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sadselfhelp · 3 years

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Who I Am, And Why I Created This Blog.

TRIGGER WARNINGS - Mental Illness, Self-Harm, Child Abuse, Domestic Abuse, Violence, Drug Overdose, Suicide, Psychotic Breaks.

Take a walk with me, let me show you around the mind of The Sad Hatter.

There's a lot going on in my head right now, and I feel like I'm on the precipice of something. I'm standing on a cliff's edge and I'm either going to plummet or I'm going to fly. It's been building inside me for a long time, and I can't contain it anymore. So here it is, here's me laid bare, because I need to say this, I need to put it into words. I need to purge it all. To try and make sense of all of this shit in my brain, I think it's time I organize it. I don't know where to begin, but I guess I start at the beginning and make use of the ability to edit.

Before you read this, please be aware of the trigger warnings. And please understand that this is the most honest and open I have been, I really am stripped bare in this piece of writing. It’s not at all pretty, and am I not guiltless in parts. This may well alter whatever opinion you have of me.

I guess the beginning is birth, right? But I don't want to rehash all that trauma, so let me speed through it. Twenty-Eight years ago I was born, violently. I'm serious, I ripped my way out of the womb, and tore that thing apart. I guess I can sort of understand why my mother couldn't love me after that was my first act, collapsing her womb. So let me speedrun this part of the story. Mum didn't want me, gave me to my dad who raised me as a single parent with the help of his parents, until he met my stepmother. Shockingly, she didn't want me either, but because she couldn't get rid of me she decided to physical and psychological torture was the next best thing.

When I was eleven years old I snapped and didn't want to put up with it anymore, so I wrote a goodbye note and then snuck into the medicine cabinet and took a bunch of pills. Spoiler alert, I didn't die. I did however end up in a children's home, cue more abuse, little bit of bullying and sexual assault etc.... I snapped again, but instead of turning my anger inwards, I became an absolute bastard. Ok, I still turned it inwards a bit, I had a lot of anger, and now I have a few hundred scars to prove it. But, it turns out that violence can beget violence, and I acted out in every possible way. Racked up a horrifying rap sheet, assault, vandalism, arson, and finally... GBH. I was supposed to get put in a secure unit (child prison – Scottish Edition) but I was always able to talk myself out of trouble.

See, I was this tiny little white girl with big sad eyes and a hell of a sob story, even at the bottom of the food chain I still had privilege. So instead of getting locked up, I just got sent to a different home. And here's the really messed up part, this home was better. The staff were nicer, and nobody hurt me. My behavior literally changed overnight. I went from being charged by the police on a weekly basis, to never getting so much as a pocket money sanction. I will never excuse my actions, nor condone them, but after years of guilt I finally realized that the bad things I did were in retaliation to a bad situation, and though I wasn’t acting like a good person, I’m not a bad person, just a messed up one.

I still refused to go to school though, because though I didn't yet know it at the time, I had severe social anxiety. I was smart, a little too smart to be honest, and I found myself thriving with a private tutor. When the time came to sit my exams, someone fucked up, and despite having record breaking test scores on the pre-exams, I never actually got to sit my standard grades (think SAT's – Scottish Edition). I'm still bitter about that. So by this point in the story, I'm 16, and legally an adult, too old for a children's home. I got turfed to a hostel, and the next few parts of the story are pretty fuzzy to me.

This is where my mental health really started to deteriorate. I bounced between homeless hostels and B&B's for a year or so, until I got a my first flat/apartment. By that point, I was utterly fucked in the head. I was blacking out frequently, for anywhere between a couple of minutes to three days. I would come back to myself in sometimes compromising positions, and once there was blood. A lot of blood, splashed all over the walls. Then there was the time I suddenly found myself standing in the kitchen, about to plunge a knife into my own chest.

Nobody ever did tell me what the hell that was about. Or maybe they did and I just... forgot? But because I was extremely suicidal, a doctor finally decided to do something, and the police and the paramedics came to my door to take me to the psychiatric hospital. I spent ten months there while I cycled through various anti-psychotics and anti-depressants, and was 'rehabilitated into society'. The second I was out, I made the worst decision I have ever made in my life. If I can give you one piece of advice, one lesson to take from my shitshow of a life, it's this: Don't move hundreds of miles away to be with the guy you met online while you were having a psychotic break.

I've never really thought of myself as a victim, but I guess I'm the only one who saw it that way. Ben, that was his name, Ben was a monster, and I didn't know it until it was too late. He never hit me, never lifted a hand to me, he never had to. He could put a knife in my hand and make me hurt myself for his entertainment. I had told him everything, so he knew exactly how to break me down, how to make me want to bleed. He locked me in a house and used me up. And when I had enough, and tried to break free of him, he would just tell the police I was mentally ill and they would smile sympathetically and give me back to him.

But then my dad had a breakdown. My dad, who when he found out what my stepmother was doing to me, buried his head in the sand and packed my little suitcase for me. I hadn't spoken to him in a while until he reached out from the same psychiatric ward I had not long vacated. He had cracked under the realization that I had never lied about her, and the guilt broke him apart. I could have hated him, if it had happened a few years earlier then I would have. But I had experienced enough of the world to learn a few things, like how easily it is to fuck up, and that no matter how strong you are, you aren't immune to monsters. The truth was he was as much a victim of her evil as I was. She had manipulated him, played with his head, used his insecurities against him. So I helped him through his issues, the way I wished someone had helped me. That doesn't really make me a good person, it just makes me human.

But my dad got better, and found his footing. And when he did, he realized something wasn't right with me, and I told him the truth about Ben. My dad had left me to suffer at the hands of an abuser once before, and he wasn't going to allow it to happen again. He came and got me, and he took me home. He moved me in with him, gave me his bed and slept on the couch. After a couple of months, he helped me get my own place.

