them have single occupancy units so you could have some privacy if you wanted."

"That's great, thank you." he takes the papers, seemingly genuinely relieved. "And what about the copy of my file?"

"That's here too." she's still sifting through everything she keeps in the case, producing another pale colored file.

He shows his gratitude through a short lived but heartfelt smile, though the expression kinks with curiosity. "And the bag?"

Pyrrha snaps her case closed and takes a sharp, stabilizing breath at the same time. "I...bought you some clothes. I had to guess your size for the most part, but...yeah. There's some hard-soled slippers in there that should fit you, too, at least until you can tell me your shoe size."

"Pyrrha," he's stunned, "y-you didn't have to do that."

"I know, I wanted to." she can't look at him, focusing on her hands and the way her fingers drum at the edges of her briefcase. "I also wanted to ask you something."

"Besides my shoe size?" the little chuckle at the end sounds nervous.

"Yes," she laughs in turn. "I was wondering...I applied to be your sponsor. If you want...you can come and stay with me."

His brow creases, a mixture of concern and uncertainty flickering in his eyes. His hands fumble with the papers he's holding, eventually settling to let them sit atop his thighs when he draws his legs up. "I...you didn't...why would you do that?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," his hand reaches back and cups his neck, rubbing out the anxiety he feels mounting in his chest. He lifts his eyes and meets her gaze briefly. "It's...shit," he pushes his hand through his hair, fingernails in his scalp and catching on a cut he forgot about. "I don't know how to say it without sounding like an asshole."

"Then just say it, it's okay." she assures him.

"What's your angle?" he blurts out, feeling the shame of the hidden accusation immediately.

Part of her thinks she gets it, it's the same part that pushes down the little hurt brought on by his suspicion. After everything he's been through -just the stuff she knows about- how was he supposed to trust her like that? It's a wonder he has any trust for her at all.

Eventually Pyrrha just smiles and waits until he looks at her again. "Like I said before, I just want to help."

He still holds a certain uneasy wariness in his face. "And if I say no?"

"Then that's your choice." she nods once. "I'd hope you'd accept the clothes, though, considering you don't really have anything," she laughs, an attempt to break the tension that she's certain fails, "but you're welcome to say no. I'll still be your advocate, I'll still work on your case and make sure you're taken care of. Nothing changes."

Jaune hears sirens in his head, warnings, some vicious and desperate thing screaming for him to retreat. It's a trap is all he can think, in spite of everything he's seen -he knows- to the contrary.

For a moment the two just look at each other, and Pyrrha eventually takes that as a sign. She eases to her feet, her brief case tucked under her arm.

"Take some time to think it over, and just let me know when you've made a decision, okay? Until then, if you need me, just have someone page me."

He nods. "...Thanks." he offers timidly.

"Of course."

---

Every so often Pyrrha will skip her evening trip to the gym in favor of dinner out with her coworkers, which usually consists of Blake or Billy or Sahv, or some combination of the three. Tonight it's Blake and Yang joining her at Magic Wok. The three of them manage to get a booth tucked away in a relatively quiet corner, the perfect spot to sit and talk without disturbing or being disturbed by others.

"Am I an asshole?"

Blake coughs as her food goes down the wrong pipe, causing Yang to reach across to pat her lover on the back as she gapes at Pyrrha from across the table.

"What on earth makes you say that?" Blake sputters once she's able.

Pyrrha shifts in her seat, uncomfortable under their joint scrutiny. "I mean...maybe asshole isn't the right word,"

"Damn straight it isn't." Yang insists. "That's the last word I'd ever use in regards to you." she looks to Blake. "You okay now, baby?"

"I'm fine." one last cough. "But seriously, why would you think that?"

"Well, like we talked about, I told Jaune I was willing to sponsor him." she prods the tangle of noodles on her plate with her chopsticks. "And...just like you said he might, he got defensive and kind of...shut down."

"So why would you think you're an asshole?"

"Because," Pyrrha slouches, putting her hands in her lap as if she can hide her discomfort. "I just...I hate when I upset people. Especially when I just want to do the right thing."

"I'm not saying you shouldn't take it personally, because you're doing that anyway -that's right, I've got your number, superhero," Blake's felid ears match the asymmetry of her eyebrows, "but I don't believe he got defensive simply because it's you. It's because things are changing for him again, what little stability he has is about to shift and he doesn't know what to do, if there's anything he can do. And that's probably coming from a long time of having no control over his own fate or well being. Then, of course, there's the more than likely possibility of general trust issues."

