#my ass over here writing a psych eval for a character

[thebogmonster]

ellie williams psych analysis part I: early childhood experiences & issues with attachment

i made a short post about how i view joel's mental health and psychology and some people seemed to enjoy my thoughts, so i am going to do a multi-part analysis of joel and ellie. i want to start with ellie because we know the most about her childhood (ofc)

The presentation that we see of Ellie in the HBO show is a very bright young girl who has been constantly thrown into incredibly disturbing circumstances since her literal birth. She is impulsive, resourceful, and fiercely independent despite having a deep need for connection. She is often violent and appears to hold a considerable amount of rage. We know she has experienced multiple traumatic events and due to the nature of her upbringing in FEDRA, and in the apocalypse in general, she carries an underlying current of tension.

Additionally, we know that Ellie's mother was under a significant amount of stress not only throughout her pregnancy, but immediately before, during, and after birth (the prenatal and perinatal environments). Thus, cortisol and other stress hormones were predominant in her body and nervous system. This imbalance of hormones and neurotransmitters will have effected Ellie.

There are a variety of implications that we can draw from this information about Ellie's perinatal environment. Ellie is likely going to have a slightly different brain structure and different hormonal and neurotransmitter levels than a normal infant. Of course, we can assume that for most babies born into the apocalypse. They are likely going to have issues regulating their emotions, and they'll be at risk for depression, anxiety, psychosis, aggressive behavior, and a general level of hypersensitivity. We can see where some of that applies to Ellie - she's been shown to have aggressive, anxious, and depressed sides.

Another important factor is the death of Ellie's mother. We know that that Ellie never had a stable adult in her life - she never formed a secure attachment with a caregiver. This is a form of socio-emotional neglect. The first selective attachment should form in early infancy, around 2-4 months. At this time, Ellie may have been in Marlene's care, although we know that Ellie is not aware of meeting Marlene until she was 13 or 14. This means that she was placed in the FEDRA boarding school very young. As an orphan in a FEDRA boarding school, she likely rotated through caregivers and was unable to form selective attachments. We know that she entered the Boston Quarantine Zone at 13 (according to comics), and she is introduced at age 14 in the main storyline. Thus, we can assume any attachments formed between 4mo to 14yrs were unstable and those that formed were ultimately disrupted. This suggests that Joel was her first long-term caregiver.

The best evidence we have of Ellie's lack of secure attachments is her own statement: "“Everyone I have cared for has either died or left me. Everyone - fucking except for you!” Joel is Ellie's first secure attachment to a caregiver, but also to anyone.

Two patterns may arise from those early childhood experiences of socio-emotional neglect and an inability to form secure caregiver attachments. The child may be withdrawn, not seeking comfort or not responding to comfort, and struggle with emotional disturbances; or incredibly outgoing and overly familiar with strange adults. Ellie likely falls into the first category. If we are taking a pathology-based approach, where we consider her response a traumatic disorder, we could say Ellie has Reactive Attachment Disorder (RAD). We can also see this as Ellie’s overarching trauma response.

Throughout the show, we see multiple examples of Ellie being emotionally withdrawn and not responding to comfort. In Episode 4, Joel attempts to provide comfort to Ellie after she shoots Bryan. Ellie does not engage with Joel's comfort, rather, what she responds to is being given a gun. We see that pattern again after she is traumatized by David.

The other part of this response to socio-emotional neglect and a lack of stable caregivers is emotional disturbances. For a diagnosis of RAD, at least two of the following is required: a lack of social and emotional responsiveness to others, limited experiences of positive emotion, and episodes of irritability/sadness/fear. Ellie does express social-emotional engagement with Riley and with Sam (and in adulthood, with Dina). Her pattern of social-emotional disengagement seems to be focused on caregivers or adults in general. However, Ellie does display some degree of limited positive affect - while she does express joy and humor, we also see that beneath that she carries a significant amount of fear, sadness, and survivor's guilt. Additionally, Ellie does display episodes of irritability in nonthreatening situations with adult caregivers. We have seen that she can be aggressive and easily angered. Additionally, she displays a preoccupation with violence (ie, her obsession with guns), she is argumentative, argumentative, distrustful, and seems to have some feelings of detachment or emptiness. Another interesting sign of this is a pattern of nonsense chit-chat and questioning of adults - something she does to Joel quite a bit.

Essentially, Ellie's early childhood experiences have set her up to struggle with attachments and relationships to others. It is might be hard for her to recognize and understand her emotions. She is going to be at risk for developing substance abuse issues or an eating disorder. Additionally, she is to really push for her independence at some point, which we see early int he second game.

I'm going to write a second part to this and focus on her response to acute trauma and her display of PTSD.

[tacticalhimbo]

15 LINES OF DIALOGUE

rules: share 15 or fewer lines of dialogue from an oc, ideally lines that capture the character/personality/vibe of the oc. bonus points for just using the dialogue without other details about the scene, but you're free to include those as well!

tagged by the stunning @carlosoliveiraa ! i loved reading about charlie sm. the character ever <3

idk who all's writing atm so if you see this, consider yourself tagged. peace and love babes!

decided to focus on antonia / toni because i've written the most for him. i just genuinely love putting her in situations

From Kryptonite || WIP Fic

"Just checkin'. Besides, got a thought to run by ya." Walker smirked, allowing his posture to relax as he abandoned watch. || "That's scary."

"Hm." Lips pursed briefly. "Saying I'm not soft?" […] "And you love it. Don't even try to act like you don't. Wouldn't dare try lyin' to my face, would ya?" Mischief glimmered in her grey eyes as she patted his cheek.

"Not on the job—You know that." Her voice was softer; almost disappointed. But not at him. Never at him.

"Callin' it?" ||| "Oh yeah. Can barely feel my fucking legs—it's a wonder I'm standing."

"Is that what you'd call it?" A coy look over her shoulder.

================================================

From The Night the Lights Went Out || Completed ( Tumblr ; AO3 )

"Really? Because from where I'm standing, it sure as hell looks different. He was done, Walker. Done." She grimaced, looking over her shoulder to the long, dark hallway. "He fired, missed, and was disarmed. You could tell the spoiled bastard realized his fuck-up."

"You wouldn't have given a shit if he shot at you. Hell, you'd probably egg him on. I would've. So, what, you think I can't defend myself? Think because you dragged me out of fire once, you gotta do it every time—"

"This is the last time, Walker. I can't keep covering your ass."

"So… here's the plan. We go back. You tell… whatever justification you think up on the drive back. I won't testify if they ask me to. Something about the situation fucked up me, and I'm too out there to pull something coherent. I'm due another psych eval anyway." Her laugh was dry, shrouded by pain as it settled on her tongue.

"Please…" Antonia nodded once more. "Need some time to just… think this through."