And that's the happy ending, right? All the trauma was over, I was safe, that's where the story should end. Right? I bet you're not naive enough to believe that, but I sure as hell was. I thought I would recover and that everything would be ok. I thought that with safety, there would come the chance to heal. I thought my wounds would scab over, and I would have my scars but at least I would be able to move without bleeding out. But that's not how trauma works. I had two decades worth of trauma, abuse, and hell.

I just... faded. I didn't crack, I didn't crumble, I didn't break, I just stopped. For five years I sat in one room of my home, drowning inside myself. Last year I got handed a lifeline, and now I live somewhere better. I'm not really allowed to live independently so I actually live in kind of retirement village of all places. I have my own house, but it's got intercoms and emergency cords everywhere, I get checked on daily by on on-site worker. And I'm trying to get better, I really am. It's just not that easy.

There's more to the whole story that I maybe should have put in, like the fact that my mother was a drug addict when she was pregnant with me, and that may have been the reason some of my organs didn't properly form and/or formed wrong. My lung split in half when I was a baby, and parts of my stomach are missing. Or that my mother is full on batshit insane. I could have had a perfect childhood and I still would have been mentally ill. Hell, I was seeing psychologists at five years old. Take my sketchy genetics, add twenty years of severe traumas, and well... I'm a little fucked up. Because a lot of medical conditions use acronyms, my full list of diagnosis looks like I'm collecting the fucking alphabet.

I have Borderline Personality Disorder (BPD), Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD), Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD), Attention Deficit Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD), and Agoraphobia. I also have a Pulmonary Sequestration, Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia, the stomach and lung issues. Immune Hemolytic Anemia, I'm basically allergic to my own blood. Plus, ya know, my liver recently decided to just fucking nope out, the pissy lil bitch is failing. I also may or may not have cancer, I don't know because I pussied out of the tests. At this point I am a walking, decaying corpse that is held together by glitter glue and bitterness.

So... why exactly am I writing this? And why am I even considering posting this? I mean, my problems aren't as bad as some other people's. We've all got shit to deal with, especially in 2020. The whole world is falling apart, so what right do I have to sit here pouting and pouring my problems out? Well, for a start, I guess this is my blog, I can post whatever, and it's up to everyone else if they read it.

So here it is, you have the backstory, so here's what it's all been leading up to.

I'm struggling. Like, really struggling. I'm stuck on this cliff, and I want off, any way I can. Whether I fall or fly, I just want free. I can't live like this anymore, because I can't breathe.

The fucking agonizing duality of being socially anxious and too easily overstimulated, and yet feeling fucking empty inside if you're not surrounded by action and noise. The world is too noisy for my brain, but my brain is too noisy for the world. I get antsy if I'm not doing at least a thousand different tasks, but I get overwhelmed if I try to do anything at all. It leads to short bursts of mania, followed by weeks of depression. But underneath all of that, under all the dramatic showboating, and the dark humor, under all the bravado... I'm really just sad.

Years ago, when I first came up with the moniker "The Sad Hatter", I said it was because I may be mad, but my madness was born of sadness. I'm just sad. I carry it with me where my heart should be. So I named myself Sad, and I put on the hat, and I wore my sadness like armor, turned it into an act, and made a spectacle of it. "I'm The Sad Hatter, and I'm mentally ill but that's alright, I'm going to be just fine!" I told you all I had my issues, and I'll come close to opening up about how bad those issues are, I'll give little chunks of information at intermittent intervals, and then two hours later I'll act like it never happened. I'll admit I was close to killing myself, and then two days later I'll post dog photo's and act like I'm all better.

I'm writing this because I'm sad. And tomorrow, I'll act like I'm not. But when I waver again, I'll come back here and I'll open up again. And along the way, maybe you're reading this and realizing you aren't alone in feeling overwhelmed. Maybe you're realizing you're not the only one who isn't healing neatly and in a timely manner. Maybe you're reading this and gaining some insight into the struggles someone you care about is facing. Maybe my opening up is can help somebody else, I really hope so, but I know it's helping one person. It's helping me.

This blog, it's about living with myself. It's about living with The Sad Hatter.

#trigger warnings #mental health #anxiety #borderline personality disorder #adhd #domestic abuse #child abuse #self harm #violence #just all the trigger warnings

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windstormwielding · 3 years

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「 ...Hatchling. 」

“...haven’t heard your gruff old voice in some time.” Kōtarō’s posture straightened when he heard his blade address him. For an instant, it felt like the old shack that made for his childhood home and present surroundings blinked out, and he found himself pulled back into the sea of clouds that made for his inner world.

It was only for an instant, but the sight stuck with the Lieutenant all the same: the sky above him there wasn’t a clear, sunny blue. Clouds, ones at his feet and ones on high, were a charged black, threatening to burst with lightning and roar thunder at any given moment, and moving overhead and below with speed.

「 11 years will have passed soon. 」

“...yeah.” Now that was a comment from his projected instinct Kōta felt he could have done without, leaning back against the old wall and letting out a huff that came out more tired than he intended. It was one thing that he already trained himself ragged, with newer, deeper scars torn into the earth and cliffside alike outside proving as such, but while he would’ve appreciated hearing the often silent Hai’iro Ranmaru speak, it was another to be casually reminded of the looming anniversary of the Great Soul King Protection War.

Reiō, he always hated that name for it. They were more fighting for their own lives, their survival as a collective, than that of a faceless, nameless lynchpin. While Kōtarō found it easier to process those events in the decade-plus since, remembrance still stung. Fear and helplessness unlike anything he felt. Losing too many relationships in one fell swoop than can ever be counted. The death of the one man he respected and looked up to most, whom he only wanted to make proud one more time before his untimely demise. Oh how distraught he had been, in repressing the resulting despair as much as he could and sinking himself into his work, into bettering himself in case-

「 Why? 」

“W-why what?”

