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utterlyinevitable · 4 years

Text

Do We Have A Future?: August

Part 1 | Part 2: November | Part 3: January | Part 4: April

Paring: Dr. Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Dr. Rebecca Lao) Word Count: 2.3k Warning: Adult themes, mental health triggers, themes of depression, pregnancy complications and termination Summary: Rebecca told Ethan and now they have to live with the aftermath of their decision.

Author’s Note: Sensitive subject matter means I really suggest only reading if you are 18+ years old... I can’t believe it’s over. This story is deeply personal and I never imagined it to be this long - I wrote the first part on a whim. Thank you for reading and encouraging and inspiring me to get my feelings out under the cloak of Becca and Ethan’s love. This has been so cathartic. Thank you. Thank you thank you thank you 💗

Taglist: @ohchoices @dulceghernandez @aylamwrites @binny1985 @ramseysno1rookie @interobanginyourmom @queencarb @imactuallytheceoofthecompany @rookiefromedenbrook @eramsey28 @choicesficwriterscreations @heauxplesslydevoted @schnitzelbutterfingers @purpledragonturtles @ramseyandrys @ermidc @mrsdrakewalkerblog

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She finally stopped crying at the memory of the incident and at any infants she’d come in contact with throughout her daily life. It had taken nearly a year for Rebecca Lao to get to this point.

But how long are you really meant to grieve for the child you never had?

As her boyfriend Ethan was wary of her every single day, just waiting for the moment that her hard coated exterior crumbled right down in front of him. Some days he noticed how her tear ducts began to swell and her back stiffened whenever they were faced with an unhappy diagnosis.

As her boss, Ethan eventually let her work on a preeclampsia case with baited breath, watching her like a hawk every step of the way. Every time she’d visit the patient’s room he wouldn’t be more than five steps behind. Whenever she’d assess the lab results, he’d be right there with her ready to break her fall. And when she left the mother’s side Ethan kept in time with Becca, his hand caressing the small of her back as they moved through the motions and onto another case.

She handed the whole thing better than he could have ever anticipated. Becca didn’t need him at all, not anymore - but she’s damn thankful for the support, however overbearing. In the end, the mother and premature daughter lived happily ever after. Even with all of her self-mending practices, the sight of the infant still stung deep down in Becca’s core. Ethan didn’t notice as he held her hand outside the NICU, her curated mask keeping her emotions at bay. Although she fortified the walls around her heart strong enough to carry out her daily life, still not a day goes by that Becca doesn’t think about what could have been.

It’d be different if we weren’t together and planning a future. If we broke up maybe it’d hurt less?

Planning a forever seemed futile when they’d thrown a family away not so long ago. Coming from a broken home, the little doe eyed and innocent girl in the back of Becca’s mind desperately wanted a functional, loving family. A family that put their collective happiness first and nobody ran away. The silver lining to the termination meant they had the option to try again. Properly, when time aligned. When would that be? Would it ever happen? We haven’t had sex since...

Months ago, Ethan finally stopped asking her if she was okay and if she wanted to speak to someone about the experience. As always Becca dutifully declined - the fantasy world she built in her head was all the solace and consoling she needed.

When the two of them are cuddled on the couch watching a film the phantom daughter of her mind’s eye would emerge. Becca would welcome her beloved mirage by nestling it right across her unchanged chest, coddled safely between her arms and protected from the world around them.

In the silent and lazy Sunday mornings her phantom would be cuddled close to her heart as Ethan sleepily spooned the love of his life, blissfully unaware of the dream playing out before him on her side of the bed. Happily, Becca would be caressing the thick and curly hair that mirrored her own off of her daughter’s rounded face and giving soothing rubs along her back. Letting herself trail little bits of love over the soft and unweathered skin of her child. A hollow smile forms as the illusion plays out in front of her under the blanket of dusk. But once the strong daylight of reality peered in through their large windows, the tableau vanished. These little moments kept Becca grounded in the present. She needed a happily ever ending.

As the weeks passed by and the delusion began to solidify into a distant memory, Becca finally had some gusto in her. She didn’t need to hide anymore. Ethan and her were able to joke and chide and taunt each other in the best of ways - just like old times. They were finally opening back up to one another. They let themselves be unashamedly intimate once again.

The hurricane between them had seemingly passed, the damage was done and swept away at a political pace. There were still some cracks in the roads, but they’d weather them together.

Becca was making blueberry pancakes one Sunday morning. Ethan sat at the kitchen island with his expert cup of coffee, struggling to breath through his laughter. Becca had just told him the worst joke - so bad that not even the corners of his lips perked up in pity. When she tried to explain why it was funny and Ethan still wasn’t understanding, her face scrunched up with a loud Humph and a stamp of her foot. Her little outburst caused her to slip on a few now-crushed blueberries, tossing what was left of the batter into the air.

Ethan couldn’t contain himself. The cracks and wrinkles from years worth of living came alight with his bellowing laughter. His ocean eyes shut tightly as he gripped at the center of his bare chest. Once his diaphragm settled he rose to find his girlfriend now laying spread out on the wooden floor in defeat; Becca’s hair spewn over her grumpy face, her hands still holding onto the bowl and spatula but the contents were artistically gracing the lower cabinets and surrounding area.

He grabbed a kitchen towel from the front of the oven and began to clean up the rogue splatters of batter, utterly bemused.

The situation caught up with her and Becca chuckled as she discarded the equipment and made a faux snow angel on the floor, letting the lighthearted breath of fresh air take control - it was a stark contrast from the uncertainty and hopelessness that surrounded their every waking moment the last few months.

“I hope our kids have my sense of humor,” she lamented during her motions.

Ethan gasped loudly feigning hurt, “What’s wrong with mine?”

Becca lifted her head slightly to observe him. His blue eyes shining bright with amusement meeting her matching light brown.

“It’s terrible! You’re such a grump!” she exclaimed, mentally noting all the times she told him a pop culture reference he didn’t understand just like moments ago. Becca placed her head back on the cool wood and said, “Your dad jokes have improved though.”

Ethan playfully rolled his eyes. I missed this.

He stood and bounded over to her with that silly smirk still plastered on his face. “I hope they have my good looks and intelligence,” He told her, offering his hands to help her to her feet. “They can have your…” he paused for dramatic effect, looking her over - taking in the way she still looked so unbelievably stunning even with batter smeared all over her face and hair wildly pointing every which way.

“Chromosome.”

Becca’s jaw dropped at the insult.

Squeezing his hands hard she sassed him right back, “Ethan Jonah, are you saying I have no qualities you’d like reflected in our children?”

His eyes softened as he assessed the magnificent woman before him. He had a lopsided grin as he spoke;

“I’d like them to have your curly hair,” he pushed a few strands behind her ear. Her completely enamored brown eyes fluttered closed as she melted into his touch. “Your little button nose,” he booped her nose. “Definitely your spunk and heart,” he gave a nod in certainty as his finger lingered. “And attitude;” her eyebrow rose encouraging him to continue that thought. In complete honesty he told her, “You are a better person than I.”

It was something he showed her again and again.

He regretted how self serving he used to be at the start of their partnership and felt entirely undeserving of how she continuously was there for him during his darkest of times - with Naveen’s diagnosis, with his mother and father, the near decimation of his life’s work. She never left his side. He was in awe of how, on the job, she did all she could for those around her, every stranger mattered in her eyes. She found the loopholes for their patients he was too stubborn to see - to make a difference, an imprint on all lives she comes in contact with, for the better.

Becca’s heart was always in the right place. She had a courage and impulsive intuition he fiercely admired. In these last months she made the decision to save her own life, and she seemingly held her head high. Ethan knew he could never be that strong - if they had swapped places he couldn’t even fathom what sort of mess would have become of him. Ethan remembered how he wasn’t able to be there for her in the ways she needed during the Mrs. Martinez debacle because of his pride and personal ethics. He never forgave himself for letting all those months of what could have been slip through his fingertips and spent every moment of every day of every week in these last few months making sure she knew how important and special and loved she is. Dr. Ethan Ramsey is hopelessly devoted to Dr. Rebecca Lao. Whatever incidents befall them in the future they will tackle together. They’d be strong together.

They’ve been strong together all this time.

“I am,” she agreed, her eyes darting open to accompany her sly smirk.

The two held one another’s gaze, their shoulders relaxing in unison and letting the bright and carefree morning swaddle them. Their worries all seemingly distant. All that mattered was them, their love and the abandoned pancakes.

The last few months have aged them more than they have realized. The dark circles under Becca’s eyes held a weight she will never be rid of, a lasting reminder of what she’s been through and all she has overcome. She held herself a little higher now - she was done hiding and feeling ashamed. Ethan had a few more worry lines etched into his chiseled features, and next to default indifference of his natural gaze his eyes held clarity at the forefront - as if he had finally solved the mystery of his existence - his morals and personal ethics were damned.

Becca playfully wrinkled her nose as she said, “They’re definitely not having your big head.” She wasn’t sure if it was the idea of giving birth to a large headed baby that sent a chill up her spine or Ethan’s calloused fingertips gingerly tracing its curvature; up and down, up and down.

They both knew they had no control over genetics but he smirked anyway as he cradled his arms tightly around her back, “I’ll do my best to keep that from happening.”

Becca softly touched his cheek, “That’s all I ask. I like my vagina too much as it is.”

He laughed. A genuine, wrinkle-glowing laugh that rivaled the earlier comedic-induced laughter. She moved closer to hold him in a tight hug, listening to the comforting palpitations of Ethan Ramsey’s heart and feeling of the subtle rise and fall of his chest. There was a certain kind of euphoria in feeling the warmth of his back under her manicured palms.

I missed this, she thought, tightening her grip.

The laughter settled and she whispered ever so softly, he wouldn’t have noticed if he wasn’t so entranced by her, “I think... I think I’d want a c-section.” A small part of Becca found solace over the last few months in knowing she made the right decision - childbirth is terrifying and she definitely was not ready for a baby if she can’t even wrap her head around getting it out.

He pulled away just enough to raise an eyebrow at her.

“I don’t think I’d be strong enough,” it came out with a breath of air she was holding in, quiet and earnest. Just as easily she joked, “And not being able to control my bladder for the rest of my life is not appealing in the slightest.”

They laughed it off. It was a jovial statement they knew as truth.

But it didn’t matter anymore. They could speak about these things - they could speak about the future and pregnancy and babies and cravings, genetics, birthing plans and even last rights. They didn’t need to hide anymore. No secret wishes or manifestations suffering in silence, and not wanting to disturb the grieving process of the other. Everything now out in the open to share together. Revel in together. Carry together.

The last year was absolute hell and Becca chastised herself for letting all that time slip past. She could never get that time back. She still was not fully at peace with her lost child but accepting it for what it is - it will always be a part of her.

Through the internal turmoil Ethan and Rebecca grew as a couple and as individuals - they became stronger. They can talk about it and dream their new nuclear dream together. A dream that could quite possibly include a picket fence and a few certificates.

Becca will never forget her phantom child, but hopefully she can lay her to rest. It had taken months of grieving in the dark depths of her mind and now was the time to face the sunshine. It was time to look forward to her career and enjoy having Ethan to herself, the serenity uninterrupted. The ability to continue making impulsive decisions, whims without any regard, and pulling unapologetic all nighters at the hospital whenever they pleased. There’s many things Becca would like to do before they have a family.

Me and you. Just us two… For another two years at least.

They have their entire future ahead of them.

_____________________

A/N: although my story’s a bit different from becca’s, it’s taken almost two years for me to finally be at peace with the fact and mentally move on. no matter your demons, please seek help. whether it be a friend, family or trained professional talking it out helps as i’ve just learned - even if it makes you feel small and stupid. if you need anything please drop me a line - i’m here and will support you, unconditionally.

#open heart #open heart fanfic #choices open heart #choices fanfic #choices oph2 #oph #oph ff #ff #ethan x mc #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #tw: abortion #tw: mental health

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mannatea · 3 years

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Hi. I used to follow your old blog on a different account. Hope you're doing well. Do you have any tips on thinking up stories that are *not* dark and depressing due to subject material? The last story I was working on I had to quit because the backstory I was developing for my passive male character was super depressing. At times I enjoyed researching it, though what won out was the thought I was wasting my time looking into angsty things for something I wasn't even planning to publish. Now I want to write something a little happier. But I have the most experience in writing angst and cringe comedy 😅 thanks for any help you can give. Stay safe out there!

By the way, good on you for dropping that manga you used to follow. I was happy most of the characters lived, but other than that, it felt "meh" to me (granted, I didn't read all the way from the beginning). The author was probably going for a "people will always be fighting each other" theme, but some of the imagery of what happened after a time skip could definitely be taken as pro-fascist. And I was disappointed the protagonist basically said he wanted to bring about destruction! I'm glad I didn't spend any money to read it.