Yang takes a long draw from the straw in her drink, her brow furrowing as she swallows. "He's probably convinced this is just some elaborate scam, and the minute he agrees to go home with you, all hell's going to break loose."

And part of Pyrrha knows there's not much she can do to change that for him. Jaune would have to discover for himself if she was trustworthy, if what she was offering him was real or some cruel joke at his expense. She shudders at the idea of just how bad he might think things could be, a man who -while drugged out of his mind and mad with pain- still had the wherewithal to be terrified and fight back against those that were trying to save his life.

"If what he went through was anything like," Yang continues, pausing to put a crispy rangoon in her mouth and tuck it in her cheek. She'll gesture with her hand, knowing they both know what she means. "Gods only know the kind of head games he's had to navigate until now. But I agree with Blake, I don't think it's because of you."

"I know, I agree with you too, just,"

"Just you're a micro-manager and this is something you can't change." Blake explains knowingly. "But you've got a good enough head on your shoulders to let it run it's course."

"I certainly hope so." Pyrrha sips her drink. "And I don't want to influence his decision so I'm keeping our visits to a need-only basis."

One golden brow rises. "Want me to influence him for you?"

"Yang," Blake warns gently, half-heartedly.

"No, I'm serious. Listen," Yang shoves down another rangoon and swallows, leaning towards Pyrrha on one elbow. "He doesn't understand the kind of person you are, he probably thinks you're like some fucking unicorn -all mythological and sparkly and too good to be true. Let me talk to him, I mean, you've been meaning for me to anyway, right?"

"True." Blake nods.

"But he should make this choice on his own." Pyrrha reaffirms. "He deserves that."

"He also deserves the best chance at recovery and getting his life back together." Yang counters.

"Also true." Blake chimes, seeming more focused on her food than the conversation.

"And I think you can give him that chance, Pyrrha. Hell," she laughs, easing away, back into her own space in the booth. "If it weren't for you, I might not have met Blake, so you basically saved my life."

Pyrrha blushes and tries to hide her face, failing miserably. "I just got you the referral."

"Semantics." Yang waves her hand in dismissal. "So let me go to bat for you, just this once, and I promise I won't use my impeccable charm for evil ever again."

Blake laughs, almost choking on her food again. Once she's able to she quickly swallows.

"Come on; I kind of feel like you owe me after not letting me curb-stomp your ex."

"Yang," Pyrrha exhales hard, appalled more so at herself for the effort it takes not to laugh than at Yang for the comment. "He wasn't that bad,"

"Bullshit." Yang points a finger at her, sharp, decisive.

Blake clears her throat, takes a quick drink. "Being in denial doesn't change the truth of the matter, Pyrrha, it would be better if you just accept it."

"I've gotten better at it." she admits meekly. "Just...I don't think anyone deserves to be curb-stomped. Believe it or not, I'm not a huge fan of violence."

"Well I am," Yang's finger has changed to her thumb and points back at her, "and as far as I'm concerned, a man who hits his wife deserves a helluva lot worse."

Pyrrha sighs and smiles. "And while I appreciate how fiercely protective you both are of me, it isn't necessary."

"You heard her, down girl." Blake nudges Yang with an elbow.

Yang tucks close to Blake, diving face first into the crook of her neck. "Woof,"

"Oh my god," Pyrrha groans, "check please,"

[chainedtothedarkness]

its 1:26am rn and i can feel the delirium sinking in, in my insomniac state that has been the new 1-5am usual these past weeks

atm i just feel.....a lot of pain

i feel so much emotional pain

and it makes my chest hurt a lot. its hard to breathe

its not like anything happened?? like, literally, ive just been here idling around for hours and only now within these hours have begun to feel very...lonely

is lonely the right word? i do feel very alone, and i feel somehow neglected

i seem to have a habit of caring about and wanting to talk to people who dont want to talk to me. and its. painful

it’s really painful.

that, and everyone who normally would talk to me all seem to be busy with their own health and irl things. i cant complain about that. i just dont know how to be okay with being alone anymore

ive become too dependent on others for my happiness, i think

when i talk with my friends and we have a good time...thats the happiest i get

i thrive on others’ presence and support

and i wither when the persons i want the most, arent around

or the persons i try to reach out to, consistently shut me out instead

im. going in circles right now i think

but...i used to be my own number one fan, i used to think i was awesome. i could do things on my own like draw or write or make games or anything, without the aching, nagging need for validation

i used to be able to trust my own judgement, my own desires...