「 Why do you remain grounded? 」

“Ranmaru, we’ve been at it here since morning,” the windstorm wielder pointed out, even going so far as to jab a thumb toward the sunset-hued sky outside for his mentally aboding partner. It was rare that he had an entire day to himself, and of course he spent it dedicating in refining his skills and abilities with nigh bullheaded obsession, but he intended on returning to the Seireitei once he recovered enough of his strength. “We can get back into it later in the week, can’t we?”

「 That is not what I meant. 」

Oh here we go with the cryptic gotchas. Returning his thumb so that he may drag his hand, palm and digits, down his face, Kōta paused before he opted to take the bait: “So if it’s not me taking a break, then what?”

「 Why are you not honest? 」

“Wh- Excuse me?!” Maybe it was the exhaustion talking when his own voice rose, but those words still touched on a nerve. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

「 You first chose to carry this burden in the name of a man who has not walked among you, not for the last 11 years. 」

“Okay, don’t you dare bring Captain Ukitake into this.” His tone turned as sharp as steel at the comment, and his reiatsu threatened to flare in turn. It was not long after Aizen’s arrest that Kōta made such a pledge to his late commander, to be of better use to him and the 13th in the future, but it was the absolute last thing he wished to recall.

Still, as bitter as he felt, he knew Hai’iro Ranmaru was correct.

“Shit.” How cruelly that memory aged, from an ignorant and hopeful 4th Seat who saw not the storm on the horizon. Hell, none of them saw it coming. The shinigami in question felt his back ease against the wall he sat against, all while mulling over bygone times.

「 So what reason do you have to still seek such power now? 」

The answer to that is obvious, no?

“Rukia... She’s going to need me to back her up. I have a whole Division to look after now as Captain Kuchiki’s right hand. The newest Captain and Lieutenant pair. All eyes of the Gotei 13 will be on us. I can’t afford to slack off just yet.

“...I’ll need to be at my best.”

And for his answer, all he received was a dismissive scoff from the elder voice in his mind.

「 You lie to yourself. 」

“Lying to myself?” Here Kōtarō thought he was being forthright, yet his blade’s accusation came with a gale creaking the wood of the hut from the outside, as though wind itself was objecting to his questioning.

「 You pursue power because you are afraid. 」

The claim spurned the Lieutenant into trying to deny it, but however he tried to raise his voice, any attempt at a sentence died almost as soon as it left his throat. What could he say to convince his own id otherwise? Not five minutes ago, his thoughts still lingered on a conflict over a decade past; Hai’iro Ranmaru naturally would have thought it too.

“Well don’t you have me all figured out, jī-chan,” he finally answered, letting a defeated smile sit on his countenance.

「 There is no shame in such an act. 」

“In what, pursuing power out of fear?”

「 In figuring you out. 」

A snort broke from the swordsman at the bluntly delivered remark, and with it, so did the tension between himself and the spirit of his weapon.

“Pfeh. That too, then.”

With that, the pair allowed silence to reign between themselves. The clouds hanging high over Kusajishi seemed to rumble, ready to dispense with rainwater it had built up for several days of aridity with the coming summer season.

It only took moments for the first droplets to fall, pelting the roof little by little until a full shower began in earnest. A satisfied sigh left the soul reaper as he closed his eyes and focused on his other senses, taking in the soothing sound of rainfall and the building smell of petrichor from the outdoors.

Ranmaru’s presence, meanwhile, still lingered in his mindscape, seeming to enjoy the outside weather along with his wielder.

“...it’s been fun, though.”

「 Fun? 」

“Hm.” Kōta nodded to themselves as he sought to piece his thoughts together, while reflecting on more recent history for a change. “Over the last several years. All those techniques and manoeuvres? I wasn’t capable of half of that before we started training so seriously.”

「 Getting stronger... brings you pleasure? 」

“If you want to put it so starkly, then sure, I guess.” A low chuckle broke from Ryōhei younger before he continued. “It also means I understand you—and us—better in the long run, doesn’t it? I’d call it fun.”

「 Hm... I suppose it does, hatchling. 」

“I don’t know, I just... I want to keep flying. Higher, and higher still, until I can’t see the earth at my feet anymore.” He didn’t realize he started waxing poetic, but he remembered that wish well from when he was a little young soul: a great yearning to stand above any and every trouble on the earth, and equally untethered to the forces of gravity – freedom unlike anything he’s ever known. “That’s... just how it always felt like to me, I guess.”

「 Yet you ground yourself. Fear has locked you within a gilded cage, all while the clouds above call for you to ascend to their heights. 」

“Is that right?”

「 Of course. I am the wind at your back, the air in your lungs, and the sword by your side. I know when fear takes hold of you, even should you attempt to deny it. 」

“...it’s not like I’m afraid of death or anything. Kinda grown numb to that sort of thing after this many years on the job and all,” Kōtarō opined, feeling that a shinigami in his position would not last long in their duties if they weren’t used to putting their life on the line. Ranmaru hummed in affirmation in turn, wishing to hear his wielder speak his mind more. Anxiously, the man rested his hand on the back of his weary neck as he went on. “It’s just... back then, with the Quincy...?”

For a moment, he fell quiet.

“...they fucking steamrolled us. Slain us by the thousands. Hardly took them any effort, at that.”

As for the words he did not say aloud, though his zanpakutō understood as though they were spoken? None of us should have survived the war, least of all me. We got off lucky.

However, it was more than just fear. More than just helplessness. Hopelessness. Despair. Desperation.

「 ...so what do you intend to do, the next time your world threatens to fall around you? 」

There was one more feeling that took root in his soul, though buried within the chaos of the last day.

Memories of his own last stand proved... hazy, given he would only remember waking up in the 4th Division barracks after the dust settled at last. But, Kōta did remember the Seireitei, though ruined, returning in front of his eyes after days spent skulking, fleeing, hiding, and fighting within the city of shadows.