Wow, hi! I’m doing all right, thanks for asking. I hope you’re doing all right, too. :)

As far as “that manga” goes, I’ve kept tabs on it. I’ve been on the fringes for the last two-ish years; I dedicated something like four real life years to that fandom and mostly had a good time while I was there (made some friends I hope to keep for life), so it was one of those situations where I just had to find out how it ended. I realized at some point that I was in a very negative space in the fandom, and felt it was better to publicly drop the series and the blog associated with all of my meta/discussion than to play in what had become a toxic pool for me. I didn’t really want to drop the account after my time there, but I couldn’t have dealt with the nonstop questions/messages/etc that would have piled in over the years, and eh, when you’re done you’re done. I criticize Hallmark television for fun, now, instead. It’s a lot less stressful! And literally nothing is That Deep so there’s very few delusions, at least on the Tumblr side of things. (Reddit, however, is insane, but I don’t post in the fandom there.)

As far as writing advice goes, I am going to apologize in advance for muddled thoughts. I just got out of work and have been staring at numbers all day, so it’s hard for me to think lmaoo.

In my opinion, any sort of character or personality type/flaw/whatever could have developed via a negative OR positive influence/catalyst, so that’s something to consider. I also think people tend to reach for “sad” or “traumatic” pasts either as a way to cope with their own issues/pasts/whatevers, or because it’s the “easy explanation” for why a character is the way they are.

If you WANT to write things a certain way, it’s sometimes a matter of changing the lens through which you’re viewing life, the story, the characters, or character writing in general. This is never easy, especially when you find a genre you feel comfortable in, but it’s always possible. When I was in college and submitted an autobiographical piece (Rot Tooth) for a creative writing final, I received multiple comments from classmates and even the professor that my talent/skill was in writing comedy. COMEDY!!!! I don’t think anyone who has read my writing from the last decade would say that I was a comedy writer. I stopped labeling ‘fics as humor/romance so long ago I can’t even remember when it was. But boom. I had written a comedy piece.

I don’t think I can ignore that most of the comedic elements in Rot Tooth were brought about because humor is one of the ways in which I cope with things, but it was also a very conscious choice I made. I wanted people to be able to engage with the story without being grossed out, without getting bored, without feeling that it was a poor-pathetic-me story, and humor was the classiest way to do it. Here, read this long story that includes journal entries from Ye Olde Livejournal days, but it will make you laugh often enough that the depressing aspects of the story don’t weigh it down too much! It was probably the only way to make the subject matter widely palatable.

As often as I joke about characters or scenes or moments that “just write themselves” the author does have control. I mostly write fanfiction, so let’s go with examples from that.

I’m (very slowly) working on a ‘fic called Three Years which features a character who, when last seen, was headed off to serve a prison sentence. They haven’t been on the show for three years and thus I assume they have been serving that sentence for the last three years. The story starts when this character is released from prison. They are a woman. This is a historical piece of fiction. Prisons were vile to women and yet...this is fiction. I have a choice. I get to choose. Does she get to start her life off carrying 25 bags of trauma or just 2? It would be unreasonable to expect that someone, especially a woman, who was imprisoned for 3 years in the early 1900s wouldn’t have some issues (at the very least, the isolation would have been awful), but it doesn’t really have to be much worse than that. It doesn’t.

I have the power to choose.

A character has anger issues. Sure, he could have had a traumatic past with an abusive parent who took his anger out on him or his mom or whatever...or maybe it is an inherited personality trait and the parent figure with the problem was never really That Bad about it, but seeing it normalized makes it harder for the character in question to realize it’s a huge problem and part of their character arc is realizing they need to get help, not because they don’t want to be like their dad, and not because they hate their dad, but because they just want to be a better person/they don’t want to let that struggle consume them.

Someone’s sweetheart goes off to war. Guess what? They don’t have to die there to force a traumatic past. They don’t have to come back a raging alcoholic either. Maybe the time apart, and the time fighting a war just puts a natural sort of crack in the relationship by making it clearer to each character what they want in life/what matters to them in their life.

A character is super passionate about their work/hobby. Maybe they have ADHD and it’s a hyperfixation. Maybe they’re autistic and it’s a Special Interest. It doesn’t have to be “their parents ignored them and forced them to be alone all the time and they used this thing to cope so it means everything to them because it’s always been there.”

Maybe you have a character whose greatest fear is losing the people they love. It doesn’t have to be because a pet died in their arms when they were four and it traumatized them. It doesn’t have to be because they only have one person they love in the whole world. It can just be a thing because that’s a valid fear literally anyone can reasonably have, and maybe it’s a bigger deal because they don’t have siblings or aren’t close to many people! (And the “aren’t close to many people” thing doesn’t have to stem from trauma, either. Most busy adults for example who get to choose their friends, are just like that.)

A perfectionist might just have the personality type; it doesn’t mean their parents criticized everything they ever did. A person with three failed marriages might hesitate to fall in love and try again but it doesn’t have to be because those three failed marriages were abusive. A quiet character may just be shy or introverted by nature.

I think everyone carries some kind of trauma with them, so it’s never unreasonable to have some in a person’s past (you can’t write an ugly character without having to think about the fact that they carry some trauma from what it’s like to grow up ugly), but it doesn’t have to define them. It doesn’t have to overshadow everything else in their past.

You can always ask yourself, “Why am I reaching for angst every time I create a backstory?” Literally everyone has some kind of angst. Most kids were hurt by things said to them in school, for example, or made fun of for some reason. Most people did something extremely embarrassing as a kid and never got over it. There are a thousand little moments in our adult lives that go back to these little points—you might call them the tiny traumas. But they’re not defining. They’re not so heavy they also live in the present. Not all of them.

Why do you reach for the darkest corner? Why not for the light? Or a middle ground?

I encourage people to write basically whatever floats their boat, but it sounds like you’re at a point where you just feel weighed down by that sort of stuff, and that’s not a great way to feel, especially when it discourages you from working on a project entirely.

My final suggestion: look at some of your favorite characters from various types of media. Are they all traumatized? What are their defining characteristics? Black Beauty has some depressing stuff in it, but is ultimately a story with a happy ending. Pride and Prejudice has drama, but nobody’s past is filled with the darkest stuff imaginable. North and South has awful things to consider in it (cotton mills were sooo awful) but the characters are not wildly traumatized people.

What kind of story are you trying to tell? Do the characters need to be traumatized to tell it? Does the story have to be dark to get across the message you want to send?

Way back in the day, when I was into “that manga” I made an RP blog for a one-off character that nobody gave a damn about. Like, he was so one-off that even back in those days nobody even remembered him having existed. It was sort of a joke RP blog that wasn’t supposed to be serious. The only canon information we had about this character was that he enjoyed drinking. I decided to make him a lighthearted character because the series was pretty dark and I wanted to send people hilarious starters instead of wading through the muck of depression with everyone else’s sad, abused characters. I decided his family was old money and he had a brother. Nothing super traumatizing in his past. Some family issues but not the sort of thing that would haunt anyone. He was not traumatized in his recent past any more than other characters were. Mostly just “a regular guy.” I really loved RPing him. He was fun! The story could get heavy but he didn’t have to be.

Anyway, dive head-first into the dark angst if you want, but if it’s not necessary to tell the story you want to tell, just remember you don’t have to go there. You have the choice.

#long post #thoughts about writing #nacrene-archaeologist #answered mail

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ververa · 4 years

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Can I request something really angsty? I don’t mind what Sarah character(s) it is. Also I really LOVE your account and fics. 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

Thank you so so much!!!!

I did my best. Sorry it took me so long and sorry if this is shit. Hope you enjoy it!

@angel-of-me this is my response to your love and admiration. THANK YOU!!! And here is Sally fic for you

Another life

Sally McKenna x reader

Warning: mentions of suicide

Words: 1.471

It was the summer after high school that you first met. It felt like a perfect match. You might have been completely different. You’re rather shy and calm, while Sally was outgoing, totally crazy and unpredictable – but in a positive way. Yet, you just clicked at once.

Why exactly did you fall? You had absolutely no idea. As people say opposites attract – and that’s how it was with you and Sally.

You’re inseparable. Wherever she went – you followed. Every evening you’re in a club together – singing the songs she had written, drinking, dancing and making out in the toilet till early morning.

You used to steal the whisky from the bar and climbed to the roof. You used to talk about the future, as if the two of you had a clue. You didn’t need to vow, you didn’t need to say a single world. She just knew you’d always be her girl. You got matching tattoos. You kept full of promises. It was always the two of you against the world and you had never planned that one day you would be losing her.

She was your beautiful thing and all beautiful things always come with edges and thorns. And with Sally that were drugs. Her addiction stood on the way to your happiness. There was no happy ending. Actually, there was no ending. One day she just disappeared.

You waited – distressing yourself, worrying that something bad may have happened to her. The last weeks of your relationship were pretty rough. You’re arguing for most of the time, but there was no doubt you loved each other.

There was nobody quite like her. No one could ever make you sadder, but at the same time no one else could lift you high above. Only Sally.

She definitely wasn’t a perfect one to start a family with. Your parents never really liked her, but even when she was gone, you couldn’t forget. How could you do that? She was the only person you had ever loved.

You started a career as a singer and left the city. You got married to a man you didn’t love – hoping it would help you to forget. But it didn’t. No money could ever buy you happiness. You lost it with Sally – the one that got away.

You kept on blaming yourself for all that happened. You wished you could get one more chance. Cause in another life you wouldn’t let her go. You would make her stay… In another life you would be her girl.

Sally had never forgotten about you either. In her head she could still see your beautiful face. Though all she had were only memories. There was that one time every year – the summer – when she just couldn’t think of anything else, but you. Then when she got drunk, as usually, she was telling Liz about you.

In her stories you were that girl, who she liked years ago, when she was younger. You’re her sweetheart – the only person who showed her what love was all about.

“Every day we started fighting, but every night we were in love” she kept on saying wiping tears that always managed to escape “I don’t know what I was doing… We just fell apart. And now…” she took another sip on her whisky “I cannot find her. But when I do… we’ll get a brand new start”

Liz were usually only shaking her head and saying that Sally’s crazy and drunk.

But Sally didn’t care any more. She didn’t care if she lose her mind or not, for she already was cursed. Dead. Stuck in that terrible, lifeless place – called hotel Cortez – forever.

She kept on living her memories, because even though it hurt, it was still making her afterlife more bearable. She was in love with a fairytale. The memory of you. The time you had together. The time when you’re sweethearts and when everything was fine.

Her life was deprived of any kind of joy, because nothing and nobody could replace you. She was looking for a soul that would match with hers, but she had already lost hope she would ever find one. She kept on collecting though, because it’s the only entertainment she could afford.

She kept on watching the hotel guest. They’re all so pathetic and boring. She didn’t even want to look at them any more, but was there anything else she could do?

Nobody managed to catch her attention, until that one evening, when everyone got absolutely crazy.

They were cleaning, supplying the bar with alcohol, even brought roses and champagne to the biggest room. And all that for the new guest.

Iris forbade her to interrupt or mess around, so Sally was watching from afar how a group of men carried luggages and boxes of different sizes upstairs. Then she saw two muscular security guards and right after them a woman. She had dark glasses and was dressed all in black. Long coat and a wide-brimmed hat made it unable to see her properly. That made Sally curious.

She wanted to know who the woman was. Why everyone knew her when she walked through the lobby. And then it happened. Sally heard Liz and Iris talking to the stranger.

“Mrs Y/N…”

She didn’t move. For a mere second Sally was sure she must have, indeed, lost her mind. It couldn't be you. That seemed too surreal.

She panicked and before you managed to get close enough to notice her, she disappeared.

Sally was confused. She was afraid that it may be only a delusion, that you weren’t real. Only late at night did she get enough courage to go to your room.

She made sure you’re alone and knowing you’re not able to see her, she just got into the room.

It really was you. Though you looked different. You’re skinnier than before. Your skin was paler. Your hair was shorter and had different colour. She couldn’t help, but noticed dark circles under your eyes. And most importantly your eyes – there was no joy in them. Your smile was goon too.

You seemed to be someone completely different. No wonder, it’d been almost 20 years.

But then she saw you looking at your wrist – where you had tattooed a little heart. Sally watched you carefully as you slid your fingers across the tattoo.

“Oh, sweetheart” you said out loud

Sally was confused at first. Only after a while she realised that, apparently, it was something you were doing – talking to the little heart as if you’re talking to her. She watched as you stood up and took a glass to pour yourself whisky.

“If you had only known…” you continued

“Known what?” Sally stood in front of you

That sudden appearance made you drop the glass – which shattered on the floor. You’re looking at her. Right in her eyes, when one of the guards entered

“Mrs...”