i dont anymore

i haven’t for years

i’m always second-guessing myself. i dont feel worthy of things. i dont enjoy or like things i create, if i go solely by my own inner feedback. i do get excited about an idea or so, but it quickly fades without anyone’s encouragement once i have the chance to step back and over-analyze it until it all seems foolish and worthless.

and for all the effort it costs me to do things

for all the migraines and headaches, all the backaches, all the muscle/joint pains, all the blurred visions, all the dizziness, all the nausea... what i manage to do, is never enough. is never worth the cost. so i end up not wanting to invest these costs into such low payouts, no matter how much i want to do something. i’ll have an idea of something to create, then when i create it, or in the process of creation, these costs will manifest and it never seems worth it.

i really...dont know how to be happy with myself anymore.

i even considered trying to get back into reading things again. if creating is such a burden, maybe i can escape through reading like i used to. but i cant do that either, because i can only read a few paragraphs before i get those migraines. only a few, before i’m in pain.

it’s been years. nine years now.

after reading an article recently, i’ve grown aware that i’m extremely burnt out. because despite everything, i have to keep pushing through it even if im unhappy. even if i pass out from overexertion. and it never feels worth it. i got perfect grades in both my courses last semester, and i felt...nothing. it felt like an expectation. a must. instead of an achievement. i wasn’t happy. i’m still not happy. i still feel numb about it even after my parents and sister were so overjoyed and amazed. the perfect 100′s, perfect a’s, meant nothing more than simply not failing - in which scenario i would have felt awful. i cant fail. i cant let myself fail. and i cant just do average, either. i have to do well. i have to just do things, and do them well. it’s all simply doing what i’m “supposed” to.

its the same with creating. i might want to do them, but it’s never satisfying to me in the end. in no time it becomes, why am i only doing this when i should’ve been so much better by this time? why only this, when i should have gotten so much more done? it all feels like a chore after the initial inspiration wears down. i should finish this. i should do it properly. why cant i do it better, when i know that im capable of doing so? why do i stay lacking? people worse off than me have achieved so much more. people worse off, have been able to push themselves regardless. i’m one of the lucky ones, with so little things to do. so little responsibilities. so why?

it feeds into my self hatred. because i’m not enough. i’m not enough to be a good friend, a good reader, a good artist, a good writer, a good anything. i can’t enjoy anything on my own. so i need someone else there. i need people that i feel happy talking to, who understand me. but those persons...have their own issues and troubles to worry about. it’s not fair for me to burden them.

so i have to stay alone. alone with this me that wallows in their own frustration and sadness and inferiority. it’s not good.

none of this is good.

...its 1:49 now. and my hands and arms are hurting a lot after just writing all of this aimlessly. but im not tired yet. my mind is wide awake. even if i tried to sleep, i wouldnt be able to right now.

i dont know what to do now... but i have to stop writing or else ill regret it even more

so..... whatever, i guess

[woohooligancomics]

Webcomic Whimsy: Parhelion

Welcome to the Woohooligan Weekly Webcomic Whimsy! I've given a couple of interviews in the past, but this is my first experience with reviewing. If you have any suggestions for improvements, feel free to leave a note. If you're a webcomic author and would like a review, you can see my announcement and review rules here.

Title: Parhelion

Author: Riley Smith • Twitter • Tumblr

Site: ParhelionComic.com • Patreon

Genres: Experimental, Dystopian, SciFi, Space Opera, Black Comedy, Experimental, Surreal, Action/Adventure, Gay Space Pirates, A day in the life of a bargain-bin Han Solo

Rating: PG, T for Teen - adult situations, some language

Updates: ??

Synopsis: (from ParhelionComic.com/about) - The World’s Collective, an ambitious plan to unite the galaxy, has just formally collapsed. A despondent interpreter hires a pirate to retrieve some personal files from his office, and they hit it off. Meanwhile, wheels are turning throughout the galaxy, with all kinds of plans at cross-purposes. Warlords lock horns, Boltzmann Brains fight for freedom, and plenty of people just want some peace and quiet.