Then lights fell from the heavens, by the dozens, and from their descent rose those... things.

「 The next time providence itself chooses to become your enemy? 」

Squawking, shrieking, swearing vengeance in the name of their perfect, almighty god-king. Threatening to raze the one relief he found in his home materializing before him to ashes, after he thought it truly lost forever. After he finally had a moment to breathe—let alone recollect himself—when he reunited with those who still remained from the 13th. After they already took Captain Ukitake from them.

It was coming back to him, albeit in pieces, that those bird-beasts were so. Fucking. LOUD. Like a sickening cacophony of dissonant trumpets gleefully tearing into whatever peace of mind he still held on to, blaring into his ears lest he turned deaf.

The spark of hope he felt that that some of the normalcy he loved could return at all, only for someone to dare rip it away from him again, ignited something else.

「 The next time someone dares to stand in the way of your peace? 」

WRATH.

He stopped caring about power gaps.

He stopped compromising on what best approach there was to take.

He stopped worrying about whether he and his own would live to see tomorrow.

All he wanted was to see those Quincy bird things dead. Rally whoever among his men could still fight, and order the remaining ones to safety.

So, he brandished Hai’iro Ranmaru.

He saw Kira Izuru, a man who inexplicably stood while half his own torso was missing, going in as the vanguard against those lording, sanctimonious monstrosities.

Thus, Kōta summoned his cavalry.

Charged like a roaring typhoon, with a great fury he had not shown again since.

Fought until he could stand no longer, having slain one beast after the next with only red in his eyes.

The wrath he felt in those memories of the past simmered under his own skin in the present.

「 The Ryōhei Kōtarō I saw that last day, who did not let such fears hold him down... 」

Kōtarō was not alone in the cabin anymore. Not there one moment, there the next he blinked. It was enough to jolt life back into the shinigami, but he showed no fear before the intruder, for there stood the one same hermit he saw countless times within his inner world, now far and away—or a mere five steps away?—from the cloud sea it inhabited.

The same priestly kimono, with the same yuigesa. The same hauchiwa fan at his hip, with black feathers from the same black wings folded at its back.

Although, it was not the familiar face of a wise old bird Kōtarō would see. No, that mask fell away when Hai’iro Ranmaru made himself corporeal.

“...would break free from his cage, by tempering that same rage worthy of my power.”

Even his voice had changed with his younger, more human-like appearance, sounding smoother than Kōtarō had ever recalled hearing, almost melodious in his chiding. Next to one another, one could swear they looked like twins. The swordsman himself would have realized it as well, had he not sat there on the floor of his childhood home, looking shellshocked.

It did not immediately sink in that, at long last, his zanpakutō spirit materialized before him.

“If you can confirm to me you are worthy?”

It did not yet click that, indeed, he proved to possess the aptitude for Bankai after all.

“If you can show me you can rise above that fear?”

It did not come to mind that his years of training have finally, against all the odds, paid off.

“If you can prove that by besting the hells of yesteryear once again?”

No, above all else...

“Then I will gladly bend the knee to you...”

...what really stood out to the soul reaper was...

“...so that, as my master, you may soar to-”

“What the fu—YOU WERE YOUNG THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

“THAT IS WHAT YOU CHOOSE TO FOCUS ON?!”

#{ a badge of honour ☁ verse ☁ }#{ cut for length }#{ listen to the rhythm of the falling rain ☁ playlist ☁ }#{ ooc: I think after a year+ back on here it's okay to start moving one of his own personal plot points along- }#{ and after three days on this that's... 2250 words lmfao- }#{ the back and forth dialog was fun to write though-! }#{ honestly I felt super inspired by Ducky's drabbles so I couldn't help myself- =u=;a }

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spacejew · 5 years

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oops accidental personal post I guess

It's weird that I almost feel the need to go here to personal blog again because of a handful of irl friends following what was supposed to be a private personal Twitter in theory, just for like, idk, internet strangers and friends I made online not those imported from meatspace. Also those character limits... Suffocating.

Anyways yeah things are kinda stable but dissapointing lifewise? I'm definitely in a rut and stuck somewhere I'm desperately trying to get out of. Also like. idk. Gender shit. I think I really fucked myself over hard when I made the decision a few years back to conviously bottle up all my dysphoria and trans feelings and bury them and repress them hard and just live as a very gay and feminine bi boy and like. hm. I think I've been happy since? But im thinking now that maybe. Because that's still a part of my psyche that haunts me every day. I might actually have been mildly depressed this whole time and like, still struggling to make important life decisions because of the anxiety of that. Idk. Maybe if I got a therapist and realistic attention to that all those years ago and it turned out to be very real n legit and i got to make tough choices and live my truth, I would be equipped now to actually be joyful and able to fully focus on hard work and taking risks and putting myself out there and being successful and shit. Idk idk idk. I just have to wonder if all this time I've actually been quite unhappy and filling the void with dumb shit and a good deal of dissociation and complacency. Idk. what I'm saying is maybe I made a big mistake there lmao and could've started transitioning, if that's right for me, 4-7 years ago maybe, who knows. Haha so fun. Fuck me. Big Regrets, lads. But also I still don't know if that's right. Which probs means it is who am I kidding. Oof. But it's ok life is a journey I'm full of wise shit and I know it's not the end of the world. It just kinda. Makes me so sad on behalf of the old me who would cry so much because of dysphoria and living in this body in this life. She knew. I don't know why I buried her alive like that. Anyways.