“Out!” you cut him off

The man looked at you surprised. It must have looked at least weird – the glass all over the floor and you standing there and staring at something or rather somebody he couldn’t see. But who was he to object or say anything.

“So?” Sally repeated, as you’re alone again “If I had known what?” she arched her eyebrow

“How much I missed you…”

Before she managed to say anything you’re already in her arms. A few tears streamed down her cheek. You wiped them gently and kissed her. Her skin and lips were like ice.

“My God, you’re so cold” you said; your voice shaking

“I know. I know… It’s because…” she hesitated

“You’re dead” you finished the sentence for you

“Yes. Dead and stuck here”

“Stuck?”

“Yeah” she shrugged

“Y-you mean like f-forever?”

“I guess” she tried to laugh, but failed

You looked deep into her teary brown eyes and then your gaze fastened on the bottle of sleeping pills, that was on your night table. Sally immediately figured out what was on your mind and when you moved to grab them, she stopped you.

“Y/N, no!”

“You don’t want me?”

“Of course I do! It’s just… I can’t let you kill yourself…”

“You know what? Bite me! I’m not going to waste another twenty years of my life… If there’s an afterlife… there’s nobody I’d want to spend it with, but you”

Sally wiped the tears that were springing into her eyes all the time. She let you take the pills and then rinse them down with whisky.

“I love you” you said laying on the bed feeling your eyes becoming heavier with every second

“I love you too” Sally cried hugging you

You smiled caressing her cheek. You got the chance. You got to be her girl and you’re going to be together forever. Just you and Sally in another life.

Tag list:

@misssmephisto

@cakexblankett

@cordwliagoode

@mysweetdelia

@tasyahilker

#sally mckenna #sally mckenna x reader #sarah paulson imagine #ahs #ahs imagine #ahs hotel

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paramsiddharth · 4 years

Text

#7: In Search of Acceptance

Diversity is an inseparable part of our existence. It is beautiful. However, it is perhaps not just as amazing in the lack of acceptance.

Being confined to a single room for 2 months in a row — Would you call that imprisonment? A happy, loving, and stable family… Is that too much to ask for?

I have lived in the world long enough to know how it works. People love to get entertained by movies that portray painful reality. Little do survive when it comes to facing it.

What is acceptance? How to feel accepted? Does it come from within? Most of it does, but as far as you go being dependent on anybody other than yourself, self-acceptance alone won't do.

My parents are suffering. I know they are. They are in huge financial pain. Not just that, they have spent the past 20 years of marriage being bullied and demeaned for being the great humans they tried to be. They have been thrashed by everyone they once loved, from siblings and parents to colleagues and neighbours. It seems they have lost the ability to show affection itself.

A few days ago, they fought again. Considering how we have to listen to every selfish demand of my mom (for her OCD of cleanliness), many of which require financial sacrifices, my dad is in a pathetic condition. We are so desperate to have a home of our own that we have forgotten that we ever had a life or that we will ever have a happy one.

My mom is totally not in her own control when angry. She chooses to abandon everyone and run from her responsibilities. She can commit something serious if not controlled, and my dad has grown stone to such circumstances. That is when I end up being the one desperately holding her back from committing any wrongdoing whilst helping my dad with emotional stability. This, too, has become so frequent now, that I have grown weak.

It has been 6 days since I last touched programming. It has been hard for me to do anything in a life like this. Being confined to a single room, a single bed, with my brother, mom, and dad, each occupying some part of it, has led to reluctance in doing anything that gives me joy. That alone, however, isn't the stopping force. It has been my parents too.

Under their own frustration, my parents have been atrocious on me. 3 continuous days of being bullied by them has taught me heavy lessons. Every night, something as tiny as me stepping with one slipper of mine on the other one would drive them mad and they would throw at me the harshest words. Whether I cry, shout, weep, or even ask for help or beg for love, nothing works. They don't stop.

They themselves have nothing to be happy about. Perhaps that is the reason they have been talking rough of me, scolding me, and stopping me from using electronic devices. They have forbidden me to talk to my friends on phonecalls, something that was therapeutic to my worries and made me stronger in holding up against the problems in life. They have forbidden me from doing anything I love, either listening to music, watching videos, programming, learning, or studying.

Their idea of masculinity is disgusting. My paternal middle uncle's family is the biggest cause of the troubles my family has faced. One thing that I notice in his family is that he does many of the house chores that are traditionally designated to the female members in the Indian society. I despise my uncle and his family for all they wronged us, but the fact that he helps his wife out with house chores is something I appreciate.

My mom has been constantly bullied recently over how she doesn't keep herself beautified and wear jewelleries and makeup as a woman "should". In a very humiliating way, a far aunt of mine refused to take tea from my mom's hands just because she wasn't wearing bangles. I was shocked, and I hated everyone for their misogyny towards my mom.

However, much as it hurts to admit it, my parents are not too different. Not even my mom. They have inherited lots of the same misogyny. An example of that came out to me a few days ago when my parents started calling me names over the fact that I decided to have long hair and questioned my masculinity, comparing me with my paternal middle uncle.

My parents continued with the accusations of how I didn't listen to them and get a haircut. It felt as if my long hair were making them suffocate. They emotionally forced me to give in to their wish to not let me have long hair when they said that I will probably get them cut once they died. I said to my mom that I'll get a haircut whenever she will say. Not that it ended their questioning of my masculinity. I won't lie, it doesn't hurt when anybody in the whole bloody world makes fun of me over anything. But it hurts bad when my parents make fun of me for who I am.

I forgot to mention that I got a new laptop. It happened before the last post, and the reason I was holding back the post before that one was because I wanted it be a part of the new laptop's inauguration. Upsetting as their recent attitude towards me has been, I know my parents love me. Why else would they buy me everything and take care of me? I just wish they continued to give me the love I have craved for the past 1½ years.

In a world that has discarded me forever, it doesn't take more than my parents discarding me too to completely wreck me. I don't know how it feels like to be that beautiful girl whom nobody likes and the very few who attempt friendliness are due to sexual attraction, but I do know how it feels like to be the intelligent guy that everyone hates but makes good use of when help is needed, thanks to his giving and forgiving nature, affectionate behaviour, and weak heart.

Everybody has hated me since forever. The only people who have given me strength are my parents… My family. They have always been there for me ever since the beginning of my life. If they stopped supporting me for who I am just because I am not what I was expected to be, I would break. I haven't grown self-dependent yet. I need them. And honestly, I'll need them forever. Their love has driven me for years of my adolescence. I wish it stayed with me now, at the tip of adulthood.

It is easy to escape the reality when you have a choice. In the current scenario, I don't seem to have any. It hasn't been tough for me to write this entry, but I just did. I let go of my urge to hold back all negativity just because I was constantly waiting for something good to happen. I finally let go. I am suffering, with no choice but to continue to suffer for even longer. I have faith in the soul of goodness, and if the natural unfolding of space and time serves me right, everything will get better. I have no choice, but to be patient.

At this point, all superficial relations seem to show colours. With all delusions aside, I am now able to see things I have never been able to. I realize that half of the closest friends I have been forcing myself to be proud of are fake too. Some of the ones I have loved very much with all my heart have constantly used me, and right now, I can't depend enough on them to even have a listening ear for my woes, because they still manage to convince me that it is more important for me to fix their problems.

If things get better, I will consider myself blest more than anything else. Those blissful moments would be fuel to my path further down this road to discovering life. I want to use this opportunity to change myself more and walk in the right direction towards growing my worth in this cruel world. I want to be able to grow stronger and prove to the core of existence that I also deserve happiness… That I have done nothing wrong.

Love, Param.

#life #problems #pain #trouble #acceptance #harsh #reality #depression #finance #hatred #agony #respect #patience #weakness #love

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logancreatesworlds · 5 years

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Paradise - (Angel!Spencer Reid x black!reader)

Author’s Note: AUs are my thing. Do I even have to explain? I swear God keeps sending me ideas. 🤣💡❤

Warning: Strong religious references.

Disclaimer: None of the images are mine.

Luke 23:43

And He said to him, "Truly I say to you, today you shall be with Me in Paradise."

It was in the year 2035 that the world had officially gone to shit.

Surprisingly, it wasn’t because of global warming or war caused by greedy politicians, but rather by the very God that many claimed to love.

Lucifer always said that God loved humans more than him. Yet, the world had ended not in a ball of fire, but by flaming rays of light.

The Almighty God had finally had enough of his own creation.

First, it started in France, England and Western Europe with the water turning to blood and getting most of the people deathly ill with HIV.

The presidents and dictators could not stop it.

Then, it spread to Russia and eastern Europe, where frogs and lice invaded everything and destroyed the livestock and crops.

The farmers could not prevent it.

After that, it came to lower and southeast Asia, and the livestock either got attacked by their own livestock or were murdered by its diseased meat.

The people could not counteract it.

Next, it hit Australia and Oceania, covering the entire place in darkness and raising swarms of locusts to attack the people - conveniently murdering the first sons of all the families first before moving onto the rest and leaving them with venomous boils.

Nobody could repress it.

And finally, it attacked the Americas, plummeting and freezing the South in snow and hail and then torching the North in heat and fire.

Nothing could avert it.

The only place spared from God’s seven-day wrath was Africa, the Motherland.

Perhaps all those stories your mother told you about being a part of God’s chosen people was true after all.

Or more likely, you were just lucky - for now.

You were packing your bags, planning to return back to Houston, Texas after your vacation.

A graduation present from your uncle.

The next thing you know, you’re watching monks in Myanmar get rammed by raging bulls and French people scratch their heads so hard that they destroy their scalps on the news.

You had been in Cairo at the time.

The last words your mother had said to you over the phone were ones of warning.

“We are living in our last days. Stay there for just a few more weeks and then come home to me when it’s safe.”

But it wasn’t safe.

Houston was one of the first places to burn.

No amount of firefighters could put the flames out and everyone who tried to flee - quite literally, combusted.

Your mom was gone.

The scientists who were lucky enough to live estimated the the “Plagues” had killed off about sixty-five percent of the population.

Most of the other thirty-five percent were hunted down and shot to bits in blinding light by beings with golden wings.

They called them The Seraphim, the Burning Ones.

They were not friendly, nor were they gentle, and they chopped off the heads of every human they saw until God himself started assigning them people to spare.

One morning you had woken up with a G burned into your right arm.

After the angels had broken into the army barracks you had fled to for safety and cleansed the place of its human inhabitants, you figured out that that G stood for Genesis - the first book of the Bible.

Soon you were herded along with the other ‘G’s into a strange settlement.

The buildings were perfectly made of hard stone and sanded white.

The gravel streets were quiet and desolate. The gravel streets were quiet and desolate.

The golden sun shined over all of it.

“Forward!” An angel commanded, pushing you towards it all.

The angels then backed up, and a large wall magically blocked them from view.

You and the others looked around confused as you all wandered further into the strange land.

No one was there. No one.

What was going on?

The only thing that provided explanation to the question was a stone plaque in the middle of the town’s main square.

As the all of you got closer to it, golden letters burned into its hard surface.

To the people of Paradise, heed these commandments.

1. Thou shall not try to leave.

2. Thou shall not steal.

3. Thou shall not eat any of the blessed foods.

4. Thou shall not create or dabble in new invention.

5. Thou shall not marry another unless granted permission by the Holy Union.

6. Thou shall give The Burning Ones tribute on the first of every spring.

7. Thou shall worship God and only God.

The rules were simple. Still, people found it in themselves to be naturally disobedient. But they didn’t last long.

"That’s it!” An angry older man huffed, “I’m going!”

“Mister Coleman you can do that-”

“Enough!” Coleman snapped, “I’m a professor, and I say that this had got to be a prank. You all can stay if you want, but I’m getting out of here.”

Professor Lawrence Coleman then walked up to the wall and started to climb.

Then...

THWOOP!

A loud scream ripped from you and a the others as a shining gold arrow ripped through Coleman’s trachea. His body began to glow and then...ash.

Looking up, you saw the thing that had ended him.

A Seraphim floated above with emotionless air, his wings flapping as he spoke with authority.

“The commandments are clear and true,” the being spoke, “You are now servants of the Lord himself. Disobey his word? You die just as this wretch did.”

Even after Coleman’s deaths, people still tried to escape.

After about fifteen of them tried and failed, people started rebelling in other ways.

Some ate sugar, meat and spices, others tried to craft weapons to kill The Burning Ones...

Many died.

Soon, only thirty of you remained.

March 20th

Year 11

You sighed softly as you collected water from the well before carrying it through the courtyard.

This was your life now.

Slowly, people settled into their new lives in Paradise. Some became bakers, other farmers. You? You were ordained to be a nun in the convent.