================================================

From The Web Is Not Easily Broken || Completed ( Tumblr ; AO3 )

Antonia knew that from the get go, and yet she still kept her mouth shut. Minded her own and tried to bury the incident in the back of her mind amid all the other shit that's happened to her over the years. God, was she stupid to keep believing that methodology would work.

"Listen." Her eyes opened, resuming their fixation on the blank spot behind the commander. Her head turned just enough to bring Walker into her field of vision. It was as far as she could manage; she couldn't bear to look at him. "I stay because we do try to do what's right, okay?"

"Is that all, sir?" She asked, eyes just avoiding his.

"Not with you, you mean."

"Nothing, now that he's dead." She shot her companion a look. "It's about the principle. You know I can't be doing that kinda shit, I got a family back home. Already bad enough if anything gets leaked, but torture? How the hell would I explain that to my kids, Walker?"

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

More therapy thoughts part 1/?

Behavior Theory Frameworks/Conditioning and What the fuck does Master Chief talk about in therapy?

Ramblings below - like a lot, like I spent too much time writing this and you should not read this

Behavioral Theory could work well as a framework with rehabilitating Spartan IIs if the case worker focused on Operant Conditioning Theory and Cognitive Social Learning Theory, which I talked about in this ask because I think I’m funny and this blog is an archive of me applying human behavior theories to video games.

Spartans have always been taught the mission comes first! Always! The 2s are indoctrinated from age 6-14 and then have that reinforced the rest of their lives. From the beginning they are taught to push themselves to the limits, earn their food by winning, form bonds with teammates but be ready to sacrifice them for the mission. The whole lives wasted vs spent conversation between John and Mendez after the augmentation surgery!

What the UNSC/ONI wants comes before their lives, the lives of other soldiers, civilians, AI etc. This constant conditioning of expectations and rewards has created the norms cemented in their minds. This becomes standard operating procedure.

Spartans are also an entirely separated social group, other people have made really great posts on how they are Othered and have their own way of communicating with body language. ODSTs hate Spartans, marines see them as cyborgs or saviors, and while they’re allies, Spartans are not seen or treated as human, by literally everyone. They are a means to an end, with the original goal being to maintain the UNSC’s position of power and crush the insurrectionists in the outer colonies, but uh oh Aliens!

Maybe the 2s aren’t as expendable as the 3s but the mindset and reinforcement of “mission first, people second” being repeated their entire lives is going to stick. So is the constant mistreatment and abuse from their fellow soldiers and handlers. 

Addressing the cognitive distortions that come from their upbringing while also balancing the fact that Spartans are so fundamentally different from the way they developed to survive would be so much work, especially considering how much information on them is given to their therapist.  The main distortion I would apply is minimization, making large problems small and not properly dealing with them, and specifically for John, personification, accepting blame for negative events without sufficient evidence. 

Like these are grown ass super soldiers who can kill you in less than a second and calculate the amount of gravity in a room on the fly but then also can flounder when trying to comfort civilians or make small talk because their experiences and values are so alien to adults who had more developmentally “normal” lives. 

Literally applying therapy to Spartans would be like, what was done to you was wrong, the ends do not justify the means, you were children and the adults in your life failed to protect you. You are a human person who is fallible and did the best you could with what you had. And the Spartan would say, “sounds fake but okay, can I pass my psych eval and go back to war now please?”

Jumping back to Behavior Theory

Different approaches to therapy under the Behavior Theory umbrella help modify negative behaviors with treatments like Cognitive Behavioral Therapy and Dialectical behavior therapy that teach individuals adaptive coping like emotional regulation, distress tolerance, cognitive distortions, and interpersonal communication. And that’s just one framework under the umbrella of human behavior theories.

Social work therapy is different from psych as it approaches individuals with heavily researched, evidence-based theories and frameworks in a holistic viewing of person-in-environment, instead of a strong focus on internal psychology. 

Social work looks at all the interacting systems, environment, history, and internal and external factors affecting an individual. One of the most useful frameworks is the Biopsychosocial-Spiritual Frameworks (BPSS) when helping a client. It helps with identifying all the intersecting factors, both risk and protective, that shapes a client’s lived experiences. The most important thing to remember is that the individual is an expert in their own life, they know their experiences best.

The hardest part is applying this to Spartans because they Are So Fucked, their lived experiences, their environments and systems and institutions interacting with them, and the amount of their personal information that is probably so classified.

BPSS is a tool to help social workers assess individuals and their situations by collecting info that is related to the presenting issues and current and past circumstances. Info like medical history, hospitalizations, substance abuse, mental illness, personal relationships, family history and background, culture and norms, education, legal history, spirituality and participation etc. is all under this framework. 

For Spartan 2s most of this info is lost or classified and helping someone who has repressed every negative emotion they've had for the sake of the mission would be so much to unpack but that’s also why you’re reading the mad ramblings over an over caffeinated nerd on the internet.

Life Course Theory which looks at developmental milestones and the individual’s experiences versus the socially expected markers, how do you apply that to children who were taken and have lived such different lives? 

While early adolescence is when “normal” development of thoughts of self and identity take place alongside the physical changes of puberty, Spartans were being turned into emotionless calculating weapons. Sorry John, no forming a sense of identity and peer bonds for you, go kill that Watts guy who betrayed us and joined the insurrectionists. 

And now that I’ve gone this insane and opened 2 whole textbooks up, let’s get to Master Chief thoughts. If you’ve read this far thank you, I swear I’m normal, 2020 has just been a weird year. 

Why the fuck did I think I could write a therapy fic on a guy with 20 minutes of actual dialogue across almost 2 decades of games?

I make fun of him and call him a himbo, but he’s smart, he knows he’s being used and there is resentment there that’s been building for years. 

There’s also decades of trauma and combat experience, physical, and emotional abuse, the lack of a support network,  lack of an identity, the biological factors and aftermath of the augmentations and injuries he’s received, a whole lot of grief and self-inflicted guilt. 

The loss of a third of his peer group with the augmentation surgery, Sam’s death, the loss of Reach (the only place he’s considered home), Keyes, the Pillar of Autumn crew, Miranda Keyes, Johnson, Cortana. He cares about the marines who fight with him!!!

He just stands there and takes it and rarely snaps, and even then it’s just small cracks on the surface with fissures running deep. The few details I will pull from Halo 5 are Blue Team’s reactions to John pushing himself so hard from the beginning of the game, and the literal crack in his armor from the fight with Locke. Like dude.  

John’s a leader and will get the mission done but he tugs on the leash. He’s earned enough of a reputation and uses it to get his way.

Halo 2’s “Permission to leave the station” with Mr. “I’m going to hand deliver a bomb to the fusion reactor of a covenant supercarrier and hope my friends catch me”. 