I spent all year struggling to make an animated short (which ended up being kinda long tbh like 10 minutes?) by myself mostly, just me and my mental blocks and executive dysfunction and shit, but I was v passionate about it and worked hard and got to actually bring a whole vision to life, with basically nobody to tell me what to do, just give me feedback that I wasn't obligated to follow. It came out pretty nice and I'm very happy that I got to tell exactly the story I wanted and try a cool new look and I just wish I gave myself more time to work on the actual animation part but I put my heart and endless weeks and months of refinement into the storyboarding and script and every little detail and I really feel accomplished and like it paid off -- and I even got to do a private screening at my summer camp job that I was called in to do one more time at the last minute right when I finished my film, it was a miracle and so perfect, everyone cried and truly loved it and felt touched by it. And then I went to animation festivals! And all this cool shit! But... I haven't been able to figure out a public screening thing yet. And I feel like all my excitement is gone now. And I really wanted to polish the look and some backgrounds a little, just some very quick rerendering and comp, but. I feel like too much time has passed, i just feel dissapointed. I haven't put it online yet cause I haven't done my public screening, cause of my stupid anxiety about little details and overall idk imposter syndrome I guwss I feel more ashamed of it than proud of it even tho it's probably good, and like I feel that everyone was excited to support me but probably nobody cares anymore.

Basically I had all the wind taken out of my sails. Oh and right when I was trying to get it off the ground I guess and push through, my grandma died. I'm so heartbroken I loved her so fucking much and. She never got to see the film cause of my stupid bullshit. I feel so bad about that. So so bad. Ugh. And it's a film very very hilariously blatantly directly based on me and my feelings and my real family history, ultimately besides other main themes it's about talking to your grandparents and family about the past and your current feelings. And in it the main character, a girl, cough cough even though it's basically me, cough cough go figure, gender shit, anyways the climax is her going back in time to talk to her great grandma, and it's very emotional and my best friend of like almost 10 years now composed and recording a music for that scene for me. And now when I eventually screen this, my entire family and also myself is gonna get torn to shreds by this scene more than intended because my own fucking grandma, who I was excited to show this film to more than anyone on earth, passed so unexpectedly without seeing it. Fuck. Why didn't I send it to her when she was in the hospital? Obviously cause if I did that that would make it real and she wouldn't get better and all I do is live in denial. Ugh. Anyways yeah. The point is I'm stagnant and in a rut right now and just want to move forward and focus on making new work and just get a real career relevant job already. Tough year hit a well needed high and now petering off back into misery. Not to be dramatic. I'm ok tbh I have a part time I'm slowly getting sick of and a loving supportive partner and some very good friends, tho not as many as I used to see regularly and that's kinda sad too. That's your 20s babey.

I just need to move on and make big changes. My pattern rn is like. Work fri-sun, if I'm lucky I get to hang out with friends or lovers, usually at least with my partner. on monday I recover from working. on tuesday I have dnd and usually get some stuff done but honestly just catch up on warframe with my clan friends. wednesday my partner and I got to the park and library for half the day and eat and draw and talk. on thursday I mentally prepare for work again and usually we go out to play another roleplaying game with her roommates friends. a lot of that free time that's been left unmentioned is spent being over at bae's sometimes so I don't have the ability to get much work done. Lately I've spent most of my time planning a dnd campaign which is fun but also too stressful on account of obviously I'm not playing it yet so like what's the point, sorry friends who have patiently waited for months for me to be ready to start the game for them. And also like. Yeah idk. just sad and confused and resting my weary heart and body after a very rough month after my grandma passed. But! I did accomplish a very crazy deep cleaning of my room. I threw out 14 bags of shit at the least. I wish I weighed it all, it was a lot. I feel so much more organized and cleansed from that. For the record I didn't have any trash in my room, nor was it every a mess. Just every single cabinet and drawer was crammed full of stuff and I guess I hoarded a lot of shit. I was able to throw away a lot of things I held on to be cause of sentimentality and I'm proud of myself for growing that way. So like. Idk. It's not all bad, baby steps. I still feel like I'm constantly improving as a person! I'm positive, optimistic. Just tired, anxious, and feel bad.

Also I finally got a new phone and because of my hubris I dropped it without a case and it shattered only two weeks in. The day I was gonna buy a case. But it's ok. Story of my life I guess. I can't keep everything pristine and polished forever, one day shit falls and breaks but it's still usable. It has character.

I wasn't expecting to dump everything like this, sorry yall. Thanks for reading I guess. Also I forgot how to do a read more on mobile lol sorry

#personal #capn whitey #tw death #i guess

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megsblackfirewrites · 7 years

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The Family That Spies Together, Stays Together. Or Something to that Effect: Chapter 7

Chapter 7

“Jesse, hat’s off-centre,” Gabriel grumbled.

Jesse tried to wave his hands away, but he relented as Gabriel fixed the hat on his head. He knew his kid would resent it, but he was going to act like the doting father of three kids going on a much needed family vacation. Sombra and Lena were giggling, their glasses and huge sunhats keeping most of their features hidden from sight.

“There; like looking after a four-year-old,” Gabriel teased.

“Bite me,” Jesse huffed.

They headed for the terminal, scanning the busy airport for any sign of Overwatch or Talon operatives. So far, there had been none, but they were ready for anything. They made it through security and into the waiting area without incident. Someone tried to flirt with Sombra, but she just flipped them off until they walked away.

“Bitch,” the man snapped before he stormed off.

“Only to you, asshole,” she called after him. “Fucking jackass.”

“Lowlife,” Jesse agreed.

Gabriel patted Sombra’s knee as he leaned back in his seat. He pretended to rest, but he was scoping out the lounge from under his eyelids. Jack was sleeping, the soft sound of his breathing tickling his brain.

“Hey, Papa?” Lena leaned on him. “You okay?”

“Fine,” Gabriel replied. “Just resting.”

“Oh, sorry,” she apologized before she pulled away. “Looked like you were uncomfortable.”