The first thing anyone is bound to notice about Parhelion is its experimental art style. I suspect this will be a case of "love it or hate it" with very few people in the undecided camp. It certainly has its appeal, with a kind of "baroque simplicity", (which in English means it looks more complicated than it is). Although later chapters get some monochromatic coloring, there's never full color and it might be better that way. Even when a character is human, the lines of the form often don't intersect, leaving a gap at a joint like a waist or elbow, so full color might look out of place. With alien characters, all bets are off, as there's barely a passing nod to notions of anatomy. One drawback to this style is the ambassador from the Planet of the Floor Lamps! (See, it's like Planet of the Apes but...)

A small side-note: so far, Riley is the only author I've reviewed who maintains an annotated synopsis of all his chapters. It's a nice touch if you'd like to see the whole outline of the story in advance.

If you don't mind an occasional character who looks like office furniture, there's a dystopian space opera here that you might enjoy, hot on the heels of a failed galactic government called the Collective. The first page opens with, "like it or not, civilization is built on stimulants, pornography and worse." I'm not sure if the author thinks poorly of porn or if they expect the reader to. I personally think porn is like other industries, there's some bad stuff to be had, but there are also unscrupulous insurance people making money off of the death or misfortune of others. So I won't personally single-out the porn industry as "bad stuff", and stimulants? Meh... coffee is a stimulant. But if you're expecting any porn in this comic, remember that any dick picks will inevitably look like a Tinkertoy with this style of art. (There isn't any porn, it's T for Teen.)

But I digress... that opening line is intended to set the mood of Parhelion's dystopian future. The main character, Peter, is jaded while not being entirely cynical, describing the recently collapsed Collective as "a beacon of hope, smothered at birth by a pack of vultures."

Peter meets his alien, soon-to-be partner, a translator named Cerril, at a bar. In fact, Peter interrupts Cerril's week-long alcoholic bender, mid-gargle-blaster. You see, Cerril's an ivory tower jackoff who used to work for the Collective, before it's untimely collapse just days or weeks before the story started. That's why he needs all the booze. What he didn't know is that Peter needs a translator.

This is also a good time to point out another small problem with the art style, which is, when you use straight, perpendicular lines for your dialog balloons, especially when you're drawing in black and white, the dialog can easily get lost in the illustration, like it does at the bottom of the above page. Or it can create parallel tangents or fake panels like at the top of the previous page.

There's also a fair amount of black comedy or "gallows humor" in Parhelion, like Peter insisting to terms for his own murder, specifically that it be an involved and painful mano-a-mano affair. And Riley occasionally gets technical. Unlike Star Wars in which the function of the protocol droid C-3PO is simply assumed, Riley stops for a couple pages to explain why Cerril's job title is "translator" instead of "office clerk". Oh, but I was wrong about the Tinkertoys...

Several pages are devoted to developing the characters for Peter and Cerril before there's been any real plot. Peter presents himself as a happy-go-lucky space pirate, a kind of bargain-bin Han Solo. And it turns out that the falling-down-drunk Cerril isn't entirely cynical either.

I know I sound like a broken record here, but I see a lot of what I feel is slow pacing in the webcomics I'm reviewing. Maybe it's just me, maybe I'm being a little overly critical on this point. Having said that, I'm seventeen pages in and while I've gotten some good character development for Peter and Cerril, I still haven't seen any plot development beyond "you need to bring me the translator and you can't refuse because I'm your pirate-boss and you're in deep." For reference, a standard issue of a Marvel or DC title is twenty to twenty-four pages, so if this were one of their books, we'd be on the very last couple of pages with only just the basic character development covered.

That's when we see Peter's gnarly missing-eye scar... or is that mechanical? Hard to tell.

But I do think they make a good team... it's basically that bargain bin Han Solo teamed up with a drunken, curmudgeonly C-3PO.

Note that in the bottom half of this page, those are supposed to be fully human, factory-direct hands, with no modifications. It's that sort of thing that makes me say I think this art style will be fairly polarizing: you'll love it or hate it, there won't be a lot of indifference. The hand on the left looks like a bunch of straw sticking out of a sleeve and the one on the right looks like a garden rake. Yeah, he's a bargain bin Han Solo, but this picture makes him look like a badass, one-eyed, space-pirate scarecrow from the land of Oz.