Halo 4 is when we see him say no to a superior officer and then 5 is him going AWOL. Palmer literally points out that no one is going to stop him.

Halo 5 kills me for many reasons but John bringing up Halsey and what she did to him and also pointing out that he knows Halo 5 Cortana is trying to manipulate him with psychological tactics hurts. 

He knows what’s been done to him!

I cannot remember which book it was but John isn’t used to working alone. He literally takes fire because he was expecting someone to have his back! 

He’s lost without Cortana! She was in his brain! Y’all! I played Halo Combat Evolved on the original xbox when I was like 8 and I knew these two were meant to be together. From the moment they met they had great chemistry and relied on each other! Cortana literally goes after people who have it out for John! John wants her approval and shows off for her in one of the books. 

I’ve already written too much here but like all of the games have John showing off for Cortana, making dry jokes, jumping out of things he shouldn’t. 

The whole point of this rambling is to try and get my thoughts about how to approach John’s character under control.

And that’s the thing. He’s lost control. He’s lost people, he’s losing his position and being phased out as an aging spartan, a relic. John’s used to following orders and making some decisions on the battlefield but it was always short term.

He has no identity beyond being a weapon. Complete the mission, clear the LZ, get put in cryo. Rinse, repeat. 

The timeline of the games are what I'm most familiar with but with the comics and books too it’s one long run from Halo 2 to Halo 4. Cairo station to the Dreadnought to the crash landing to Forward Unto Dawn to Requiem to “The Didact is Dead but not really but we’ll deal with him off-screen”.

I know Hood apparently gave John R&R orders before Halo 5 that he ignored and kept running himself into the ground. This is a man who has to keep moving and keep being useful. 

I imagine him giving in and seeking help as a last resort to fix any problems he has with performing his duties rather than helping himself be healthier. 

Any professional he sees is going to have to approach him like they’re approaching a self sacrificing feral cat, with lunch meat and quiet. This man needs to have his support network closer, set up long term goals, and do some serious, and most likely incredibly painful, self reflection on where he’s come from and where he wants to go. Get him out of that tin can and into therapy. I don’t have a nice neat ending because this was a ramble and also therapy is not neat and tidy. Thanks for reading my words about mr halo

[briflatclarinet]

25 Days of Wolfmas: Prompt Two

U.S.S. HEPHAESTUS STATION, WOLF 359 MISSION

PROJECT WOLFMAS: TRANSCRIPTION AND NOTES

Log Date: 12021859-WDE

BEGIN TRANSMISSION

 EIFFEL

Are you serious? I already did this yesterday, Commander! You heard me recording the transmission!

MINKOWSKI

While it was amazing to hear you actually doing your job for once, Eiffel, I’m afraid you’re going to have to do it again. Command sent specific instructions for one question to be read out everyday until Christmas.

EIFFEL

But sir! That’s twenty-three days from now! Do you really expect me to read these things twenty-three times?!

HERA

Actually you have to read them twenty-four more times, Officer Eiffel. You haven’t recorded today’s question yet.

EIFFEL

Hera! Ix-nay on the echnicalities-tay.

MINKOWSKI

I don’t get what you’re complaining about, Eiffel. It’s just reading one cue card a day and the questions aren’t even that long!

EIFFEL

I get what you mean, Commander, and trust me I’d be totally fine with easy work. It’s just… I don’t get why I have to do it. I mean, what’s the point? I’m not even answering the question!

MINKOWSKI

(Sigh) I don’t know why Command wants you to read these, Eiffel, but you were given an order to read them and so help me, I’m going to make sure you actually complete this assignment. I don’t want you half-assing something as simple as this, so you’re going to go in there, record the stupid message, and you’re going to do it right. I don’t want any funny business, capiche?

(Silence)

MINKOWSKI

Eiffel!

EIFFEL

Alright, Commander! You don’t have to shout!

MINKOWSKI

Are you going to go read the card?

EIFFEL

(Silence) (A long sigh) Fine. (Grumbles) I’ll read the stupid card.

MINKOWSKI

Good. Then get to it!

EIFFEL

(Sigh) Yes, sir.

MINKOWSKI

Here’s today’s question. Don’t you even think about leaving the Comms Room until you get this recorded and sent to Command, got it?

EIFFEL

(Groan) Yes, Commander! Will you get off my back and let me get this over with already?

MINKOWSKI

Alright, then. Get to it, Eiffel. (Note: Footsteps are heard and then a door slamming shut)

EIFFEL

(Growl) She can be so annoying sometimes! (Note: Officer Eiffel changes his tone of voice to mock Commander Minkowski) Eiffel! Here’s this useless and menial job sent by Command. I want you to do it no matter how stupid it is because I’m such a kiss-up who always does what Command says. I don’t care if it’s a waste of your precious time, get to work!

HERA

I’d make sure Commander Minkowski couldn’t hear me before I began mocking her, Officer Eiffel.

EIFFEL

Oh, crap! Did I turn the Comms on again, Hera?

HERA

(Note: Unit 214, designation: Hera, sounds amused) No. I just wanted to see your face.

EIFFEL

(Note: Officer Eiffel does not sound amused) Oh ha ha, very funny. You almost gave me a heart attack, Hera. The Commander would chew me out if she heard me say those things.

HERA

Because that would mean you weren’t recording your question and answer card?

EIFFEL

Exactly. I don’t get why she’s so into me reading these. And for twenty-three days? Is she serious?

HERA

That is what Command ordered you to do.

EIFFEL

I couldn’t care less what Command wants. This is so stupid! Command could order me to dress in drag and do the hula and I wouldn’t find it nearly as pointless as this.

HERA

(Laugh) While that would certainly be an interesting sight, Officer Eiffel, all Command has asked is you read one little cue card. Just one! That’s it! You can manage to read one card.

EIFFEL

I could, but it’s the principle of the matter, Hera! I wasn’t sent up here to do busy work! Command put me in the sky to make first contact with aliens and all this time I waste with this stupid cue card is a missed moment where I could be talking shop with E.T.!

HERA

Does all the time you’re wasting by complaining instead of reading the card count as a missed moment too?

(Silence)

EIFFEL

Shut up, Hera.

HERA

(Chuckle) Just get on with it, Officer Eiffel. Then you can go back to searching for your extraterrestrials.

EIFFEL

(Sigh) Alright, fine. You don’t have to twist my arm. (Another sigh as some blips and beeps are heard. Note: noises are presumably from the Comms Room control panel)

(Sounds of Officer Eiffel clearing his throat) Howdy, folks! It’s your favorite radio personnel, Communications Officer Doug Eiffel, back at it again with another stup- wonderful question and answer set from Command! (Laugh) Aren’t they simply the best? And to make things even better, I just found out Command wants me to do this each and everyday until Christmas! Can you believe it? I get to read a question and answer everyday until December 25th. How great is that?