He chuckled and got to his feet as their plane was called for boarding. The plane ride was uneventful, save for Jesse almost getting into a fight with the flight attendant that was trying to get someone’s service dog to be moved to cargo. They landed in L.A without a problem and boarded their next flight out to Tokyo.

He was still trying to figure out how Sombra managed to convince the Shimada clan to give them temporary sanctuary. He was grateful for it, but cautious. The Shimadas were dangerous. It would be unwise to trust them fully without good reason. Jack seemed perfectly fine with the idea, even excited about going to Hanamura. Maybe he’d had dealings with the clan while Gabriel was with Talon?

The long flight across the Pacific was just as uneventful, save for some turbulence that had Gabriel gripping the armrest. He wasn’t sure if it had been his fear or Jack’s, but it had been painful to live through. He’d almost thrown up and had only resist the urge through some incredibly focused breathing exercises. Tokyo was bustling when they arrived, but it was easy to spot the men that were to escort them to the Shimadas’ estate in the village not far from Tokyo.

Gabriel slept the drive there, trusting his kids to keep an eye on the drivers and escort. When he woke, they were in an underground parking garage.

“Reyes-sama?” one of the escorts asked, holding out a hand. “Follow me.”

Gabriel climbed out of the car and wasn’t surprised to find a gun against his head. He inclined his head to the escorts as he was nudged forward. He heard Lena whimper behind him and Jack growled angrily. Sombra was grumbling and Jesse was huffing about ‘welcoming committees’.

They were led up to a room and forced to sit down. Jack was growling furiously inside of him, but Gabriel kept perfectly still. Lena squirmed in her seat, glancing nervously at the guards.

“Reyes,” a voice called before a regal man swept into the room. “I see you arrived safely.”

“I did,” Gabriel replied. “Shimada Sojiro, I presume?”

“You are correct,” Sojiro inclined his head. “I would like to know what international spies with ties to two very dangerous organizations are doing seeking out a yakuza lord for protection.”

“Long story,” Gabriel replied.

“I have time to listen as you will not be going anywhere until I am satisfied with your answer,” the man narrowed his eyes.

“You’re being a dick, Daiki; stop it,” Jack snapped.

Gabriel stiffened in alarm and Sojiro straightened. He could feel all three kids staring at him in horror. He had never wanted to slap someone so hard in his life. What was Jack doing?! He was going to get them all killed! You do not insult the crime lord, Jack!

“What did you call me?” Sojiro demanded.

“Daiki,” Jack growled as he got to his feet. “The name you gave my father. The name you gave me when we came to visit.”

“I have never met you before, Reyes,” Sojiro growled.

“Dad, calm down; you’re just going to freak everyone out,” Sombra hissed.

“For fuck sakes, this is so God damn annoying,” Jack snarled before he spat something out in Japanese.

Sojiro’s eyes widened before he walked forward. “Jackie?” he whispered as he gently cupped Gabriel’s face. “My little Jackie…. How…?”

“Long story, Oto-san,” Jack replied. “One I’d rather tell in private.”

“Of course, Jack,” Sojiro smiled.

He shouted something to his guards and they immediately backed away. Sojiro waved for them to follow him and headed back through the door he had entered. Gabriel kept pace, but he was confused. Jack had never met someone like him before…had he?

Sojiro showed them into a sitting room before he hugged Gabriel closely. “Jack, tell me what happened,” he said. “Tell me how you ended up sharing a body with Reyes.”

“The accident that killed Mom and Dad…it left me in pieces,” Jack sighed as he sat down, motioning for the other to do the same. “I was barely holding onto life when Overwatch came for me. They promised me a way to make sure no other little boy was ever orphaned like I was. I…jumped on the opportunity. I couldn’t see myself in any other state than what I had before.”

“Oh, Jack,” Sojiro cupped Gabriel’s cheek. “I’m so sorry, my kestrel.”

Jack smiled and leaned into the hand. “What could you have done for me, Oto? I was eighteen; fully capable of making decisions for myself. Besides, they likely would have told you I was dead. I’m…I’m sorry you had to bury Mom and Dad by yourself.”

“I am glad that I did not have to bury you as well, even if I didn’t hear from you for years,” Sojiro snorted. “You were well?”

“No,” Jack shook his head. “I wasn’t. I was put through a…program. It changed me. I…well, let’s just say that I could easily out-distance my brothers now no matter what race we did. It’s where I met Gabriel,” he rested a hand over Gabriel’s heart and smiled. “He was my stone in that program. We would have perished if it wasn’t for the other. We were partners for a long time, more than just professional ones, and…well, details. Anyways, we figured out that Overwatch was corrupted, but Gabriel had the bright idea to run off to Talon and take our kids with him.”

“Kids?” Sojiro sat up straight. “I have grandbabies?!”

“Sort of,” Jack laughed as he waved at the three kids waiting on the couch. “They’re adopted, Oto. Jesse McCree, Sombra, and Lena Oxton. My kids.”

Sojiro looked at them and smiled. “I see,” he said. “I look forward to getting to know you better. Please, Jack, continue.”

“So, in order to keep me in line, they put a killswitch at the base of my skull. We didn’t know it was there until a few days ago. Gabriel gained the ability to rip himself apart at the cellular level and then put himself back together from the program. So, when we learned of my unfortunate circumstances, we decided to see if he could do the same to me. He managed, but rather than putting my body back together when he solidified, we fused.”

“A fascinating work of science,” Sojiro murmured. “I must thank you, Gabriel, for saving Jack’s life. I do not think I could have handled learning of his death after I only recently recovered from the loss of John and Sarah Morrison.”

Gabriel nodded his head before he reached up to rub it. “So, care to tell me what the hell he said to you that made you not want to shoot him on the spot?” he asked.

Sojiro smiled. “He told me that I should show some respect to the son of the man that saved my life with his love,” he chuckled. “Jack was always a poet.”