At the beginning of their three-day trip, Cerril asked Peter to steal something for him. By day three, Cerril finally explains that it was just some personal files he wouldn't be able to retrieve from his offices after the Collective collapsed. That's when it's revealed that these particular space pirates are gay, although that reveal is weirdly subtle and kind of sprung on the reader out of the blue like a jump-scare in a horror movie, or maybe a Rickroll. (I'm bringin' back ALL the dated memes, bae!) Pete and Cerril mention "neck marks" without any indication they had been playing tonsil hockey, although that's preceded by some peculiar seating arrangements that weren't foreshadowed in any way. So in a storytelling sense, it feels like we went from teeth-clenched teamwork to the power of love while skipping the middle part where "I'm going to murder you in your sleep, you slaver" gradually becomes "let's slip into something more comfortable".

And then they touch-down on what appears to be literally the land of Oz, right off the yellow-brick road, just outside of the Emerald City. There's even an old-fashioned hand-made crossroads sign.

Just in time to let us know that three days alone in the ship wasn't nearly enough time for sex! Seriously, you need at least a week for a proper blowjob.

But if you thought Peter's missing eye looked painful, it's nothing compared to the hopelessly tangled earbuds that comprise the "face" of the tyrant known as the Basilisk.

Although some of the Baroqueness is rather nice.

We've had a few budget cuts, so the part of Parliament's architectural columns will be played by butt-plugs. (You can't unsee it! You're welcome.)

Starting in the second chapter, Riley starts getting creative with the lettering, occasionally replacing a character or two with an alien symbol. The only pattern I can see is that a particular letter or combination is always given the same symbol, so what would be "th" becomes a single symbol that vaguely resembles a J, making "the" look like "je". It's obviously not used for the purpose of censoring swearing, since the page starts with the phrase "fucking joke" (a priest, a rabbi and a minister walk into an orgy). Given that, I can only imagine that these random substitutions are purely for the purpose of adding an alien flavor to the narration or dialog of certain characters. Personally, I'm not on-board. Riley's already added some similar decoration around the dialog box, and I feel like that's the more appropriate way to create that flavor. These substitutions in the text keep interrupting my reading flow as I have to stop to workout what "video#at" or "fai#ful" mean. It's only a fraction of a second for any individual word, however even that fractional pause is noticeable and mildly irritating as a reader. Like I said, the style of this comic is experimental, and experimentation always comes with some risk and sometimes it pays off. I just don't feel like, as experiments go, this text experiment was a keeper. What do you think?

It isn't until the fourth page of chapter two that Peter and Cerril officially become partners, with a little light comedy that reminds me a little of C-3PO's pitch to uncle Owen in Star Wars IV, except that Cerril is arguing against going with Alison. (That may have a lot to do with my already saying Cerril reminds me of C-3PO.)

While the writing on this page is good and Cerril's body language is well done, the page as a whole has several trouble-spots. There are several ways the first panel could have been composed without letting the dialog cut into the top of Alison's head. While it's not hard to figure out in this particular case, dialog from a character off-camera is frequently shown as it is here in the 2nd and 3rd panel. This is problematic for a couple of reasons, one because there's no visual difference between these dialog boxes and a narration box. That's not confusing on this particular page, but I could easily see it becoming confusing on other pages. Second, and more importantly, I've seen a few more recent pages where this is done in a scene with three or more characters and it's not always apparent who's speaking. Use of colored dialog boxes or a small symbol indicating the character could resolve this issue, although as an artist myself, I would work a little harder to keep the speaking characters on-camera. I might still use the symbol on some infrequent occasions if I were having a really difficult time with the composition of a specific page. I just don't think the off-camera boxes should be a frequent occurrence... reserve them for when Dorothy finally meets the Wizard.

And on page six of the second chapter, we're finally on to our dynamic duo's first suicide mission (of many, natch). I'm pretty sure they have one of those hole-punch coupons, they get a free sandwich after every fifth suicide mission they complete. Loyalty is important, yo!

Don't worry though, the veteran Peter has a plan! Peter's plan is to show up unannounced to a definitely hostile, likely heavily armed facility, and say "Hi! I'm peter! Go fuck yourself!" Which, of course, works every time. No, seriously, nobody even mentions it being weird and they make plans with the manager of the hostile station to go get tacos later.

But Peter wants to to know you don't fuck with a space-pirate's tacos, you spineless corporate cuck!

And since Parhelion is more of a black comedy than an adventure (I'm sure it's in there somewhere), this taco tirade is the big mistake where shit gets real. (Yeah, no, it's totally not lazily waltzing in on a hostile, likely heavily armed base. That part was cake.)