(Silence)

EIFFEL

Yeah, that’s what I though to. So (Throat clearing) Let’s get this over with. Today’s wonderfully amazing question seems to be a simple one: What’s your favorite episode? Now, I’m not sure what they mean by episode but if it were me, I’d probably choose something from a classic series like Star Trek or good old Doctor Who; but as we learned yesterday, I’m not the one answering so let’s see what our mystery writer has to say.

(Note: shuffling can be heard) Okay, let’s see here. Woah, today’s response is a bit wordier than yesterday’s, Dear Listeners, I guess our mystery write has quite a bit to say on the subject. Good ol’ MW says: I can’t just pick one episode, so I’m going to answer this question by picking a favorite from each season.

(Small laugh) Sounds like MW here’s a bit of an over-achiever, they’d probably get along with Minkowski. Anyways.

From season one, my favorite episode is either Am I Alone? or The Empty Man Cometh.

Wait a minute… The Empty Man Cometh? Could they be talking about when Command sent us that psych eval? How could anyone like that?

HERA

Officer Eiffel, maybe your questions would be answered if you just finished reading what’s written down?

EIFFEL

Alright, no need to get smart with me, Hera. (Note: Officer Eiffel is amused by Unit 214’s statement.)

HERA

(Chuckles) It was just a suggestion, Officer Eiffel.

EIFFEL

I read ya loud and clear, Hera, I’ll finish the letter.

I loved the introspection we got with each character’s monologues in Am I Alone? (And the discussions of what can be considered ‘alone’ were very interesting!) and I really enjoyed The Empty Man Cometh because it was super creepy! I remember first listening to this episode very early one morning and I was so spooked because I was the only one awake in the house, but this episode really put me on edge until the big reveal at the end of the episode.

Hmph, well if you thought listening to all that mumbo jumbo was creepy, just imagine how I felt living it.

HERA

Officer Eiffel, I don’t think Command needed you to comment on the question’s answer.

EIFFEL

And I don’t think I needed advice from the peanut gallery, Hera, but here we are. (Note: the transcriber believes Officer Eiffel and Unit 214 are merely teasing each other and mean no malice. More notes shall be taken on this subject as the project continues.)

HERA

Just get back to reading the answer, Eiffel.

EIFFEL

Okay, okay. Now where were we? Oh, right.

My favorite episode from season two is definitely The Paranoia Game. It’s just a really funny episode to me and I love how everyone had a concrete theory on who stole the screwdriver, but they were all wrong (I totally called the real culprit beforehand btw and was really happy to hear from the plant monster once again). Season three was filled with so many great episodes, but I’d have to say my favorite was Mayday. It was so interesting to see how Eiffel worked out what he needed to do to survive and I loved how each part of Eiffel’s internal monologue was portrayed by a different person depending on what Eiffel needed to hear at that moment. I honestly loved how that’s a recurring thing in the show as each character is haunted by the ghosts of what they’ve done. Plus Zach Valenti’s acting was amazing and it was super cool to see Eiffel work out such an innovative and clever way to survive so long on a broken down escape pod.

(Note: Officer Eiffel chuckles and speaks with a smug tone) Well, thank you, mystery write. (A smug sigh) It’s always nice to be appreciated for my genius.

HERA

I wonder who Zach Valenti is?

EIFFEL

Some nobody actor by the sounds of it. Probably just thrown in there as an afterthought, I doubt it’s someone important. But, hey. We’re almost done with today’s letter. Looks like there’s only one paragraph left, thank god. Let’s wrap this up quick.

The most obvious answer to which episode I liked the most in season four would be the finale but while I did love it (no matter how heart wrenching some parts were) I think my favorite episode of season four had to be Dirty Work because it was nice to see Jacobi and Minkowski both struggle with their grief ad guilt. Constructive Criticism was a fun episode too, but I mostly enjoyed listening to how much everyone annoyed each other with Kepler’s games. I’ve even been tempted to try one out myself the next time my friends and I are super bored.

EIFFEL (CONT.)

There. I read the stupid question. Happy?

HERA

Commander Minkowski should be pleased to know you’ve finished her request… But wasn’t that last part super weird?

EIFFEL

Yeah… I don’t know who Kepler or Jacobi are and I don’t know what grief it was talking about. But I thought these were coming from someone who had been listening to our logs?

HERA

So did I, but I don’t know what most of that was about.

(Long silence)

EIFFEL

(Note: Officer Eiffel begins to blow air through his lips, making a sputtering noise.) You know what, Hera? This is probably some sort of joke. Command is probably yanking our chain again.

HERA

Maybe you’re right, Officer Eiffel. Either way, nothing like what was mentioned in that last part has happened yet, so there’s no point in worrying about it.

EIFFEL

Exactly what I was thinking! Now, how’s about I finish this recording and we go annoy Minkowski for a bit?

HERA

Don’t you mean you go annoy Minkowski and then leave me to mediate?

EIFFEL

(Note: Officer Eiffel clicks his tongue, most likely paired with finger guns.) I like your style, kid. That plans sounds even better than mine.

HERA

(Sighs) Just finish the recording, Officer Eiffel.

EIFFEL

Alright, alright. (Throat clearing) So there you have it, ladies and gents! Another day, another confusing question and answer! Will tomorrow be just as annoying? Will the question be just as weird? Will Minkowski actually force me to do this for twenty-three more days?

HERA

That last one is definitely a yes.

EIFFEL

Find out this and more on our next episode of Stupid Space Adventures: Wolf 359 edition! Goodnight, everybody!

[stargleeksil-blog]

Criminal Minds s02e08 Empty Planet review - or more aptly named, HOW THE FUCK AM I SUPPOSED TO BREATHE AFTER THIS ONE?

Episode 08 – Empty Planet

So last episode was beyond controversial in my head. I hope this would be okay. Though the name suggests something seriously creepy is going to happen.

Let’s see what happens.

What is he making? That looks like a fucking bomb! Why is he phoning it in? what’s going on? Fuck. Shit. On a bus?

Oh god, this guy is completely over the hedge.

And he hides the bomb inside an umbrella? What?

Hey, Spencer is trying to be civil, why are you blowing him off, Jayje?

Homeland Security? Damn.

Oh god, I love Penelope’s hairstyle.

“Who can say no to me?” I know I can’t. XD I love this woman.

Yeah, if you don’t know where the bomb is gonna go kaboom, you have to contain it till the event happens and then investigate. Fuck. Otherwise everyone will panic and it would be worse.

Seattle. Oh jeez.

Did he just blow that bus up with a remote control? Fuck. That is nasty.

Maxmillien Robespierre: “Crime butchers innocents to secure a prize. And innocence struggles with all its might against the attempt of crime.” Wow, this guy is deep. Who is he?