Rape was illegal so you did not have to worry about covering your woolly hair, and the only people you saw on the regular were the other nuns and the children.

Your role was to teach them the word of God, and you knew what would happen to you if you did not play your role.

“Boker Tov Miss (Y/N),” little Alice greeted with a toothless grin as you came into the dining room.

“Boker Tov Alice,” you replied, placing the water on the table, “Ready for breakfast?”

“Mhmm,” she replied.

“Glad you could finally make it,” Miss Winifred - the oldest, said as placed hot bread and fresh milk onto the table, “We were starving. Come along ladies, let us get alone with prayer.”

It was the rule that everyone in Paradise had to say eight prayers a day: one in the morning, two before and after breakfast, lunch and dinner respectively and one at night.

This was the second prayer.

Later that morning, you sighed softly as you plucked fresh raspberries off their trellises and placed them in a basket.

Thank the Lord the rains had been frequent, lest your tribute would have been rendered inadequate and you obsolete.

Today was The Day of Babel.

Every March 20th the people of Paradise were commanded to bring gifts to the Main Church to please the Seraphim who watched over and protected them.

Tribute...

Each person was assigned one Seraphim per year and the cycle rotated.

This year, you were assigned to give a gift to the Seraphim called Spencer.

“You think he’ll like it?” Constance, your only friend, asked as she held the basket for you.

“He shall have to,” you replied seriously before dumping two handfuls of berries in, “Or else I shall be raptured.”

The people of Paradise knew what that term meant, raptured.

To you, it was foolish to pretend the friends you had watched be burned before your eyes were somewhere in heaven with God, but you decided to be sympathetic and go along with the delusion.

Sometimes it is better to believe a happy lie than to acknowledge the painful truth.

“Come,” you said, “We mustn't be late.”

After about a thirty minute walk, you made it to the square. Everyone else was walking to the church silently.

It was always easy for you to pick out the newer people, the younger ones who were not used to wrathful Gods and fiery angels.

The most scared-looking ones were always the children.

Soon, everyone was inside.

On the main stage stood several golden plates. Each plates stood for one Seraphim that was to come.

One by one, an angel appeared - their wings shining and their eyes glowing.

Then, your moment of truth arrived.

A blinding ray of light shined down on the last plate.

When it disappeared, there he was.

“Praised be to the Burning Ones,” you greeted with a bow, the other behind you following suit, “We humbly receive thine greatness.”

The Seraphim stepped off the golden plate and stood in front of you.

“Thank you. Now, let us see what have brought me.”

Steadying your hand, you held out the small basket of raspberries.

Spencer gave a pleased smile, “Berries, my favorite. Thank you.”

Everyone followed behind you, presenting their gifts.

With interest, you took notice of how Spencer accepted each gift with grace and kindness, giving a thank you to each person.

Then, it was little Alice’s turn.

“Hello,” Spencer greeted, getting down on one knee and looking her in the eyes.

Alice did as you both had rehearsed.

“Praised be unto you,” Alice replied with a little bow.

“And unto you, little one. What have you brought for me?”

“W-well, it’s not perfect but I...I drew you a picture.”

With two little hands, she handed it to him.

You held your breath.

If he didn’t like it...

“This is the best gift I have ever received,” Spencer said, “Thank you Alice.”

You breathed out a small sigh of relief. You would all make it another year.

That night, you couldn’t sleep and decided to step out to get some fresh air to help you relax.

The wind blew slightly through your fro as you clenched your robe tighter around you to keep warm.

The streets were desolate, silent. The only light out besides the lanterns on the doors was the moon.

This wasn’t the only night you had left the convent.

After more than ten years in Paradise, you...were getting sick of Paradise.

It was always the same routine: get up, pray, eat, pray some more...

What was the meaning of life now?

To obey, you huffed to yourself, It’s always to obey.

Soon, you made it to to the forest and as routine dictated, to the small clearing half a mile out.

You were so tired of it all - the praying, the obeying...

Still, what could you do about it? Nothing.

“Meaningless,” you muttered to yourself.

“Nature is never meaningless.”

You whipped around at the voice.

“Relax,” the familiar figure soothed, gliding out of the darkness, “It is only I.”

“Spencer,” you greeted, bowing, “What a lovely surprise.”

“Do not lie, (Y/N),” Spencer replied, his wings gently flapping as he floated, “I know you do not welcome my presence. No one here does. Not truly.”

“Then why are you here?”

The angel landed and shrugged.

“You interest me,” he replied, “Even if you hold everyone together, yet you yourself are falling apart.”

“I am not falling apart,” you growled, “I will never break.”

Spencer smirked, “Wrath is a deadly sin.”

“So is arrogance and yet that did not stop you.”

Spencer laughed, “You are something (Y/N), something indeed. On the outside, there is this smooth cocoa brown shell of humility and penitence. But on the inside, there is a blazing fire waiting to burn.”

“Then it is probably best to ignite me-”

Your retort was stopped short when Spencer pulled you to him, smashing your lips towards his in an illicit kiss.

Once you snapped out the trance his lips had put you under, you did the only thing a self-respecting woman would do.

SLAP!

Spencer held his cheek, his eyes wide with pleasant shock as you stood there fuming.

“You...you slapped me.”

“Yes, I did. Were you expecting a different reaction?”

“From you? No. But I could rapture you for that.”

“You won’t.”

“You are right. I won’t. You are different from the other humans. You are real.”

“You consider me real for slapping you?”

“I consider you real for standing up for yourself. You are fierce, strong, and you stand firm in what you wish to achieve. I like that.”

You stood there puzzled.

“Listen,” he spoke, “I agree with you. This life is meaningless. Paradise is lost. The honey is hardened and the milk is sour. This...holy project is a farce.”

“And what makes you think I dislike Paradise?”

“Your body language. You walk around with your arms crossed and your eyes blazing. You want to be free.”

“So what if if I did?”

“I want to be free with you. A bunch of us do.”

“Us?”

“Seraphim, some close friends of mine. We used to live for guiding humans to Christ, not burning them for straying form the path we set. Sure you humans failed many times but there was always brave souls like you who got it right. Paradise is dead.”

“Well...what do you propose we do about it?”

“Escape.”

“Escape? That’s your brilliant plan, oh great Seraphim? Even you must know that there is no escape from Paradise.”

“Then we shall make one.”

“And say your colleagues catch you, what then? I will be raptured and you will be sent to Hell.”

“God only watches this place periodically. I have a contact who guards his throne. She tells me so. If we time everything right, we can leave for good.”

You sighed.

You weren’t really going to-

“I’m in,” you answered.

God no.

“Excellent.”

You seriously were partnering with your designated angel to break God’s rules.

Great.

December 24th

Year 11

“And you are sure this sword is gonna get us out?” You asked.

“You have been asking that for months,” Spencer replied, wrapping his lithe arms around your waist and kissing the back of your head, “Yes I’m sure.”

“Sorry,” you mocked, “Just checking.”

“Don’t worry,” Spencer soothed, speaking into your hair, “We shall all be free soon.”

This intimacy between the two of you had become commonplace ever since October. Apparently devising a plan to be free from God’s tyranny is a good foundation for a relationship.

“I will defy God for freedom, but I would die for you,” Spencer had said once.

Just like the other angels, Spencer had an arrogant and prideful side to him. But he was also kind, clever and - to your surprise, very intelligent.

A Seraphim and human in love? Go figure.

“Where will we go?”

“Anywhere,” Spencer replied, “The plagues are gone so we can head towards Europe. Or we can go to America. I will carry you all the way there if need be.”

“Will it be worth it? Is there anything out there for us?”

Spencer shrugged, “Who knows? But at least it will be up to us to discover. I am done being God’s puppet. From now on, we shall have the freedom to live as we please.”

That was the goal. Freedom.

December 24th

11:50 PM

You waited anxiously in the daisy fields.

Constance, Alice and Miss Winifred had each split up and talked to the others, to see if they wanted to leave.

You had wanted to ask them sooner, but Spencer assured you it was too dangerous and that another Seraphim would surely catch you.

Everything had to be perfectly timed.

“Psst.”

You looked over to see Constance, Alice and Miss Winifred.

“You made it.”

“Yes,” Constance said, “We did.”

“And the others?”

Miss Winifred shook her head disappointingly, “They were too afraid.”

You sighed.

Can’t save everybody.

Quickly, you shook it off.

“It’s fine,” you replied, “Let’s go.”

Swiftly, you led your three companions to a hard spot in the dirt and cleaned the spot off as quickly as possible.

“What is that?”

“A seal,” you replied, “It’s the only other way out of this place. The Seraphim use it to enter and leave Paradise.”

Gently, you took the blade of the sword and stuck it into the seal’s one small hole. Magically, the sword’s handle glowed and the seal opened, revealing a dark tunnel.

“Let’s go,” you said.

Soon, you were in the tunnel.

“I thought you said he was coming too,” Constance said petulantly.

“I am.”

The four of you squeal when a lantern flickered on in the darkness, revealing Spencer’s face.

“You have got to stop doing that,” you mumbled as Spencer kissed your cheek.

“Sorry Ahuvati,” He replied.

“Wait you two are...together?”

Spencer nodded, “Since October.”

“Have you fucked yet?” Miss Winifred asked.

“Jesus Wini,” You huffed, “Alice is right here, and no - we have not.”

“There shall be plenty of time to discuss our relationship later,” Spencer said, taking his sword from you, “Right now we’ve gotta move.”

Unsure of what was outside, you followed him.

Who knows? Maybe there was nothing out there. Maybe there was an opportunity to start over.

Either way, the choice would be yours and no one else’s.

Goodbye Paradise.

Author’s Note: Aaaaand that’s all folks! I know this one was bit different but I really worked hard on it. Comment and let me know what you think!

@shinyanchorface @tenaciousarcadeexpert @naturally-bri @suz-123 @dontshootmespence @cynbx @girl-x-wonder-x-reid @lovepeacehappinessalluneed @princesswagger15 @confused-and-really-hungry @lyricsstories @dreatine @siriuslycollins @darkfaethedestroyer @jackiethedreamer243 @hekaates @yourfavoritefavorite @storage-space-running-out @blackwatershipper @fandom-rpblog @witchiewinchester

#spencer reid x black!reader #spencer reid x reader #Angel!Spencer Reid x black!reader #criminal minds imagine #criminal minds au #i know this was a weird one #but Spencer would make a great angel and no one can convince me otherwise #angel 😇

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dindadeel · 6 years

Text

Character / Storyline / Whatever-you-called-it Analysis: Mystic Messenger

I really want to credit the artist, but unfortunately I, too, stumbled across this image on the web. If any of you know the owner of this picture, please let me know. Oh, and if the artist does not allow me to repost this picture, please let me know to as I’d be more than willing to take this image down if the owner does not allow me.

Oh my darling,

If only I dare to publish my (twitter) second account here, (will not happen, since I want to say things under privacy, too) you guys would’ve known my obsession over this Korean game called Mystic Messenger.

It is a female-oriented otome (dating) game. You’ll play as this Main Character (MC), so far Cheritz (the developer) has released 6 routes, which you can play depending on which character you want to choose.

So after playing each route and finishing the secret ending, here’s my thought overall.

(lol I actually already wrote a review on my 2nd account, but I’ll write a repetitive thing here lol don’t mind me).

This is a long ass post btw, if you’re not up to that, then you’re free to browse anything else. But if you do want to stick around, feel free to grab some ice tea (I’m recently into honey lemons) and some pockys.

When starting Mystic Messenger, there’s 3 options to choose; Casual Route (free), Deep Route (80 Hourglasses), Another Story (300 Hourglasses). Hourglasses is basically like coins that you can exchange to unlock features throughout the game. You can still proceed with the game without it, but you’ll definitely get more benefits with these hourglasses (e.g.; unlocking new routes like Deep Route, making phone calls, participate in chats that you missed, etc).

You can find more about Mystic Messenger here if you’re a beginner to the game.

Now on to the analysis!

(WARNING: SPOILER ALERT)

If you’re hoping for your-typical-shoujo-storyline-i-met-a-prince-of-my-dream, well you’re wrong because Mystic Messenger is here to fuck you up and make you emotionally attached to fucking fictional characters.

I’d like to think each and every route is a different universe every time I chose a new route (believe me, you’ll have hard time restarting your day after the 11th day). But I cannot help to feel that every route is actually linked to one another and the final ending is Seven’s route. (Yes you can fight me but thats the fact because Seven’s always have this additional thing in his route and he even owns the secret ending, technically).

However, another story (aka V route) is another different universe, because the storyline is a little bit distorted than the original 5 stories (well, it is an additional story).

The reason why I wrote a Tumblr post is because I got a bunch of bullcrap I need to write after finishing V route and Secret Ending.

First of all,

What the actual fuck?