I really like that dramatic last panel on page fifteen of chapter two, so that's where I'm going to end this review.

So there's my pitch. If you enjoy tongue-in-cheek space opera, surreal and experimental illustration, and gay space-pirates, it's worth a look at Parhelion!

If you are a webcomic author and are interested in a review from me, you can check out my announcement and my review rules here.

If you enjoy my reviews and would like to help ensure I'm able to continue publishing them, you can contribute on our Patreon or if you're short on funds you can also help me out by checking out and sharing my own webcomic, Woohooligan!

Thanks! Sam

[gooeyguy]

email to my teacher (warning alot of personal stuff)

Hey so, sorry to email you out of nowhere like this? But i feel like maybe im finally at a point where i can explain more thoroughly why im having trouble with school or just succeeding in general. I think its really important that i tell you some of this junk because theres a chance it might make the rest of the year easier for you and me.

I wanted to start off with apologizing for all the trouble ive caused you throughout the year with the annoying comments, disruptions and backtalk.  And most of all the terrible ability i have with doing and turning in work.

This email is mostly to explain my situation and reasoning for acting/struggling the way i have been (not to annoy you or be sarcastic).

Alright so, if you havent noticed i struggle with some things and one of them i never really bring up is ptsd. I have been diagnosed and im hoping to enlighten you on my specific issues with it, (everything i mention will apply to me as to make it less confusing from here on)

 I have a specific type of ptsd called Complex post-traumatic stress disorder (C-PTSD; also known as complex trauma) This type of ptsd is different in that it results from repetitive, prolonged trauma. My causes for being diagnosed are specifically natural-detachment from my mother and physical/sexual abuse growing up and some other things im not going to mention.

My side effects from this are,

Attachment – "problems with relationship boundaries, lack of trust, social isolation, difficulty perceiving and responding to other's emotional states, and lack of empathy"

This is strongly linked to my reactive attachment disorder and explains alot to why i am the way i am. Heres a link to a website http://www.webmd.com/mental-health/mental-health-reactive-attachment-disorder#1 that explains a bit of what it is so that i do not have to make this already long email that much longer, i would also really appreciate it if you read even just a little.

I have an extreme lack of trust in others and am constantly doubting myself, there is not a second of the day where i dont think im a horrible person, i could be doing better, im disgusting to look at ect. The social isolation is a big problem for me, because im “this way” i feel that bothering others with my presence/problems/medical difficulties ect. is not necessary and for the better. Hence why i refrain from asking when i really need help, im scared to bother you. I dont want to make you angry and i know you and mrs mumford are already so stressed by the time my bell starts.

Biology – "sensory-motor developmental dysfunction, sensory-integration difficulties, somatization, and increased medical problems"

This ties into my Fibromyalgia and eds which ill explain more about after i go through ptsd. Its all kind of one big mixed bag of disorders that tie together and make me the way i am.

Affect or emotional regulation – "poor affect regulation, difficulty identifying and expressing emotions and internal states, and difficulties communicating needs, wants, and wishes"

Like i talked about before i feel extremely useless and annoying when asking for help or even talking about the things i enjoy. And when trying to explain my difficulties i stop midsentence or forget words/forget what my problem is and it becomes frustrating.

Dissociation – "amnesia, depersonalization, discrete states of consciousness with discrete memories, affect, and functioning, and impaired memory for state-based events"

THIS is what i blame for never being able to remember anything. With fibromyalgia i have whats called “brain fog” and with the constant dream like state im in because of dissociation it makes my memory absolutely terrible. Remembering your names in class took me until almost 3rd quarter and it was utterly embarrassing(i still forget sometimes), its even more embarrassing when i forget basic buttons on the calculator and have to ask in front of everyone looking like an idiot.Or when i try to shout out an answer in class and it comes out gibberish because my mind is everywhere all at once, Or when we have a test on the formula we learned a week ago, and of course my mind draws a blank. I cant remember, and it makes me so frustrated with myself that i want to break down right there in class. It renders me doing weird things too, like the other day i put the icecream in the bread drawer, and on sunday i woke up and got ready for school. Theres alot of other things i could say but its as if fibro is laughing in my face.