“So Seattle is where it all began.” “We just need to figure out what it is. And off the top of my head all I can think of is grunge music and overpriced coffee.” I love you, Derek! I love you, Reid! Let’s kick this episode right. Whoo! Kidding, people are dead, let’s get straight to it.

They’re teaming up with the Seattle FBI, damn.

Wait. Derek was on bomb squad? Hot and dangerous. Love him.

So they’re trying to lure him out by stressing that the case isn’t a terror attack? Smart.

So if I wanted, I could use a remote control from a toy I bought from a toy-store, attach some explosive detonator, and kaboom? Well, fuck!

Dried peas. Hmm. Controlled explosion?

Etched on it is a robot with an arrow through it? Kind of weird. Anti technology. Damn. Time to call in my hottie.

“Hey, doll-face, ready to work some magic for me?” “Challenge me, you beautiful behavioral analyst.” Rawr, I love you too so much.

“Morgan, challenge me. Doesn’t even raise my blood pressure.” Well, hot damn.

“My loony opposites.” LOL

“Disguised young guy went crazy on a bunch of computers at a science lab, screaming, ‘we will soon be the slaves and the machines will be the masters.’ Yikes. That would totally suck for me. I’m surrounded in here …” “Come one, what are you worried about? You got me to protect you.” “Now that gets my blood up.”

Mine too, girl.

Floppy disk bombs?

“Who uses floppy disks anymore?” “Right, agent Brain, that was the point of the attack.”

Oh my god, I love the dialogue in this episode so much.

And again, that skewered robot is cropping up. Damn.

F.F.T. Brigade. Sounds pretentious and really non professional. Allegro. Made up!

What! He just blew a bomb when they were on the phone with him? Damn.

He’s brazen.

So let me get this straight, he got the name from a book depicting the takeover of machines and robots over the earth. Where the robot who was originally a guy kills his mom? Or something like that? I’m confused.

And now, apparently, the target was some dude who works on creating artificial life forms? Damn.

And he’s a total douche.

The doc is friend with the author of ‘Empty Planet’ (which is a fictitious book in this series, I love it!) and turns out that David Hansberry is a pseudonym.

“Her name, you cute little chauvinist, is Ursula Kent.” Yup. She totally just schooled Derek’s ass. I love it!

“Oh you are the light of my life, sweet lady.” “Je suis toujours ici pour toi, mon cher.” “Drives me crazy when you speak that ‘voulez coucher’ stuff to me. Stop it! Au revoir, crazy girl.”  Oh my god, this little bit of dialogue just made me melt on the inside and that is something that is pretty hard to do considering I have copious amounts of fat in this lump of flesh. Lol.

Oh my god, Reid begins to explain what Dr. Cooke said and Gideon’s like, dude, I get it, don’t. I love this dynamic duo.

Goon squad? Did you just call my sweet cheeks a goon? Fuck you, Cooke!

“Ever talk to someone who wants to continually show you he’s smarter than you?” (Derek indicating Spencer) “Every day.” Hey, that’s not nice, baby. Play nice.

Spencer, you’re not helping yourself. Hahahaha oh my god I love those two.

Six? Did Reid just say he read a post-modern science-fiction novel at six? What? And did Derek just say he was still riding with training wheels when he was six? Oh my god, I just died from the cuteness.

It’ll take him 10 minutes to buy and read the book? What? He’s nuts.

………………………………………………………..

I’m sorry. I simply didn’t have the words to express what I was feeling the moment it happened.

Dr. Cooke’s car exploded when he was still in it.

I am writing as if I’m a robot right now. Because I am in shock. What the fuck did I just witness? Fuck you, loser.

Allegro. You fuckhead. I really hate you, you weirdo psycho.

Oh Reid, you clueless doodlebug.

What the fuck? Waterworks? Another bomb? Damn.

Well, a guy who has a very loose grip on reality will think a fantasy book is real. Yup. She just found out about Cooke.

Damn. At least they found the other bomb.

Another? What the fuck?

Wait. She has a necklace of the robot with an arrow through it? Oh my god.

Ooooh, if he’s pissing Derek, I don’t want to be in his shoes. Damn.

No one reads as fast as Reid. True.

Hahaha, she was just watching Reid like, what the fuck is this guy made of? Oh boy.

Wait. Another professor is being targeted? Oh no. Please. Save her. Please.

Thank goodness.

Shit. There’s a fucking bomb under her seat like Cooke’s. Fuck.

Let’s hope there’s no mercury.

What? Morgan is staying with this lady till they’re taking the bomb out and disposing of it? Oh my god, I love you Derek, but I am not ready to lose you just yet. Oh my goodness. I just fell in love. All over again.

And I know, I know Derek Morgan is a fictional character, you don’t have to explain that to me, I’m a highly-educated woman, with a bachelor’s from the Hebrew University of Jerusalem in English Literature and Linguistics, I understand there is a difference between fiction and reality; but you cannot tell me that when you watch this, you didn’t fall just that little bit more in love with Shemar and Derek.

Aww, Gideon is expressing the depth of his relationships with the team. I love you all.

Yes! She got the bomb safely! Thank the goodness of Derek’s heart. Fuck.

Wait. What? Oh I get it. They have to let him think that the whole thing was successful.

Hahahaha, Reid wanted another book. I love him.

“That was the only story I needed to tell.” That is a genius response, lady.

Wait. Is she not telling them something?

Kenneth Roberts? So she does have a student in mind.

What is going on here?

Why did she throw her book?

I don’t get it.

So I was right? Oh god. I thought I misunderstood him, but yikers.

The whole book is told from the mother’s point of view? Form Ursula’s?

So Allegro is eventually going to kill her? Oh god.

You know, he doesn’t seem that crazy right now.

Okay, now he looks dangerous.

Oh god. He is adopted and he thinks Ursula is his mom? But she gave up a baby for adoption! And he thinks he’s that baby? That was the inspiration for the book? Oh god.

Hey! Why did you hang up you crazy loon?

Oh god, he’s abducting her to finish his story? God. This guy is sick in the head.

She gave up a girl. It’s not him. It’s all for nothing. Damn.

Oh my god, he’s insane!

Oh god! He has a fucking bomb, and he’s gonna blow them both up if they do something sudden. God.

Sniper!

And she took it instead? What? Oh my god, what the fuck has she done?

Oh god, thank god it’s her shoulder. That sniper is the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen in the FBI. I thought they had psych evals.

So JJ, Reid and Hotch are playing poker. Hotch goes off and tells them not to cheat, and immediately Reid looks at his cards. I love this show.