Okay, everything was all good and jolly when you start playing Casual Route. I guess they called it Casual Route because it literally give you the tiniest bit of the secret of RFA. It literally means nothing if you compare it to Deep Route, Another Story, and Secret Endings. In actual fact, even in Jumin’s route, it don’t give as much information.

On casual route, it is very fitting to the name; very casual. It just gives you all these simkung moments with your character of selection. Sure, every route all-in-all asking the MC to ‘help’ the character from their wounds.

(list is based on my recommendations on taking which route first)

Jaehee - To choose her dreams or live on social prejudice

Yoosung - Dealing with his depressions and confusion after Rika’s passing

Zen - Overcoming his insecurities and his past

Jumin - Expressing his emotions when the world seems like tangled threads

Seven - Making sure he is belonged in this world and to be a place where he can call it home

V - Letting him know that he should love and put himself first

Tbh after finishing all routes, I cannot help to think that this whole mysme universe is started as a couple quarrel. But it is a twisted and complex couple quarrel. Basically it all turned murky when — turned out both the couple did not realized that they’re in a toxic relationship.

I’m gonna talk not only about any specific route, but the universe as a whole. Mainly towards Secret Endings in which branched from Seven’s, but the inputs came from every route regardless.

Rika had an illness to begin with. She struggles with depression, anxiety, paranoia, and (paranoia induced) delusions. Now this woman (haha please note on how I address her because I put my whole feeling on it) tried to hide it (and she succeeded) from the rest of the member, except V, who’s her fiancee and the one she trusted wholeheartedly. I guess her intentions are good, because she don’t want the rest of the member to worry about her. All she ever wanted to do was to create RFA in hope she could help people with her charity parties and where people with different background and social status could mingle. But again, she’s dealing with a mental illness and I guess she needs someone to know her as a whole, which is V.

This is where everything went wrong, I guess.

Rika does not represent people with mental illness. Cheritz just need a character as an antagonist, or there won’t be any storyline, hahaha.

Don’t get me wrong. V is a loving man. His intentions are also come from a good heart. V loves Rika wholeheartedly. He loves Rika with her flaws, too.

But their actions were like a ripple in a calm water. A single drop could disturb the whole surface.

V comes from a wealthy family, alongside Jumin. He was brought up to act like one. His father brought him up so that he could continue the family business, like Jumin. However, V’s mother was a musician. In fact, his family business related a lot in art & creative industry. So he have this ‘artist blood / tendency’ within him. I think his father opposed him on being an actual artist, so instead he became a photographer. This is where he encountered Rika.

Rika, on the other hand, did not came from a good childhood memory. She was adopted. However, turned out the adoptive parents regretted adopting Rika (that’s a fucked up parents to begin with. I mean, you HAD a choice to PICK your child for God’s sake. You’re not stuck with whatever-God-gave-you on your womb but you GET to choose, either the gender nationality race whatever suits you best and you STILL regret it?). She always felt that she does not belong anywhere and don’t have any place to harbor. She always feel empty.

Now when Rika met V, it felt like a faith to both of them. Rika was the empty canvas. She never knew how it felt to be loved. V, on the other hand, does not know how to give love, as he was always brought up in prince-like manner, and his mother was not able to be there to teach him how to love. So when he encountered Rika, I guess in his artistic mind, his love was like this massive artwork, ready to be painted on Rika’s blank canvas.

Both of them thought that their love was like the sun in the sky.

Why the sun?

Well, the sun is the source of living being. No matter where you are, it will shine. Even when the clouds are there to cover it, the sun is still there, giving you all the warmth. But the thing with the sun, in my opinion, yes it is warm, but there are times where you can get burn to crisp if you stand too long below it. You can get blind if you stare too much. Why, you can even get skin cancer if you’re not well protected.

Both of them could not express their love... as a couple. One wants to accept everything and one is willing to give everything. But the thing is... everything has its own limit. Sure, it feels like they’re meant for each other, however I think it is a toxic relationship as no one in that relationship know how to say no and to stop. V being too philosophical attracted to Rika’s innocence. Back to my canvas-paint theory, it is like Rika is the blank canvas, and V is willing to paint every single space within Rika. So much it turned into obsession. So much that Rika’s actually suffocated from it. Rika’s running out of space.

Sally’s death was the trigger. Rika was in the verge of breaking down. She said it was her fault. Said nobody would love her if they know how dark she is. She is actually ashamed of her illness and struggles, and she wants people to see her as a savior instead. V, who love her so dearly, instead of stopping her, said;

“Even if you strangle my neck, blind my eyes and break my limbs... I will still love you.”

THAT IS FUCKED UP OKAY. Now, if you have a loved one that’s struggling with these conditions, you do not add fuel to the fire. Don’t encourage them to hurt people! What V did was to turn the switch in Rika. In her innocent thought (at first I could not believe Rika was this stupid, but then again, she had her condition), it is okay to be abusive, as V said, he will still love him regardless. THIS. WAS. THE. FUCKING. TRIGGER.

Rika hurt V on purpose due to him trying to stop Rika on creating this cult where she force happiness onto people, drug them so that they would not know any pain. I know V had a good intention trying to stop Rika but I cannot stop thinking that he’s the one who made Rika to had this thought. It was the seed he planted on Rika. He was expecting a beautiful flower to bloom from it, but a monster sprouted instead because of the way he tended the seed.

Due to that, Rika left V for three main reason;

V opposed her idea on creating this everlasting paradise

She thought that V did not love her anymore because she thought V is disgusted with her monster side and the last thing she wanted was for V to leave her side

She knows what she did was wrong. She might be distorted, but she is good by nature. So when she realized she injured V severly, she is actually scared of herself. What if she hurt V even more in future?

And this is where everything went from what the fuck to what in the actual motherfucking fuck?

So instead of spilling the truth, V, being a chivalrous man he is, decided to keep it as a secret. He stated that the reason he kept it as a secret because he did not wish to put Rika under a dark impression. He wants Rika to be seen in her glorious days, as a brilliant young lady which everybody love and adore.

He decided to make Rika’s departure from RFA as her passing. He made up this story that Rika decided to take her own life. Jumped out the cliff, he said, so none of her remains were to be found.

I know RFA trusted this man 100%. But there’s a reason why Yoosung always doubt him, because I will certainly do, too.

First, do you think it is fair for the rest of RFA to be treated that way? To live their life in lies? I mean, come on, she’s basically everyone’s center. If someone that was that close to me, suddenly her fiancee come to us and said she took her own life but her body was never to be found, I would use every measure to fins her (I believe Jumin was loaded enough to do so).

That aside, does V never consider the rest of RFA’s feeling in the first place? Does he think it was okay for him to lie to them? If only they did not discover the truth in Seven’s route, he will even keep it to himself. I could not help to feel that V is selfish, in a way he wants to keep Rika to herself. He is the one who Rika trust as a whole, and he’d like to keep it that way.

In Casual route, there’s no sign that Rika’s still alive. At the end of each casual route, V is always nowhere to be found. He is either not attending the party, announcing that he’s about to be blind, or just ‘let’s not discuss it now” / “I cannot tell you now”.

IMAGINE how betrayed everyone was when they found out that Rika was still alive and V decided to keep it as a secret. To make things worse, Rika even created this illegal cult. If they truly cared for Rika, I bet they would even love her and help her from her darkness. Hell, Rika was their savior in some way. I just don’t get the logic behind V keeping it from the rest.

For Zen and Jaehee, it might not be a significant lost, just a sense of disappointment. They’re not directly involved in Rika, emotion wise. Jaehee was merely Jumin’s assistant and she respected Rika. Zen was a bit closer to her, as Rika was his fan and the who ‘discovered’ Zen and help him with his career. But other than that, they did not share any emotion bond with Rika.

Yoosung though, he saw Rika as his own big sister. He saw her as his role model. He looked up to Rika a lot. So it is understandable that he was struggling after Rika’s passing, in the most unreasonable reason ever. Especially when Rika only showed her good personality. Who could accept that reason?

Sometimes, people said ignorance is a bliss and that is exactly what happened to each of their routes. They NEVER know. But that is the sad thing. They WILL never know. But if they WERE know the thing that happened behind their back, imagine how hurt they will be? Especially in Yoosung case, where he even get depressed over Rika.

Anyway, it gets even more disappointing for me for the deep route guys. If I were to talk in detail, it will take another dedicated post because it is a deep route hahaha I guess I was deeply attached to them (lol).

By know I guess everyone can grasp on how hurt Seven would feel. His brother was taken by someone that he trusted could take care of him. HIS FUCKING FAMILY. The only person in this universe that he share his blood with and his very existence is the most precious thing. Due to this stupid lover quarrel, Rika just fucking took him and drugged him so that he could work for her and made him hate his own brother.

WHAT THE FUCK. This is a one sick lady. But whats even sicker is the fact that even knowing this, V did not give Seven any information. He just stick with “I can do this myself, so that none of the member will get hurt”. ITS HIS FUCKING TWIN BROTHER FOR ALL THE GOD’S SAKE. How stupid you could be?! He is more than entitled to know anything about Saeran. Even if love my s/o to death, if he done anything as outrageous as this, I would definitely call for help. This even involved other person’s closest relative!

Another thing to point out is why can’t Seven left any note to Saeran? I know it took awhile for Rika to take Saeran out of Seven and Saeran’s mother. But afterwards, when Saeran was under Rika and V’s care, he could leave a note to him. A simple post-it will do, if he was that scared to be traced. Let Saeran know that the reason he left first is to protect him. Why can’t he do this? I mean, its not like Seven never met V, if in this sense we put Rika under bad light.

Why does V think he is entitled to keep this as a secret? I could see why Seven was in rage when he found out about the whole truth when he about to rescue MC at Rika’s apartment. His reunion with his long lost brother was suppose to be sweet, but no, he was brainwashed and hate him to the core. And even when Seven asking for the truth, V still dare to lie.

But what is even more saddening is Jumin position. Surprised? Well, I guess it is unexpected as he is not a part of Secret Endings. He is constantly suppressing his emotions too. But that is even worse.

The fact that Jumin is V’s closest friend. In his route, Jumin even told MC that the only people that he could trust was V and Rika. I get that couple only share some things among themselves, but imagine how Jumin would feel when he knows two people he trusted the most turned out hiding such big secret?

He trust V decision, always. When everybody seems to doubt V, he will be that very last person to agree with V. He will never hide anything from V, and even when V hides something from him, he will always said that “V’s always like that. I will trust his decision nevertheless”. The only thing that he didn’t tell V was probably he had feelings for Rika, too (fuck this thing. Jumin’s my man don’t you lay your hand on her Rika (lol)).

Speaking of that, Jumin was in fact treasure Rika, too. He claimed that Rika was that very few people that was able to make him open up and let him expressing his emotion.

He had feelings for Rika, but knowing that Rika never saw him that way and only love V, he suppressed his feelings and decided to just watch from far.

He even treasures Elizabeth the 3rd. Elizabeth the 3rd was so dear to him because it was from Rika, and V named her. The Jumin that we know now is head-over-heel over cat, but in his conversation with Rika on his route, he was not particularly interested in cats to begin with. Jumin’s fucking loaded, if he really likes cat, he could’ve bought the rarest breed of all and enjoy its beauty. But everything changed after Rika gave him Elizabeth the 3rd. He treasured every fragments Rika left him with. He didn’t even finish the book that Rika gave him.

So imagine, imagine it, my dear friend, how unfair his situation is. He already decided to be a bigger man and root for his best friend’s relationship. But turned out his most treasured people are keeping this huge secret. Imagine how disappointed he would feel when he knows Rika was brainwashing Saeran. Imagine how he would’ve felt when V decided to quit RFA on Seven’s route. Imagine how confused he would feel when V is always out of reach on everyone’s after ending. Imagine how painful it is for him to see Rika was beyond repair on V route, the two people he wished for happiness, turned out to be destroying each other?

Imagine how broken he would’ve felt when he attended V’s funeral at Secret End, knowing that his best friend’s own fiancee was the one who lead him to death, and the fact that he has to stay composed in this situation?

There’s a reason why I like Jumin so much. Not only his capability on stay logical (though sometimes can be interpreted as emotionless), but the fact that he never beats around the bush. He never sugar-coat his words (except during his route when he acts like a stupid love bird—no complain about this tho).

Yes, he is not perfect, even on his route he could be irrational sometimes with his obsessiveness. But knowing his upbringing and his background, its understandable he’s acting this way. But in the end he even tried to overcome it and when V came, he believed in V almost immediately. Even when MC’s life was somewhat along the line.

That is how much he trusted V and how deeply he cared for him.

V, on the other hand, was so drowned on his own ideology of protecting everyone to even notice this. Do you think its fair? Does he thinks its right for him to keep the truth from everyone, when Jumin’s always there for him?