“That’s not what I’d call it,” Jesse laughed.

Sojiro waved at him before he got to his feet. “Come; I’ll help you get settled in. The boys will want to see you, Jack,” he said.

“And…Sayaka?” Jack asked softly.

“She will be home soon; she goes up to the onsen in Tokyo a few times a month now,” he smiled. “It helps with her lungs.”

“Oh thank Christ,” Jack laughed, tears leaking down their face. “I was scared….”

“I know, Jack, I know,” Sojiro soothed.

He gently wiped Jack’s tears away before motioning for them to follow him again. Gabriel wanted nothing more than to sink down onto a bed and sleep for a week. He felt safe all of a sudden. Like nothing could touch him in these halls.

“Jack!” Genji shouted as he charged forward. “Oto said you’re here and…WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?!”

Hanzo stiffened as his brother threw himself away from the giant of a man that walked into the dojo. His hand tightened on the staff he was holding, ready to beat the man senseless for daring to enter their home without permission. But something about the man’s stance was familiar.

“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t kick your ass back to the street!” Genji shouted, brandishing his staff at the man.

“Genji, shut up,” the man snorted and dropped down onto the floor of the dojo, stretching his arms up over his head with a groan. “You’re just making yourself look like a dipshit.”

Genji and Hanzo stared at the man before Genji let out a squeal and pounced on him. “Onii-chan!”

“Hey, you beanstalk,” Jack laughed as he hugged Genji close. “You’re a lot bigger than I remember.”

“Jack…you do not look the same,” Hanzo said as he shifted closer carefully.

“Long story,” Jack smiled at him.

That was definitely Jack’s smile on that stranger’s face. Everything else was wrong, but it was definitely Jack. Hanzo smiled and dropped down beside his brother, pressing himself into his side. Jack explained how he wound up sharing the body of his lover and Genji cackled the whole time.

“So you’re soul deep inside of him!” Genji cackled. “Ooh, you kinky shit.”

“Shut up,” Jack rolled his eyes as he pinned Genji to the floor. “No comments from the peanut gallery.”

“I’m glad you’re safe,” Hanzo smiled. “Even if you do look like something out of a Latin American beauty magazine.”

Jack blinked and shot him a look. “Please don’t stroke his ego any more than it already is,” he grumbled as he rubbed at his beard. “I…haven’t seen the dragons.”

“They’re around,” Hanzo chuckled. “They’re probably just as weary of the newcomers as we were.”

“Maybe,” Jack sighed and rubbed at his face. “I miss them. I could really do with some….”

“PA!” someone shrieked as they came rushing into the dojo with a red dragon snarling after him. “PA! MAKE IT STOP!”

Jack scrambled to his feet and whistled, throwing his arm out. “Mars! No! Stop!” he shouted.

Mars stopped in midair and spun around, staring at Jack in disbelief. He snarled, his cat-like muzzle pulling back to show his teeth. Jack held his hands up and turned his palms towards Mars. He let out a sharp whistle and turned his head slowly to the side.

Mars’ black-tipped tail dusted the ground for a moment before he came streaking across the dojo. He wound around Jack’s body, whimpering and chirping as he snuggled like a cat that hadn’t seen its owner for years. Jack held the dragon close, stroking over the soft black fur that ran down Mars’ spine.

“Ssh, Mars, I’m here,” he soothed. “I’m here, my darling. Ssh.”

“Uh, Pa, wanna explain why that…furry snake was trying to kill me?!” the man demanded as he stood shaking against the wall.

“Jesse, this is Mars,” Jack said. “He is my guardian.”

#Gabriel Reyes #Jack Morrison #Jesse McCree #Lena Oxton #Sombra #Daiki Shimada #Spy AU #reaper76 #body sharing

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wehaveabullyingproblem · 6 years

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DIVISIVENESS AND SELF-DESTRUCTION IN THE WOMEN'S MOVEMENT

DIVISIVENESS AND SELF-DESTRUCTION IN THE WOMEN'S MOVEMENT by Anselma dell'Olio

(Read at the May 1970 meeting of the Congress to Unite Women, New York; published in the Chicago Women's Liberation Union Newsletter, July 1970)

I have come to announce my swan-song to the women's movement. I am returning to the hordes of women living out their lives in quiet desperation. And I go with the sorrow and in the depths of despair known only to those who fall defeated just as they think that victory is in sight. I can think of no greater cruelty. Disappointment is far too mild a word. I have been destroyed. Defeated by myself perhaps, with a big push from my sisters in the struggle. I have decided to speak to you, instead of leaving quietly, in the hopes of preventing others from being destroyed and defeated as I have been. I learned 3½ years ago that women had always been divided against one another, were self-destructive and filled with impotent rage. I thought the movement would change all that. I never dreamed that I would see the day when this rage, masquerading as pseudo-egalitarian radicalism under the "pro-woman" banner, would turn into frighteningly vicious anti-intellectual fascism of the left, and used within the movement to strike down sisters singled out for punishment with all the subtlety and justice of a kangaroo court of the Ku Klux Klan. I am referring, of course, to the personal attacks, both overt and insidious, to which women in the movement, who have painfully managed any degree of achievement, have been subjected.