Hahahahahahhahaha

Oh my god I just died. So Reid is trying to romanticize science-fiction to JJ, and she’s like “Let me save you the time, Reid, I am never going to ComicCon with you.” Oh honey, why break my baby’s heart like that?

Gin!

She just won! Damn!

“Genius Dr. Reid let you win.” Uh huh.

Oh my god, so Derek knows what Gideon said about him? And now Gideon thinks Reid tattled, and he’s acting all innocent. I love Gubler beyond measure.

Gideon is really tough. On the outside. But on the inside he’s a mushy wittle teddy bear that I just want to squeeze and hug all the time.

God. They’re so tough on the outside that it’s hard to express emotions, and they’re so vulnerable at the same time and that’s what makes me love them even more. I love you guys so much!

 Okay, so this episode really played on my fangirl emotions. I mean, really. This was just beyond unfair. So they have science-fiction involved. They have COPIOUS amounts of Penelope and Derek flirting to the point that I think I might need to set an appointment with my dentist. They blow people up like it’s just another day at the office. They put my chocolate Adonis in harm’s way and make him a hero and make me melt like butter. They show Reid’s sassy side at Gin, and they show Gideon’s soft underbelly? I just can’t with these amazing writers and actors. I just fucking can’t.

God. This episode was amazing.

Really looking forward to the next one.

[christophercori]

Starting Over (And over, and over)

03-06-17

It feels as if the last 6 years of my life have been narrated by the theme of “starting over.” As a hopeless optimist. I’ve always been inclined to look at my repeated run-ins with turmoil, both external and internal (but all largely self-created), as opportunities for new beginnings. At this point in the game however, I find myself coming to grips with a probably healthy dose of realism and I’m finally ready to admit how terribly fucked-up these past few years have been.

As I embark on this emotionally trying journey of reflecting back on all of the peaks and valleys which have lead me to where I am and where I may be going, I daydream of writing this as if from some point in the future-a successful and proud version of myself. But the “reality” of the situation is that I am incarcerated and more or less nerve-wrecked, awaiting the day when I am released to the “streets”, to start over once more. While I can’t wait to move on from this place, there’s no denying how nearly paralytic it is, processing multitudes of divergent visions of possible futures and how it’s all going to come together when I get to it. Sure, I’m very confident that it’ll all shake out in my favor, as I am very in touch with my talents and capabilities. I have a strong support network and some incredible like-minded friends and mentors, but still there is that element of unrest and uncertainty which, at times, can be absolutely suffocating Before we get ahead of ourself here though, we’re going to take a trip back in in time.

So where does the downward spiral begin? Somewhere toward the latter half of my teen-age years, I think. The year is something like 2011, but we could probably go back even further. I would have been about 19 going on 19, and this feel like a decent enough place to start our tale. By this point I’ve already had one stay in the Psych Ward at South Nassau Hospital in Long Island after an intense LSD experience, but I’d ironically classify that misadventure as part of the “good times” before things really started to go south for me. I’m not going to sit here and tell you that I don’t know what happened to me; how I “fell off”, or lost my mojo, but we’re getting to it, I promise.

So, it’s almost spring 2012 and we’re coming out of what was for me a very fun winter and holiday season (details to be added in the expanded version). In spite of my recent dismissal from a temporary office job at an advertising firm, which I was really praying would become permanent, I’m still having the time of my life, gallivanting out on the streets of NYC with an eclectic group of misfits like myself. After many nights of hard partying, dropping in on various “New Age” events and “breaking night” for days on end, it’s almost spring and I’ve been unemployed for a few months. I’m not totally broke, I’m staying with my father and he’s not putting too much pressure on me, but it all comes to a screeching bait as I come home at dawn after a long night of riding around in the back of what turned out to be a very expensive cab ride, over the duration which we made pit stops to visit various characters around Brooklyn and Queens while tripping on magic mushrooms. It just so happens that this particular morning I’m also to supposed to take a ride to Philly with my Dad and while he doesn’t comment on my 7am return home, he does make mention of my disheveled and fatigued state, being fairly exhausted and irritable from the comedown off the nights Indulgences. I somehow interpreted this to be part of one of his many efforts to control my life, and proceeded to fly into an impulsive, violent frenzy. My already fragile psychological state fertile ground plenty for any rebellious feelings I was already harboring and it probably did not help that only moments earlier I had ingested a synthetic stimulant, commercially known as Vyvanse, in effort to replace the sleep I had foregone. Needless to say, none of this did much to work in my favor, and in fact, I could not regret the proceeding events any more.

So, here I am delivering a swift “fuck you” to my Father, storming downstairs to the 2nd floor apartment; slamming the door and locking it behind me. Not after a beat or two, my Father is on my heels, trying to make his way in after me, demanding I unlock the door which I am refusing to do while simultaneously snarling, screaming and cursing.

Eventually, be shoves his way in with a few forceful slams of his shoulder, only to he met by me in the midst of a complete meltdown, kitchen knife in hand. I’m not going to sit here and try to convince you that I’m not “crazy”, but in the moment, I had formed in my mind that my Dad had become some major threat, some evil controlling extraterrestrial who I needed to keep from doing I’m-not-sure-what to me.

As he makes to cross the threshold to meet my psychotic knife wielding self, I find myself summoning strength from the depths of my being to toss this man, like a sack of potatoes and hold him up against the wall by the throat with one hand and the knife very close to his face with the other. Fortunately, he made a huge fuss and called out loudly enough for our tenant, at the time, to call the police, who arrived quickly due to the station’s location literally at the end of the block. As they were coming up the stairs to evaluate the situation, I released my Father, ran to the kitchen and turned up all of the burners on the stove, thinking I’d somehow go down in a blaze of glory or at least make a big enough mess in doings so, and that I most certainly did in the end the policemen got the better of me. Once handcuffed and after speaking to my father, they shuffled me into the awaiting ambulance and off to St. John’s hospital for a psych eval. There it was determined that I needed some time to cool off and be experimented on like a guinea pig, while the doctors gave me the privilege of sampling a whole Easter-basket of coma inducing psych meds. After a 72 hour hold I was transferred to Mercy Medical Center in Long Island where I’d spend the next 6 weeks fucking unappreciated suicidal Lesbians and mid-life crisis-ing housewives.

I connected with some other wayward youths and interacted with some true “crazies”, but in the end my Insurance ran out and my Father had to threaten to sue the hospital to get me released. Apparently, they were trying to push the Idea that I was a lot more ill than I actually was instead of acknowledging that I was, originally, simply freaking out on drugs, not hearing “voices” or receiving “secret messages in the newspaper”. My oppositional defiance at the time probably didn’t help, nor did my apparent anger and threats to the supervising “shrink” for keeping me locked up and experimented on, when all I really needed was some good sleep and sobriety.