Jumin is even willing to go extra mile for V. I guess sadly V doesn’t see Jumin in the same light.

I know this post somewhat treating V as the main villain. I swear, on V route I tried to save him like everyone else. Rika was truly a sick woman on his route. I really loathe her. As Seven said, she was beyond repair. But again, I couldn’t help to feel sick over the fact that both Rika and V are still hiding Saeran/Ray’s existence, even when Saeran blow himself, ON SEVEN’S AWARENESS.

Even under this fiasco, V never tell anything to anyone. He didn’t even tell MC as far as I know.

Ray... he was the main victim. He was tossed here and there without him able to control his own consciousness due to the drug.

I don’t want to blame V. I really want to hate Rika because Cheritz created this character for us to hate to begin with. But then again, I can’t help to think that the root of this problem is both of them. Both of them acted like they want to save people, how they don’t want to bring pain to innocent souls, but in the end, with their lies and their acting like a goody two shoes,

how many souls did they hurt?

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crowleytakesall · 6 years

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Books Read in 2017

I really don’t know what else to say at this point. Other than I toned it down a bit from last year. ;)

OH actually: I noticed I was being a failure at listing the illustrators of graphic novels. So I’ll try to do that from now on. I apologize to all those artists I’ve neglected to include in my bylines, but thankfully I believe you are all listed on the linked pages. Which is better than no credit at all....

Total: 144

All the Single Ladies: Unmarried Women and the Rise of an Independent Nation by Rebecca Traister

Please Excuse This Poem: 100 New Poets for the Next Generation ed. Brett Fletcher Lauer and Lynn Melnick

But What If We’re Wrong?: Thinking About the Present As If It Were the Past by Chuck Klosterman

Culture and Customs of Korea by Donald N. Clark

Making Whiteness: The Culture of Segregation in the South, 1890-1940 by Grace Elizabeth Hale

サイレントヒル by Sadamu Yamashita

A History of Nepal by John Whelpton

Eleanor and Park by Rainbow Rowell

I Little Slave: A Prison Memoir from Communist Laos by Bounsang Khamkeo

Game On!: Video Game History from Pong and Pac-Man to Mario, Minecraft, and More by Dustin Hansen

The Fire Next Time by James Baldwin

The Last One by Alexandra Oliva

Underground Airlines by Ben H. Winters

Crooked Kingdom by Leigh Bardugo

DC Universe: Rebirth - The Deluxe Edition writ. Geoff Johns, illus. Gary Frank, Ethan van Sciver, Ivan Reis, and Phil Jimenez

The Diary of a Young Girl by Anne Frank

Shadowshaper by Daniel Jose Older

The Underground Railroad by Colson Whitehead

Pegasus by Robin McKinley

Symptoms of Being Human by Jeff Garvin

Dark Matter by Blake Crouch

Silver Child, Silver City, and Silver World by Cliff McNish

The Zookeeper’s Wife by Diane Ackerman

A Modern History of the Somali: Nation and State in the Horn of Africa by I. M. Lewis

Uzumaki Vols. 1, 2, and 3 by Junji Ito

Lose Your Mother: A Journey Along the Atlantic Slave Route by Saidiya Hartman

One-Eyed Doll by James Preller

Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them: The Original Screenplay by J. K. Rowling

Girl on a Wire by Gwenda Bond

The Vikings: A History by Robert Ferguson

Percy Jackson and the Olympians #1-5 and The Kane Chronicles #1-3 by Rick Riordan

Draw The Line by Laurent Linn

Somalia: A Nation Driven to Despair: A Case of Leadership Failure by Mohamed Osman Omar

Girl in the Blue Coat by Monica Hesse

Essentials of Anatomy and Physiology by Valerie C. Scanlon and Tina Sanders

Ultraviolet and Quicksilver by R. J. Anderson

Harmony House by Nic Sheff

Me Against My Brother: At War in Somalia, Sudan, and Rwanda by Scott Peterson

Bury Me Standing: The Gypsies and Their Journey by Isabel Fonseca

Cultures of the World: Somalia by Susan M. Hassig and Zawiah Abdul Latif

The Somali Diaspora: A Journey Away by Abdi Roble and Doug Rutledge

Half Bad by Sally Green

The Civilizations of Africa: A History to 1800 by Christopher Ehret

Omega City by Diana Peterfreund

Britt-Marie Was Here by Fredrik Backman

Medical Apartheid: The Dark History of Medical Experimentation on Black Americans from Colonial Times to the Present by Harriet A. Washington

Thirteen Reasons Why by Jay Asher

Book Scavenger by Jennifer Chambliss Bertman

The Dragons of Noor by Janet Lee Carey

Asylum, Sanctum, Catacomb, and The Asylum Novellas by Madeleine Roux

Unraveling Somalia: Race, Violence, and the Legacy of Slavery by Catherine Besteman

A Tragic Kind of Wonderful by Eric Lindstrom

Unnatural Creatures ed. Neil Gaiman and Maria Dahvana Headley

Stiff: The Curious Lives of Human Cadavers by Mary Roach

The Politics of Dress in Somali Culture by Heather Marie Akou

The Foundry’s Edge by Cam Baity and Benny Zelkowicz

Diagnoses From the Dead: The Book of Autopsy by Richard A. Prayson

House of Secrets by Chris Columbus and Ned Vizzini

The Panic Virus: A True Story of Medicine, Science, and Fear by Seth Mnookin

A Silent Voice #2-7 by Yoshitoki Oima (read the first one last year)

Super Mario: How Nintendo Conquered America by Jeff Ryan

Maphead: Charting the Wide, Weird World of Geography Wonks by Ken Jennings

Printer’s Error: Irreverent Stories from Book History by Rebecca Romney and J. P. Romney

The Geek Feminist Revolution by Kameron Hurley

Ghostland: An American History in Haunted Places by Colin Dickey

You’re More Powerful Than You Think: A Citizen’s Guide to Making Things Happen by Eric Liu

The Father of Forensics: The Groundbreaking Cases of Sir Bernard Spilsbury, and the Beginnings of Modern CSI by Colin Evans

Forensics: What Bugs, Burns, Prints, DNA, and More Tell Us About Crime by Val McDermid

Tears We Cannot Stop: A Sermon to White America by Michael Eric Dyson

It Can’t Happen Here by Sinclair Lewis

White Trash: The 400-Year Untold History of Class in America by Nancy Isenberg

The New Urban Crisis: How Our Cities are Increasing Inequality, Deepening Segregation, and Failing the Middle Class - And What We Can Do About It by Richard Florida

An American Sickness: How Healthcare Became Big Business and How You Can Take It Back by Elisabeth Rosenthal

The Sleep Solution: Why Your Sleep is Broken and How to Fix It by W. Chris Winter

Hidden Figures: The American Dream and the Untold Story of the Black Women Mathematicians Who Helped Win the Space Race by Margot Lee Shetterly

The Secret History of the Mongol Queens: How the Daughters of Genghis Khan Rescued His Empire by Jack Weatherford

Dissecting Death: Secrets of a Medical Examiner by Frederick Zugibe and David L. Carroll

Asking For It: The Alarming Rise of Rape Culture - And What We Can Do About It by Kate Harding

ワンパンマン Vol. 1 - 3 writ. ONE illus. Yusuke Murata

Buried in the Bitter Waters: The Hidden History of Racial Cleansing in America by Elliot Jaspin

Forensic Nurse: The New Role of the Nurse in Law Enforcement by Serita Stevens

So Brilliantly Clever: Parker, Hulme, and the Murder that Shocked the World by Peter Graham

The Great Beanie Baby Bubble: Mass Delusion and the Dark Side of Cute by Zac Bissonnette

Word by Word: The Secret Life of Dictionaries by Kory Stamper

The Silence of the Sea by Yrsa Sigurdardottir

Beyond Monongah: An Appalachian Story by Judith Hoover

Earthlight by Arthur C. Clarke

Good Night Stories for Rebel Girls by Elena Favelli and Francesca Cavallo

The Midnight Assassin: Panic, Scandal, and the Hunt for America’s First Serial Killer by Skip Hollandsworth

These Vicious Masks by Tarun Shanker and Kelly Zekas

Uncle Montague’s Tales of Terror by Chris Priestley

Inferno by Dan Brown

Paper Girls Vol. 1 writ. Brian K. Vaughn, illlus. Cliff Chiang, Jared K. Fletcher, Matthew Wilson

The Paper Menagerie and Other Stories by Ken Liu

Evicted: Poverty and Profit in the American City by Matthew Desmond

Warcross by Mary Lu

Life on Mars: Poems by Tracy K. Smith

Moxie by Jennifer Mathieu

Girls Who Code: Learn to Code and Change the World by Reshma Saujani

Head First C: A Brain-Friendly Guide by David and Dawn Griffiths

A Murder in Time by Julie McElwain

Girl Code: Gaming, Going Viral, and Getting it Done by Andrea Gonzales and Sophie Houser

Coding for Beginners in Easy Steps: Basic Programming for All Ages by Mike McGrath

We Should All Be Feminists by Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie

Monstress, Vol. 1: Awakening writ. Marjorie Liu, illus. Sana Takeda

Age of Myth by Michael J. Sullivan

Native Son by Richard Wright

Courage is Contagious: And Other Reasons to be Grateful for Michelle Obama ed. Nick Haramis

This is the Part Where You Laugh by Peter Brown Hoffmeister

The H-Spot: The Feminist Pursuit of Happiness by Jill Filipovic

Coding for Dummies by Nikhil Abraham

A Darker Shade of Magic by V. E. Schwab

Nobody: Casualties of America’s War on the Vulnerable, from Ferguson to Flint and Beyond by Marc Lamont Hill

Pachinko by Min Jin Lee

Artemis by Andy Weir

Lower Ed: The Troubling Rise of For-Profit Colleges in the New Economy by Tressie McMillan Cottom

C Programming: Absolute Beginner’s Guide by Greg Perry and Dean Miller

The Girl Who Takes an Eye for an Eye by David Lagercrantz

An Astronaut’s Guide to Life on Earth: What Going to Space Taught Me About Ingenuity, Determination, and Being Prepared for Anything by Chris Hadfield

To the Bright Edge of the World by Eowyn Ivey

The Memory Code: The Secrets of Stonehenge, Easter Island, and Other Ancient Monuments by Lynne Kelly

Akata Witch by Nnedi Okorafor

#books #book #literature #2017 #read in 2017 #book list #recommendations #reading #Annika's reading adventures

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aleatoryalarmalligator · 7 years

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Life Story Part 44

In early November there was a Sanborn family reunion down in Southern Idaho. My uncle Bob arrived, Marty, Uncle Steve his wife Sylvia, some cousins, my half uncle Adam. But mostly, my grandma Betty. Really, other than my uncle Bob, nobody in my dad's family took much interest in keeping in touch, but everyone knew and cared about her. I was a bit shocked, because seeing her made me realize just how old she was getting. She had been old when I knew her as a child – when she had lived upstairs and I would go to visit, reluctantly swallowing down her toxic mixture of canned peaches and cottage cheese (her favorite food), holding her hand and pressing against her thick veins under paper thin skin as we sat on the couch and watched Bob Ross together, but now she was beginning to reach a new level of feebleness and at times seemed confused over very basic facts of life. I guess I had taken her for granted in a way, assuming she would always stay the same. She was just as sweet as she had ever been though, and was very happy to see everyone. She was confused as to why my hair was now black. I had to explain to her that dyeing your hair was a thing. My father dominated much of the living room conversation for those several days. And I honestly felt very bored for a large portion of the week. I mostly remember bits and pieces of the visit, and most of those memories are exclusive to my grandma. That, and my Aunt Gayle made this casserole, which seemed as though it would be tasty, and was, but had more hair in it than any food I had ever put in my mouth. Honestly, eventually Allison, David and I were pulling out hairballs, and we had to secretly scoop it into the garbage.

For Thanksgiving, my mother had a very nice set up for us. It was kind of surprising coming from her after all these years. My mother is actually a masterful homemaker, having been a stay at home mom who sewed and cooked and the like for a decade before she started dating my dad. And she had done very similar things for a few years she had been pregnant in the 90's. So my mom could set up a very good Thanksgiving. I ended up having Thanksgiving at her place, but then came back to Kendrick that night and threw it all up. I have horrible luck with having the stomach flu for holidays, and it almost feels like more than a mere coincidence.