 Dissociation in my own words is feeling like nothing is real, things dont feel like they happened. What does feel real is the pain/feeling in my body, i am a very anxious and jumpy person so im very sensitive to loud sounds/touch/weather and certain (triggering)  talk among students. And yet i still feel in a daze,My vision will sometimes blur and i am very prone to falling/accidents, staying focused can be extremely frustrating because my brain feels like a cloud, its almost uncontrollable like a dream. I dont think anyone can control those very much so i think its a good example.

Behavioural control – "problems with impulse control, aggression, pathological self-soothing, and sleep problems"

Im pretty okay with impulses, i of course have alot of very impulsive thoughts but i am good at controlling them id say, same with aggression but i very much so struggle with sleep problems because of nightmares from ptsd and chronic pain from fibro, i have not been diagnosed with insomnia but im sure i fit the criteria im just really bad at opening up with doctors/people ect.

These are just a couple more symptoms to help explain,

Cognition – "difficulty regulating attention, problems with a variety of "executive functions" such as planning, judgement, initiation, use of materials, and self-monitoring, difficulty processing new information, difficulty focusing and completing tasks, poor object constancy, problems with "cause-effect" thinking, and language developmental problems such as a gap between receptive and expressive communication abilities."

Self-concept – "fragmented and disconnected autobiographical narrative, disturbed body image, low self-esteem, excessive shame, and negative internal working models of self".

Alterations in relations with others, including isolation and withdrawal, persistent distrust, a repeated search for a rescuer, disruption in intimate relationships and repeated failures of self-protection.

Loss of, or changes in, one's system of meanings, which may include a loss of sustaining faith or a sense of hopelessness and despair.

Variations in consciousness, including forgetting traumatic events (i.e., psychogenic amnesia), reliving experiences (either in the form of intrusive PTSD symptoms or in ruminative preoccupation), or having episodes of dissociation.

Changes in self-perception, such as a chronic and pervasive sense of helplessness, paralysis of initiative, shame, guilt, self-blame, a sense of defilement or stigma, and a sense of being completely different from other human beings

Now that im done explaining the ptsd, Fibromyalgia

Fibromyalgia is a chronic pain disorder that my doctor believes to be linked to my other disorders, Fibromyalgia has to do with the senses we as humans all have, feeling, hearing, taste, and sight. The difference between someone with fibro and an average healthy person is lets say theres a knob for how strong each of these senses are, so imagine someone taking all those knobs and turning them all the way up to max sensitivity. Youd think oh cool youre like a super hero (like my sister likes to say) but no its the exact opposite, it does not benefit me whatsoever. Feeling, paired with ehlers danlos syndrome both my joints and my muscles are constantly in pain and some days ill have what you call a “flare up” which is where getting out of bed usually isnt an option for my body, i cannot remember the last time i didnt feel at least a dull ache in my head, i get migraines at least once everyday and unfortunately i get nauseous so i dont eat very much . Almost everything is irritating to my skin, a simple light rub of my finger on the top of my forearm is irritating and raw feeling (like ive been sitting there rubbing the same spot for hours) /Writing is over all painful, including typing as well/

If youve ever woken up in the morning with sore muscles from pushing yourself too hard the day before,that is how the muscles in my body feel, if you press on them they ache, and sting/burn when i use them. painful touch for most of my body paired with constant anxiety of getting bumped into/touched is stressful and tiring. On a good day my pain scale is a 5 from 1-10 but thats if im really lucky.

Then theres the weather, if im too hot and i start to sweat, the sweat stings my skin and i end up going into a frenzy of scratching and agony.  If its too cold my joints will start to lock up and become painful, its like they freeze and when i move them it feels like im shattering ice in my hand mixed with dull muscle ache. If its a good temperature theres still the feeling and i swear, the sound i can hear of my joints grinding together like two pieces of rubber being rubbed against eachother slowly.

Hearing is also bad, loud sounds are very irritating to my ears and will cause my migraine to get worse.(Talking too loud)Other irritating sounds, paper rubbing against paper roughly making that blblblb sound, high pitched noises of any loudness, squeaks, repetitive beeps ect.

Sight wise turning on lights abruptly is painful and makes my migraine worse, any bright light in general.

Taste doesnt really matter so i wont mention, but because these knobs are turned full blast it means the nerves and pain receptors in my body are being over worked constantly by my brain

And my brain thinks its doing its job by constantly acting like ive been running triathalons.