Sadly, leaving the hospital was the real beginning of a decline for me, as those zombifying medications they put me on kick-started what would turn out to be one of the most excruciating and debilitating depressions of my life. This would go on to last for a better part of the remaining year and cost me dear friends, a relationship and a network of invaluable connections.

Soon, the summer came around and by then I was several months into sleeping most days away, avoiding eye contact and conversations about what I was up to and had pretty much resigned to burying myself under unanswerable philosophical questions, mainly to the tine of “when am I going to snap out of this?” and “will I ever feel happy, or even OK again?” I tried to find some work in my neighborhood and was briefly employed a hipster shit-head who thought he was the first cool person to ever discover my neighborhood (which had been amazing eons before he dragged his ratchet ass through) who happened to run on of the concession stands, serving food and drinks on the beach. Of course, the genius of this guy led him to hire way too many of his equally too-cool-to-fucking-exists friends and found himself having to make up some lame excuse as to why he had to let me go.

This did little to improve my condition or build my confidence and I walked away feeling burned and even more adverse to dealing with people; especially those who seemed to have no idea, sympathy or at least consideration for what I was going through. Much of the rest of the summer was spent on my porch watching happy people go by, longing to be in their shoes and envying them just the same; reading old paperback novels which I dug up out from underneath years of stored junk in one of the spare, unoccupied apartments where my father kept his tools. Somewhere along the lines I made an attempt to volunteer at a local outdoor “festival” at the marina in my neighborhood, but I was far from “in the right place” for it. I had been out of the loop with the cast of character who I knew would be there and the whole time I was working the grill to cover my mission I was sick to my stomach that someone would recognize me and try to start up a conversation, outing me as being less than my normally exuberant self. After my shift, I wandered down on of the “Boatel” piers to smoke some pot with the kids who were also volunteering and make an attempt at conversation. I was totally out of sync with these people. They were still flying high on the “magical mystery tour” and I was back down on earth, consumed by anguish and totally lost. “What’s happened to me?” I often asked during this period. At some stage I was passed a sandwich baggie full of what looked like some very ill cared for magic mushrooms (I knew what healthy ones looked like, having grown them myself), I decided to go along with it, in spite of knowing that I was absolutely not in a good place to be partaking in such indulgences.

Shortly after swallowing them, things got weird and I felt the overwhelming urge to get the fuck out of there. All of my insecurities about not really feeling like I should be there in the first place were now amplified a thousand fold and before I could run into familiar, now while super-fucked up, I knew I had to split as fast as I my legs would carry me. I staggered over to my bike and left behind the cambro I had borrowed from my grandfather without so much as an afterthought. Somehow, I managed to book it through a neighborhood which now seemed ready to swallow me whole, to the beach where I would fling myself down on the sand, hyperventilating and crying out to whatever God could hear me, to make it stop. Unfortunately, the feelings of absolute terror would not subside for several hours and when I did finally make it back into my house and up to my bedroom, I would spend the remainder of those horrific infinite hours jumping at ever creak and squeal of our ancient wood-framed house. At every slight tremor and strong wind, I was certain I heard my Father’s footsteps coming down the stairs to confront me and admonish me for some thing or other, only to discover me wrecked, yet again, and beat the shit out of me, or throw my ass out on the street This never happened of course (at least not on that night) but, over the course of those endless hours of inner torment, I was certain it was about to come to life at any given moment.

It could probably do without saying that I had experienced the worst trip of my life on that night and when morning finally came and things started to feel even a little bit “normal” I swore to myself that would never do even a little bit “normal”, I swore to myself that I would never do psychedelics again. While I haven’t since that memorable moment, my feelings have changed as I have found my way back to myself in recent times. I’m sure this may come off as a little confusing, but as we carry on, perhaps it will come to make a little bit more sense.

I don’t want to get too off topic here but, I’d like to clarify that I have a deep respect for psychedelics and have since concluded that they should he used very carefully as a religious sacrament, a tool for philosophical research, or scientific experimentation. I however, learned the hard way, in so much as they are not suitable for recreational purposes. There are other out there who may disagree with me and other who will also subscribe to this ideology, and I don’t want to paint the wrong picture here.

As a teenager, I completely and irresponsibly abused these sacred “tools “ Given the opportunity to do it all over again, or when I revisit these things again in the future, I’ll do things a lot differently from how I’ve done them in the past. I absolutely recognize who in my case, my impulsive use of psychedelics or any other substance for that matter, led me to some dark places and cause sometimes irreparable damage in my life or at least some great turmoil – Turmoil being a major theme of this body of work and something l’m trying to keep out of my life moving forward. All of this being said, let us return to the somewhat chronologized chain of events from the past, leasing up through to the now and possibly beyond.

So, I want to apologize in advance if this segment causes any confusion for y’all. It probably should have been placed before the marina festival scene, but hopefully some gracious editor will fix it all up in the final incarnation of this epic tale. Petitions for forgiveness aside, it’s still summer 2012 and I’m toiling in obscurity, barely keeping myself from taking a long walk off a short plank and at some point I’m in Brooklyn with my partner In crime Mike, who is attempting to snap me out of my funk by taking me out on the town. We start off at a warehouse living space with a couple of other cool scenesters who are “on the level” and end up on a quest to Bensonhurst to pick up mushrooms for everybody, from a deal who also attempts to sell us crack-cocaine, and proceed to spend the rest of the night having a hilarious and hallucinogenic time trying to make it back to the place we started out in, which lead us to spin circles around it, ending up in every other neighborhood than the one we needed to be in. Our travels consisted of a hodgepodge of foot and subway travel, and at various times we’d give up or stop to light a garbage can on fire.

Eventually, we post up in a perk to watch the sunrise and enjoy what’s left of our “visions quest”. I catch the tail end of some beautiful geometric visuals and I find myself wishing I were along so I can enjoy them in their entirety, instead of being strung along by my fiercely determined companion who can’t seem to accept that our intoxication is the cause for our inability to properly navigate. Just as I’ve nearly managed to convince my friend to just chill and “be here now”, we find ourselves walking through an industrial neighborhood whose street are lined with 16-wheelers. To me, they look like some type of intergalactic shuttles.

It’s then that I decide to become a truck driver. If I can’t do anything else, at least I can get paid to travel across the country in search of myself. Days later I announce this to my parents, sans psychedelic influence, and they agree to pay for me to take truck driving lessons towards my Commercial Driver’s License. When it comes to anything that might make me some money and keep me out of trouble or make me feel better in a healthy way, they can turn out to be very supportive folks, contrary to the enemy I’ve felt they’ve been at various points.

Now, before we get too far ahead of ourselves, or any further out of order, it might not hurt to mention that- somewhere between my psychedelic epiphany and the parentally sponsored truck driving lessons, I take a trip to Miami with my then-girlfriend of nearly 4 years. She was 2 years older than me and we started dating while she was graduating and I was still attending the same high school. We had been through a lot together and I guess after so much, she had more than enough of my wild and crazy antics, and contrasting deep, dark periods of hopelessness.