Mostly my life felt horrible and empty though. Things weren't good, but they weren't terrible for me either. But I almost found this new kind of emptiness even worse. Certain things never get better for me. There is always a level of discontent and loss, and even when I find ways to get happy, or even jovial and off the wall excited, there is rarely ever a time when the melancholy has ever left. It's like a fog. There have only been a small number of instances when I could shut down enough or feel truly touched enough to surpass that. I sometimes call it the Adults, like a disease. You can't stop wanting things, but if you ever stop to look into your inner self, it's hard to figure out why. If your like me, you will fret anxiously, even in a state of calm, even if you are content, nothing is ever put right. If you get what you want, you will always just want something else, or get distracted by another want. And the repetition of days, weeks, years is all life turns out to be, and there is a feeling of nausea in being alive. You forget more than you will ever know, and the things you do remember never stay pure. So even though 9th grade was tougher on me than 10th, what with the abuse from my father, Jason, Ava ruining things for me, there was always an objective or even a delusion that there was paradise on the other side. Age 15 gave me this strong impression that there was no other side. If I got to the other side, I would only want to return, and so on and so forth. There was never any real satisfaction.

I would spend a lot of these monotonous times at Sarah's place. We would do anything we could to keep ourselves entertained. I often tried to instigate doing something new or over the top. Sarah usually didn't want to do anything, but if the goal wasn't too absurd – like walking ten miles into the woods at night, something I had suggested – just to get a taste for real danger that I was so dearly lacking, she would go along with it eventually. I made up this game where we couldn't let a single car see us. We would rent movies down at the store before it closed. Generally these movies were very boring and dull. I would often get far more frightened of horror movies than Sarah, even dumb ones like Jeepers Creepers. In fact, Jeepers Creepers made it very hard for me to walk alone at night, and I always had this sense that I would be walking alone at night and I would see that vintage vehicle with the horrific horn coming in my direction, so at times, I would literally run from the main road to not be spotted by any vehicle and it almost became a phobia to be seen by people or vehicles at night. I feel like a combination of being in no position to help myself, and being bored out of my wits, I half drove myself crazy.

Sarah and I also played a fair deal of chess. I was always lost. I always worried that it meant that I might in fact be much stupider than Sarah. Or maybe not stupider, but more impulsive. Not that I really felt that it was a contest, but there has always been a part of me that compared myself to others. It's not that I greatly enjoy feeling better than everyone else. It has more to do with the fact that I have never liked feeling ordinary, when I am in fact, believe it or not quite ordinary at times. And drawing was even worse. I've said it before, but sometimes, when Sarah and I were drawing together, I would feel like a lousy artist. Sarah's pictures were beginning to pop out of the page. Her line work and her shadowing were much better than mine. She could draw realistic. She could draw people from above, below, in midair, and so forth. And honestly, I drew and drew but it was always the same picture somehow. I felt very trapped in this cycle, and I don't know how many times I crinkled the paper as I was drawing, upset that I was getting no better despite how many attempts I made. I felt like I was watching Sarah grow wings, and fly away, leaving me earthbound. She didn't even seem to try. It just seemed like her abilities flowed out of her unconsciously. And the more effort I put into the art, the flatter and less inspired my art became.

Around this time, the movie 'Ray' about Ray Charles came out, and there was a distinct memory I have of sitting around this handmade kiln and fire pit that Sarah's mom built outside behind the house, not far from the cliff area. Sarah and I were roasting shishkabobs with chicken and vegetables on them, and we were eating them up. And after that, we went inside and watched Ray, played chess and I went to sleep. I would almost stay that I was at Sarah's home around 1/3 of the time at this point.

I was always looking for Zack. I seemed to sense his presence when he drove into Kendrick, and one lonely dark Friday night that would typically be spent watching a bad movie or me getting upset, I got the sense that Zack was close by. I begged Sarah to walk with me to find him. I didn't want to seem to desperate, but I just somehow knew he was in this very obscure area at the end of town that neither Sarah or I had any business being at. It was hard to explain the feeling, but it might be what the spider feels when a bug gets caught in it's web. It was a rainy night, and it was beginning to get cold again, the wind blowing. Sarah was not up for the weather, but I convinced her to come with me anyway. And I was right. Just as we were about to turn around and walk back, I saw Zack in the distance, entering into a strange empty garage building. He seemed to be fixing a vehicle, though I don't recall any of the details of what for or who's it was. He was all alone in this building, just working. He ended up seeing us, and enthusiastically waving us in. We hadn't seen him in nearly two months, other than maybe a few times in five minute increments.

It was at this point, where I, full of susceptibility, fell under his conspiracy theories. He spent three or four hours explaining to us that there were freemasons who controlled our entire planet. He made wildly inaccurate claims that I didn't know enough to dispute. He claimed to have done all this research. And honestly, I had no way of saying he hadn't . I had never even thought of doing 'research' on anything before, and I always assumed that the word itself clarified that the findings of that research were accurate. Actually, to be honest, I was closed minded enough and annoyed by school that I didn't think it was even a decent thing for a person to be doing. He talked about how they invented war, and poverty, and schools and prisons. They had levels, and some of them were in the police, some where teachers and others could just be your neighbors. They were all hiding within society, watching for people like us, and doing what they could to systematically prevent us from reaching our full potential. As he talked and talked, a web of power began to form in my mind. It wasn't something I quite understood, and some of my questions of why seemed weak. Basically, though, it really sunk in in big fact-blocks that I failed to question. Freemasons were controlling the entire world. And many of the things that happened in my life could be deconstructed and understood as outside manipulative forces pulling strings.

I feel a little ashamed to explain how invested I became in these conspiracy theories, the websites, the misinformation and the inconsistencies. The precursors to Alex Jones an all of that. Of course many of the conspiracy theorists were left wing as well as right, and I was too young and naive to really know what it meant to sort through it all. I really do understand what it is like to live with that foreboding sense of knowing that the world is out to get you and there are people who are pulling the strings. But at the time, this is the reality I now lived in. I am sure if someone had psychologically broke down my psyche at that stage in my life, they would have revealed that there was a psychological need to cling to these conspiracy theories. And it can also be said that some of the skepticism I started to have towards the world actually did me some good. There are some facts I learned in my exploration for the truth behind the veil. Prescott Bush was a fascist, Martin Luther King was likely assassinated by our own government, the media really is owned by six corporations, research really has been hidden from the public, and there really are there rich families in the world that pull strings to increase their wealth. It was a good attitude to take to the war on terror, the war on drugs later on. I can't entirely say it was all bad. But believing that the government has time machines, or that the government has the cure to every single disease and simply has suppressed it to that level, the moon landing is a hoax, fluoride in the water is turning us all to zombies, The Rothschild family are trillionaires, there are cameras in our microwaves, and the neighbor is watching me – this stuff is embarrassing to admit that I fell into.

When I left that night, I felt really strange. Sort of empty, and helpless, but also very aware, and also kind of hollowed out. I remember one of the last things Zack said to me before leaving that night. He told me that the only thing that the government could never control were artists. Nobody could ever control what I choose to put down on paper, be it writing, or art. This gave me this vague sense of purpose. I was already strongly along the path of resisting school, resisting adults, and authority in general, but now it was almost a moral incentive to disregard the social order as a whole, and to never trust anyone again who wasn't Zack, or Sarah. And sadly this really closed my mind and made me rather mentally unstable.

I started getting really into The Doors. I especially thought Jim Morrison was cool – for obvious reasons, among those, he was a poet and seemed to be edgy and rebellious and at the same time ethereal mystical and he was dead and spelled one of the things we consider when we look at the end of the 60's era. And he was nothing like me in many ways. Where I was clumsy, unmysterious, trapped and cautious, Jim Morrison was not. And he was beautiful. I was never into his looks personally, but he did radiate a certain beauty with a fair amount of effortlessness. I could never achieve balancing on the fine line that he balanced upon. Jim Morrison in his time lived in a different plain of existence than I did. I would often wish that I had lived during the sixties rather than the 21st century, and I think in an attempt to be more like those I admired, I stopped washing my hair to be like Kurt Cobain and my interpretation of many of the counter culture icons I thought seemed legit. I heard from someone that Jim Morrison never changed his pants. I actually don't know if this is actually true or not, but my English teacher told me that her college friend's uncle's friend knew Jim and that he would go several months without cleaning his pants, which gave them this soft slickness that was almost disturbing to the touch.

So I decided to follow suit and never wash my pants. It also didn't help that my few pairs of jeans that I owned had holes all over. They never fit me right, and the bottoms of them dragged on the ground and caused them to split up the leg eventually, and walking eroded the jeans between my legs. I had to wear tights under my jeans to not feel nude, and my father didn't see the need to buy me jeans that actually fit or were of high quality, or even at all really. So in a sense, I might have been trying to embrace my poverty and the perceived dirtiness people felt that I had always embodied. So I had dyed pink hair that was full of grease all the time, dirty torn up pants (not the trendy kind of torn), an angry look on my face with tons of black eyeliner, and a mind abuzz with conspiracies – most of it being childishly distant from anything resembling reality. I think I remember crying nervously one cold night looking at the power outlet on the wall – thinking that maybe, just maybe freemasons were looking at me through that mysterious electrical outlet. These are the kinds of things I am not proud to admit happened, and I am glad they are over.

My father at this time was really invested in his girlfriend Patty down in Boise – maybe more so or just as much as he had been with Jodi, and I think the notion that she was sitting on a million dollars, and seemed classier than he was made him feel ashamed of his life up in North Idaho with his lower middle class wages. He felt like a menial factory cog with no education courting a millionaire. And truth be told, he was tired of being a father altogether. He felt very strongly that we prevented him from moving forward with his life, or at least he propped us up in that way. He hated me for growing up. He felt I looked too much like my mother, and he just seemed to hate me half the time, but couldn't fully express it. His annoyance at having to be a father in general was growing. And he began telling Allison, David and I that he was considering moving to Boise and leaving us behind. His foolish plan was to give my mom the house that he had bought for her all those years anyway, and leave all of us behind. This didn't upset me in the least. First of all, I didn't believe it would actually happen at all. Plus, though I had issues with my mom for sure, with the absence of my father also went the absence of feeling stressed out and the feeling that I should be ashamed of myself. I felt like in many ways, as crazy as my mom was, I would be liberated mentally as well as physically. Plus, my father had already disappointed me. It wasn't a great shock to be abandoned. It was a fact of life really. There was an element of chaos honestly to the idea of him leaving for good that I felt I could thrive in.

This news broke my little brother's heart though. He looked up to my father, and it permanently damaged a sense of confidence he had in our father, but when you are a small child, that sense of abandonment spreads to everything around you. He felt like my father had just emotionally abandoned him and had never really loved him to begin with. Even if it never came to pass, the fact that my father was so invested in the idea of leaving us all behind as to tell us early to buffer the results was the greatest betrayal. I think Allison, having always been overlooked by both me and David felt a cold sort of distance with the situation, but she also felt abandoned.

It was around this time that the Nirvana Box set, 'With the Lights Out' came out. I was incredibly excited about it. And when Sarah and I both got our box sets, we listened to the songs over and over again. Some of my favorites were 'They Hung Him On a Cross', Verse Chorus Verse' and 'Don't Want It All'. One weekend, I came back from my mom's and Sarah told me that she had picked up the guitar and had learned a song from the box set. I was immediately a little shaken with jealousy about this. I still didn't really know any songs. I didn't understand tablature. I kept practicing the things my father told me to on the guitar, but I felt that there was something I wasn't getting, and there was no further way for me to pick it up. My dad told me if I didn't get 'it' on my own, than I never would. I was hoping for something more constructive and encouraging. And Sarah had never played guitar before. Her father had randomly bought her one – probably stole it from someone who he lied to about his identity (a common trick of his). And she learned 'Opinion' by Nirvana. She just, picked up a guitar, learned four chords and was already better than me. She also sang, and it seemed really awesome to me.

Honestly, I had so little to be proud of, and I had been meagerly hoping to get better somehow, and it hadn't happened. I had been working tirelessly to get better, but I was lost. And I couldn't draw that well anymore in comparison to Sarah either. Something inside of me had become emotionally stuck. It was something psychological, and I didn't know how to get over it. It was something instilled in me from Ava and my father and just the school in general. I could put a pen to paper but I couldn't seem to create anything. I could strum a guitar, but music never seemed to be what happened. And Sarah in many ways was naive and childish about the world. She had never had much serious pain in her life aside from a vague empty depression that she mostly was able to ignore. So it was a great insult to me and everything I was trying to hold onto. That the world punishes people and molds them into something finer. Instead, I felt like the misery I had thus far experienced was making me weaker somehow, and I was meant to watch Ava move on to do great things in her life, and Sarah to be admired. And thus I was immediately poisoned by envy that I couldn't shake. Not only was I not confident enough to perform six months after secretly playing, but I could never have done it with confidence in a single weekend like she did. And she not only played the guitar, she sang and well. She played faster than me, and it all happened with a seemingly effortless magic about it. I was crushed and humiliated. I felt sick with myself, but I had no formula to defeat my own failings. I went home and felt this self loathing frustration. I cried and screamed in my pillow. I couldn't exactly hate Sarah, because she had never wronged me, and she was my only friend. But I was beginning to resent myself whenever I was in her presence.