These attacks take different forms. The most common and pervasive is character assassination; the attempt to undermine and destroy belief in the integrity of the individual under attack. Needless to say this generally takes place behind the woman’s back. Another form is the "purge". This is also done by devious methods and usually takes the form of phone calls to the woman's friends or group-members, sometimes followed by a meeting carefully convocated without the knowledge of the woman to be purged. In other words, the ultimate tactic is to isolate her. If she has a close friend in the group, that friend is told the group finds their relationship destructive. The power of suggestion and collective attack is used to elicit grievances or problems that are likely to exist in any relationship. These are then played upon and the friend is co-opted if that is at all possible… and this is made attractive as she is offered to be taken to the bosom of a whole new set of "friends" who will applaud her courage and second her decision should she show signs of faltering. If the friend persists in her loyalty and insists that the only honest thing to do is to confront the woman personally, the deed is exposed -- but the damage is done. The rape of the ego is accomplished in any case. Before we got it from men, now we’re getting it from our sisters -- and often from those who espouse the pro-woman line the most strongly. Those whose surface personalities are the least "forceful", the most "feminine" or "womanly" -- and who do they attack? Generally two categories -- some women are unlucky to fall into both -- achievement or accomplishment of any kind would seem to be the worst crime. Write a book, publish an article, appear on TV, be interviewed in the newspapers, start a theater group dedicated to feminist principles, make a film, be asked to give a lecture and do it well so that you're asked back again or referred to other places. Do anything, in short, that every other woman secretly or otherwise feels she could do just as well -- and baby, watch out, because you're in for it. If then, God forbid, you should also have the qualities of the second category open to attack, buy yourself a suit of armour, or head for the Himalayas; that is, you are assertive, have what is generally described as a "forceful personality", if you "come on strong" even if you're talking about potato chips… if, in short, you do not fit the conventional stereotype of a "feminine" woman -- if you are a bitch -- forget it baby, it's all over, unless you have the patience of Penelope, the shell of an armadillo and the perennial optimism of Voltaire's "Candide" -- in which case what the hell do you need the women's movement for anyway?

If you are in the first category (an achiever) you are immediately labelled a thrill-seeking opportunist, a ruthless mercenary, out to make her fame and fortune over the dead bodies of selfless sisters who have buried their abilities and sacrificed their ambitions for the greater glory of Feminism. Productivity seems to be the major crime -- but if you have the misfortune of being outspoken and articulate, you are also accused of being power-mad, elitist, fascist, and finally the worst epithet of all: A MALE IDENTIFIER, AAARRGGG!!

The interesting thing about these attacks is that they are seldom if ever, logical, consistent, or in good faith. Whether the attack takes the form of back-biting invective, or even more insidiously a "straight-from-the-shoulder" "We're telling you this for you own good" or "everybody agrees with us" or a last ditch "my politics are superior and you're a decadent sell-out" and "you'll be ostracized if you don’t go along," it (the attack) is invariably couched in the best New Left-cum-Women's Lib rhetoric.

To emerge unscathed from this kind of assault is impossible. The effects I have observed, to name just a few, are 1) gradual or immediate decrease in productivity; 2) an upsurge in self-doubt; 3) depletion of whatever ego-strength had been salvaged from our pasts or recovered during the early stages of the movement; 4) an increase in impotence and passivity coupled with a rampant paranoia (completely justified); 5) a severe dropping off of self-confidence and faith in one's ability; 6) a detailed and obsessive self-examination for real or imagined sins which is completely useless since the mind-fucking has destroyed objectivity.

I do not feel that I have stated the case too strongly. However, my intention was not just to bring this festering sore into the open, but to suggest some concrete guidelines to correct the situation, before we lose or destroy some of the best minds this movement is ever likely to have.

1) Beware of criticizing achievements by others in the movement. Examine your conscience; are you sure you are not being motivated by jealousy or envy?

2) It is natural for a woman to feel creatively "blocked". Perhaps hose who have broken through the "block" can help you. That's what this movement is all about.

3) Fear of competition is nothing to be ashamed of if you can admit it and confront it and not allow it to cloud your opinions of another's accomplishments.

4) Watch your motives when you are telling another woman "what's good for her" or when you are criticizing other peoples' relationships. (i.e. "I think your friendship with X is destructive.")

5) Be cautious about using movement rhetoric to justify personality conflicts or personal grievances.

6) Don't fall into the trap of confusing leadership qualities with a desire to "be a leader". In the same vein, don't confuse achievement or productivity with a desire to be a leader.

7) As long as we have rejected the masculine definition of "feminine behavior" let's not fall into the trap of feeling antagonism towards women with forceful or assertive personalities.

8) Remember there are all kinds of ways to manipulate. Manipulation can be exerted just as much by a docile, sweet-natured person as it can be by a forceful person -- and it's a good deal less obvious, therefore more potentially dangerous.

9) Women with aggressive / assertive personalities have been getting flack all their lives for not being "lady-like" or feminine enough. They didn't join the movement to get the same shit from their sisters just because the words have changed from "unlady-like" to "male-identifier".

10) A desire for power is no more an automatic consequence of a forceful personality than it is of a non-forceful one.

11) "STRONG" women do not necessarily want power. "WEAK" women do not necessarily NOT want power.

12) Participants in consciousness-raising sessions should learn to deal with personal animosities towards members of the group openly and honestly and explicitly during the session itself, WHILE THE MEMBER UNDER DISCUSSION IS PRESENT.

a) The discussion should be motivated by a genuine desire for mutual enlightenment rather than a subterranean desire for a personal attack.

b) The discussion should foster group unity and a better understanding of how women perpetuate their own oppression on each other and thus remain divided, just as men have divided us all along.

c) The group should keep in mind the destructive potential of such a discussion, especially if critiques of personalities come into play.

d) If the discussion at any time shows signs of being or becoming a personal attack, it is the responsibility of each woman to intercede immediately, and draw attention to this fact.

e) No matter what happens, we should always have the assurance of mutual support. If differences cannot be resolved, discuss the possibility of splitting into different groups openly before doing so, with all members of the original group present.

One last plea: If we women are ever to pull ourselves out of the morass of self-pity, self-destruction and impotence which has been our heritage for as long as we can remember, then it is perhaps even more important that we be as supportive of each other's achievements and successes and strengths, than it is for us to be compassionate and understanding of each other's failures and weaknesses.

#bullying #social aggression #feminism #social justice #relevant to tumblr's interests

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