And so she waits until what couldn’t have been the most inopportune moments in history, to break my heart, tear it out of my chest, stomp on it, light it on fire, and then toss it into the river to shit and piss on it thereafter. I mean really, who in God’s name waits until they are on vacation in Miami to break up with their significant other? I mean, are you fucking kidding me? I don’t know what this girl was thinking, but it couldn’t have been in any more poor Judgment, or in the very least, bad taste. Mind you, she could have waited till the plane ride home, like any street wise floosy would have done, but no. She lets the cat out of the bag on the second night of what’s supposed to be an epic getaway where we fuck and party our faces off creating memories for years to come, or so that’s the fantasy I was always sold about “doing it right” in the sunshine state. Anyway, we’re two days into our beachy getaway, I’m already halfway to jumping off a bridge in my fragile state that summer, and she decides to not only hit me with “I don’t think this relationship is right for me anymore”, whining about how she’s never been with anybody else, but that she’s already got somebody lined up to explore with! Oh, the audacity! As if the news couldn’t I already be bad enough. Imagine that. You’re experiencing the most unprecedented depressions of your life thus far. you’ve isolated yourself from just about your entire social network and thus have no support system in sight to lean on, and you find yourself on the ideal dream vacation, miserable with the absolutely most insensitive and common sense deficient bimbo, who you thought was supposed to be your intelligent, compassionate girlfriend, but has now chosen to break up with you on day 2 of your 6-day long excursion. She carry’s on to make no effort to fake it for the rest of our stay and refused to cut It short because it would be a “waste of money”.

Jeezzus Christ! I mean I know that at the time I was a broken, sad little hitch boy, but come on! If I could go back, I’d slap myself. Why didn’t I “man up” (whatever that means) and get the hell out of there? Shit, if I was anywhere near as strong as I am now, I would have grabbed my things, found another hotel room and myself balls deep in some new broad, faster than two shakes of a lamb’s tale (how fast is that anyway?). But, no. That’s not how this story goes, I’m ashamed to say. Nuh-uh. This sorry motherfucker rides out the next days drinking himself into oblivion and having mediocre pity sex with a girl who’s made it clear she’s no longer in love with him. How pathetic. It’s here, at this point of out epic where I firmly believe we find one of the major influences for a following series of unfortunately catastrophic events which would also revolve around mtysle and other young women with increasing volatility and regrettably, violence.

I guess the trauma of being so violated by someone or anyone who I would make myself so vulnerable too, resonated deeply enough within me the first time around, that I would go on to not only promising myself I would never be so emotionally effected ever again (at which I failed), but would also respond to the disappointment, disillusionment, and general manipulations and trickery of women, specifically of the youthful persuasion with greater retaliation, each time. I want to make it clear that I do not intrinsically hate or have disdain for women at all. In fact, I can’t get enough. I may even be addicted, but I’ve found that I need to stay away from a certain type of whacked out, New-Age, “male-hierarchy” hating, so-called feminists, who love to be nasty sluts in the sack, but then think it’s OK to turn around and play the victim, as if the world owes them something for being born female.

No I probably shouldn’t be so harsh on the young and inexperienced. They, themselves can’t truly be held accountable because they’ve been brainwashed by this backward ‘‘politically correct” (excuses me while I vomit) popular culture, but damn, where have all the elders gone? Who’s raising these bitches? Ooh wait, I know: this is what you get when you cross an oversaturation of mass-media with the mind-control of the nauseatingly ultra-liberal universities who’ve overtaken our nation, who now apparently think they are above free-speech. All that however, is a can of worms for another day and we ought to be getting back on track. The short version of it is that these confused “young-ladies” can’t really be held to a fault because it’s society overall who has dropped the ball. This philosophical understanding though, doesn’t make their actions OK or the pain they cause any less real, but there’s more than half a chance I hurt them in some, or plenty of my own ways just as well. After all it takes two to tango, and it’s rarely that either party is entirely guilty or innocent. It’s usually a mixture of both on either end.

In my case, it’s taken foolishly repeated run-ins with toxic relationships and overboard reactions to finally “get it right” on some level. I may still have a way to go yet, but I can tell you how I handled each rejection or separation with increasing stubbornness and vengeful retaliation was exactly the wrong way to handle these situations. Does this make me a psycho by nature? Probably not. A little unstable. There’s a good chance. Or maybe I’m just an extremely sentimental and sensitive individual who processes emotion with incredible gravity and has a more difficult go of it, keeping them in check and mastering these aspects of my character in ways that work to my benefit rather than my detriment.

Had I a stronger network of friends to bounce things off of and let me know I was “buggin” or to help me see the “signs” and avoid a lot of sorrow, I probably would have saved myself a whole world of trouble. Unfortunately, this has not been the case during these years during which, for whatever reason, I had buried myself under a blanket of isolation. Whether it was a result of chasing people away, losing touch, or just dealing with shitty people who never cared for me in the same way I cared about them in the first place, I’m not sure. Another theory as conceived by my Father sounds something like me not slowing down enough to patiently let the right friendships mature and blossom at a rate which was comfortable for them.

After much reflection, I have come to see the truth to his words, insomuch that my hyperactive, lightspeed ahead nature can indeed work against me.  I’ve since come to see that it could be a combination of all of the above, and more influencing my social dysfunction, but I’ll have to favor my Dad’s assessment, complimented by a dash of my own summation of “caring for the wrong people’ or at least those who aren’t capable of reciprocating the depth of my love. This basically cuts out a majority of my self-centered materialistic generation as candidates, limiting me to the few select individuals who have been in my life through thick and thin. These folks are largely between the ages of 35 and 60, and while I’d be a liar if I didn’t crave some like-minded homies closer in age to myself, I’m at the point of just accepting it for what it is, while retaining a sliver of hope that my “peers” are out there somewhere. There’s been times when I’ve become very discouraged and have resolved to throw all expectations out the window in order to avoid further run-ins with disappointment, but I’m doing my best to maintain a more optimistic outlook; keep the dream alive, ya know? And speaking of dreams, I was just thinking about the irony of how I used to pride myself on “making dreams come true” and while this may have been the case at one point or other, it seems like my recent history suggests that I’ve been regrettably stellar at bringing nightmares to life, with me acting out as the main character, naturally. I aspire to break this cycle, and while I feel I’ve grown passed it, traversing as much ground as I’ve been, only time will tell.

Anyway, and all anecdotes aside, which I can almost guarantee we’ll come back to again and again as we go, I do believe there was some story telling afoot and I’m thinking that it may do us well to get back to that.