The recollection of pain comes in avalanches of distress for me. I usually experience the intense turmoil of fibromyalgia in the winter, or whenever cold fronts shatter the air and its frail victims. My limbs cannot contain the strength possible to function during those cold spells. Fibromyalgia’s lengthy sentence comes and goes for some, but, as a teenager, it’s disheartening. For the rest of my life, I will never be able to remember living without every waking moment marked by pain.

The abnormality of fibro weighs on my shoulders when I’m asleep, awake, or anywhere inbetween. I wake up at 4:30 each morning in order to be shuffling around by 6:20 a.m. The heaviness of my body pulls me down and pains me as I take a shower, put on my clothes, and put my small backpack on my shoulder to head out to school. Any sense of touch creates extreme levels of pain for me. Touching my arm, poking my leg, and brushing against my back hurt as much as twisting my ankle. My distraught reaction is a lot like a dog crying in pain and distrust after you accidentally step on its paw. Because im always in pain im always right next to the emotional breaking point, im always on the verge of tears. The smallest things can make me break down.

The pain prohibits me from being a teenager. Thanks to fibro, I cannot dress up in my favorite clothes and be what you call “Extra” everyday as i so much wish to be during the winter. My hands are crooked and shake too much usually to apply makeup. I struggle with applying eyeliner, because my hands hurt too much wrapped around a brush. The uncomfortable school chairs make me weep when I return home, because they destroy my concentration, forcing me to focus on the overwhelming pain I feel. I used to excel in school, but now, I can barely think fast enough, and come off as ditzy. I feel like I’m constantly struggling to maintain the fragments of my intelligence I lost due to fibro medication and fibromyalgia itself.

My GPA, became my ball and chain in school, rather than an accomplishment worth sharing. During the year, my schedule is dictated by the weather. Cold weather causes agonizing, excruciating pain that races down my spine and branches through my limbs. If a cold front passes, rain falls, snow falls, or temperatures drop, I freeze like the Tin Man, except there isn’t any oil to move my joints. The way I get sleep should be considered a torture method. Many people feel refreshed or renewed when they wake up after 8 hours, but I feel completely restless and exhausted. And thats if the nightmares from the PTSD dont interrupt. I toss and turn for hours in pain, because the pain signals interrupt the sleep cycle. I cry intensely whenever I think of sleep; school usually means a lack of sleep, but I am further deprived without choice. My biological system cannot allow me to rest, and continues to tense my muscles in a constant state of flight or fight.

With most schools starting at 8 a.m., my body struggles to run on 8 hours of sleep (which really feels like two). The exhaustion prevents me from hanging out with some of my closest friends. In the early stages of having fibromyalgia, I used to be able to do school clubs, hang out with my best friend, and go to cons with my friends often. Now, I spend my time huddled down, trying to make up for the nights of lost sleep. The lack of sleep and the endless pain contribute to extreme depression. And to keep my mood relatively happy i act like a goose in school with friends which doesnt do me good with teachers, I do it to not break down and let myself get too low around others because i know id regret embarrassing myself like that more than anything. The pain yearns for my thoughts to leap toward suicidal thoughts, and I was obsessed with death for years and still am. There was a time when I searched for ways to end my life, because nobody could help me and I couldn’t face living the rest of my life knowing that I’ll always be in pain. I still have these thoughts, and I believe I always will as long as I emit pain. Hence why i was in the hospital for a week recently, the hopelessness and embarrassment is dragging me down. The whole idea of having fibromyalgia embarrasses me. I’m embarrassed that I am constantly being called crippled, disabled, or chronically ill.Or worse not being noticed at all while struggling. I’m embarrassed that fibromyalgia makes me feel like I’m 67 instead of 16. I’m embarrassed that I will never be able to be an artsy beat poet like Patti Smith, or a rock ‘n’ roll guitarist like Keith Richards.

So i think thats as much as i can cover for you right now with my two of my biggest problems , im extremely exhausted and im not joking when i say my fingers feel like they are gonna fall off haha.  

Im terribly sorry for how long this email is but i think i got most everything with these two topics in there, also dont feel obliged to reply to this, im already embarrassed i even wrote all this down (terribly).

Quick thing i would like to say before i end the email, with all respect i am not looking for sympathy in any way. I am simply stating the way i am  in hopes that if you understand itll make things less stressful for me and you. So dont feel like you have to do anything for me.  

Thankyou for reading if you got this far, really. (btw forwarding this to Mrs. m******d is totally okay with me)