I later realized that part of the reason I might have been struggling as a guitarist was because I am left handed and I was playing right handed guitar. It made strumming, particularly finger picking a little more difficult.

My mother moved out of Jim and Connie's, and she started house watching for this woman named Linda, who was gone for several weeks at a time to watch over a hot springs resort that she partially owned that was five hours away. So I got to stay in her nice house for a bit. It was a mediocre home for the most part actually, but it was very nice by the standards that I was used to. They had cable television and three bedrooms. There were two Labradors that lived there, who were very nice. It was nice and cozy, and there was food to eat. Outside was beginning to be winter. I remember watching all of Forest Gump for the first time since I was young, and realizing that the movie was actually kind of silly. I had just assumed that Forest Gump's life was completely realistic when I was younger. Also, I decided to use their phone and call Sarah. I didn't realize this, but I ended up costing Linda a whole bunch of money, because I stayed on the phone with Sarah for six hours at a time. It was quite common for me in those days to stay on the phone with friends for that long. And strangely enough, I don't think I ever met Linda. I might have, but it was years previous to the house sitting.

I think we had Christmas at Linda's but I cannot be sure. I know we ended up having New Year's there. There was a major fight between my father and mother during that time, and up to that point for the most part the two of them had done well to avoid dealing with one another in any way. Basically, what I remember was – my mom wanted to have my father take us kids for New Year's since her and Danny were going to go out and she didn't want us around. It was her time to have us, and my father felt put out by this, since he felt like he had taken us every time she wanted to drink or anything during the holidays for years, so he told her no. This enraged her and she lost her shit completely. She ended up telling us all she was going to have him thrown in prison for it. I felt this was incredibly flaky. So, as I mentioned clear back in part 1 or part 2 of this story, my older half sister made up that my father had molested her, when in fact he had not. Roxanne later admitted to me that he hadn't, and given that, for all my father's faults he never seemed to have a pedophilia aspect to his personality at all, I tend to feel like this is complete and total confirmation that nothing ever happened.

My mother had selectively decided not to care about the whole ordeal. She might have cared when she first heard about it, but later on, she still would leave us kids with my dad, and at times didn't even seem to hold it against him, that he potentially had raped her daughter. Early on, her and Roxanne had both let him babysit Sagen, Roxanne's daughter. So it always seemed a little fishy to me for that reason as well. Nobody in their right mind would selectively not care about something like this. Of course, Roxanne knew she had lied, so her selective lack of concern made some sense. My mom however, had decided not to accept it when Roxanne told us that she had lied. She still chose to believe the molestation had in fact happened. So when she didn't care about what my father had done, she did so from a very selfish place – if that is, she truly believed in the molestation to begin with.

So, she made some phone calls. I don't know who she called exactly, but I believe it is some kind of hotline to report crimes of this nature. Her plan was to extract revenge on our dad for what she figured he had done years ago. And all of this was based on him not wanting to take us for New Years Eve. She literally wanted to get him thrown in prison for not taking us for a New Years, that is how petty and fucked up she was/is. Even though my father was not a grand person to me a lot of the time, I really believe that people should be charged with the crimes they committed rather ones that they have not committed. And this was her card to play, that she had felt she had had for years if my father didn't do what she wanted.

She explained to us that we might never see our father again, as she believed that as soon as she made this phone call, police were going to find my father and hold him in custody. She called Roxanne and told her that she would give Roxanne a lot of money if Roxanne would testify against my father in court. I am not sure what Roxanne's response to any of this was. This plan my mother was hatching really was all her ego flaring out of control, angry at the mere notion of having been told 'no' and therefore disappointing Danny. The people who my mom spoke to over the phone, only based off what they heard my mother tell them, explained to her that too much time had passed for him to be convicted. If it had happened, it would have been in the 80's. They were extremely apologetic, and for what it's worth, I think that is a very unfortunate law and they were very sorry. I absently listened to her talk to them over the phone as this all happened. My mother was pissed.

Eventually, Noah left school. He had been a senior set to graduate in a matter of one more semester, but he just decided to drop out. I had gone from being very nice to him, and then when I realized that he had started to have a crush on me, I had decided to be overly rude to him. A part of it was actually just girlish immaturity on my own part. I wasn't used to the idea of someone having a crush on me at all, and rather than face that Noah was also a real person who was capable of having thoughts and feelings, I rejected him entirely because it made me uncomfortable. A part of it too was that I was immaturely blaming him personally for making Zack move. Because he was there, Zack didn't feel like the center of attention any longer. And I was sorry I had set it up that way, but I wasn't mature enough to see it for what it was, and was much happier to blame Noah as if he directly had chosen to ruin things for me. It was a strange psychological blame that made absolutely no sense, but made me feel better. So I took that out on him as well. Also, I legitimately didn't understand what I had done to make him have a crush on me. I never felt like I was hitting on him. I suppose it was because I had no feelings for him really that I was able to be more myself around him, assuming that this wouldn't mean much to him. Instead he had started to grow fond of me. And I figured the only way to undo that was to be a jerk.

I don't remember much of what I said or did, but I spent about a month being really mean towards him on purpose in a manner I was not typically used to being towards anyone else. And I feel a bit badly about that now. It wasn't right. I am sure it came as a shock when I was being so nice to him for a few months, making jokes, questioning him and the like and then cutting him off and acting like he was gross for seemingly no reason. He had perhaps hoped we would become really close friends or more, perhaps carrying that light hearted feeling home with him that I could have related to all too well had I opened my mind to the idea. He had no other friends. And I probably ruined many of his days and nights by being ridiculously mean for no reason. I am sorry he got caught in the cogs of my emotional instability. This isn't to say that I should have given him a chance. I really didn't like him like that. Still, it was certainly not something I am very proud of.

There is only one thing I remember about Christmas that year. And that is this was the day when I discovered David Bowie. My brother David liked the Labyrinth soundtrack with all those memorable David Bowie songs from the film, and because of this my father was reminded of his own fondness for early David Bowie. So he decided to buy David 'The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders From Mars' for Christmas. After everyone opened their gifts, we put the album on to listen to. I had expected I wouldn't like it. I was hesitant to appreciate a man who looked so feminine. I was so brought up by 90's and early 00's butt rock that the idea that someone could be anything, as it felt like David Bowie could be was a strange thing for me to accept.

Then the album started playing. I had never heard anything so pure and perfect in my entire life. As soon as the vocals came in on Five Years 'Pushing through the market square ..' I felt like I was melting into a better something. I felt a new kind of life in me emerging. This sense that I could grow and change. That no one or no anything is one thing or the other. What I partially took from David Bowie was that rebelling didn't have to be something like 'oh, you took the left side, so I took the right side to anger you and oppose you'. David Bowie represented for me at least, a way of looking at the world that was more about free expression not based on defiance, but by this pure enigma of passion for art itself. Nobody could reach you there to put the shackles on you, and you didn't have to do things to insult your oppressors by doing everything opposite to them. I didn't have to not wash up because people who fit into a society better than I did, did bath. By defining myself as some kind of anti version of them, I was in a way still letting them define me. The real way to liberation was to live in a world of such pure inspiration and passion and to live that life shamelessly. My mind had for that last year, gravitated into black and white. David Bowie sort of made my world into a rainbow.

I listened to that album about twenty times on Christmas day alone. It was David's but he wasn't as fixated by Ziggy Stardust as I was. I wanted to look like David Bowie. It didn't seem overly important to me if he was a man or a woman. Those traits seemed secondary to some greater essence of being that radiated off him. Every song on that album was absolutely perfect. But somehow it was also more than just music. Having this album in my life basically changed things for me. It changed how I looked myself in the mirror, it changed my art, the words that came to me when I thought. It really did transcend what David Bowie probably ever intended. It helped cure my feelings of hopelessness. A sense of calm came over me. It didn't fix me per say, but it was the one thread of something I had found to hold onto for an entire year of empty rebellion and empty spirit.

PART 43 - http://tinyurl.com/yckvswd7

PART 42 - http://tinyurl.com/ycnng83q

PART 41 - http://tinyurl.com/y84kmttv

PART 40 - http://tinyurl.com/y8aj6kmq

PART 39 - http://tinyurl.com/y97vprft

PART 38 - http://tinyurl.com/ycr7la8q

PART 37 - http://tinyurl.com/y8trssqd

PART 36 - http://tinyurl.com/y9ygq9q8

PART 35 - http://tinyurl.com/ya5xhe2f

PART 34 - http://tinyurl.com/yc6y4p69

PART 33 - http://tinyurl.com/y87449dz

PART 32 - http://tinyurl.com/ycetanep

PART 31 - http://tinyurl.com/yae3o4rd

PART 30 - http://tinyurl.com/ybht9aul

PART 29 - http://tinyurl.com/ybfcr9j2

PART 28 - http://tinyurl.com/yagdlo47

PART 27 - http://tinyurl.com/ydcj5fgf

PART 26 - http://tinyurl.com/y73nvl73

PART 25 - http://tinyurl.com/y6v6pgoj

PART 24 - http://tinyurl.com/ycak5d8r

PART 23 - http://tinyurl.com/yac6sk3g

PART 22 - http://tinyurl.com/yat6cfnw

PART 21 - http://tinyurl.com/y783egno

PART 20 - http://tinyurl.com/y8jskymt

PART 19 - http://tinyurl.com/rfhbms8

PART 18 - http://tinyurl.com/ycrznrwk

PART 17 - http://tinyurl.com/y77unlng

PART 16 - http://tinyurl.com/yadpsv8c

PART 15 - http://tinyurl.com/yb3lt6k5

PART 14 - http://tinyurl.com/yb4cfedq

PART 13 - http://tinyurl.com/yalanq9s

PART 12 - http://tinyurl.com/yc79mw94

PART 11 - http://tinyurl.com/yc9qhj84

PART 10 - http://tinyurl.com/yb734w24

PART 9 - http://tinyurl.com/yc2t6vfw

PART 8 - http://tinyurl.com/ybl37utq

PART 7 - http://tinyurl.com/ybvo283g

PART 6 - http://tinyurl.com/kbc9dwu

PART 5 - http://tinyurl.com/msnz4am

PART 4 - http://tinyurl.com/k9x8esg

PART 3 - http://tinyurl.com/mwp9atx

PART 2 - http://tinyurl.com/lbt6xq2

PART 1 - http://tinyurl.com/l8xbvg8

#text

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ur-stories-blog · 5 years

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The Shadow of Memories Chp. 1

The Shadow of Memories

Reality 1

I walked past the bar looking for my mom. Nothing ever seemed liked it was going the way I truly felt in life with her always going missing from me. It was like she was telling me you should have never been born and that I was a chasing game in your life. After the age of 14, it like she would run away from home to the bar on East side corner of Dell-way Street and I would eventually find her drunk and knocked out having to walk her all the way home.

This time it was different. This time, when I went looking for her, there was no trace or sign but I know for sure she went to the bar at the same time she always goes. 7:00 pm, right on the dot as always. After looking for an hour, I gave up. The only thing I had to comfort me while I was sitting on the corner was a candy bar because she never made dinner and my shadow staring back at me while the setting sun stretched it across the street.

It looked scary, it looked empty as if it was reading back my soul and there was nothing but loneliness in it and nothing I could do would save it. Nothing that I would want to do in that moment would stop the pain this shadow has while looking back at me as if it was a door to my sleep.

Reality 2

When I found my mom, she was already 4 beers in along with an empty shot glass sitting beside one of the empty bottles. Smelled like vodka and the whiff of it made me gag. I tried pulling her away from the bar but she just looked at me with agony. Pushed me away and said go eat your dinner. Not realizing she hasn’t cooked and we were nowhere near home and that all I had was a candy bar. Her delusions made her suffer from every sight she could possibly see that’s in front of her.

I went outside and starred, hopelessly at the street. It was never too busy but busy enough for passing cars to be seen every 20 mins or so. I looked back at mom and looked at the street. I looked down at the ground while the sun made its way to sleep and my shadow got thinner. Almost so thin it could squeeze through cracks. I started to follow my shadow as if I was walking on a tightrope towards the center of the street disregarding the sounds and my surroundings.

As I finally looked up and heard a man scream “get out of the road!” I was hit.

Laying still as the blood traveled down the spine of my shadow and darkness started to succumb my eyes, the last seconds I saw my mother, staring back at me, smiling, while I was trying to be saved by an unknown stranger. For those tiny seconds, I was actually happy she finally smiled at me. Even though the truth of it all was that I was dying and I would no longer be in her life.

I saw her drunkenly walk away from the bar towards an unknown location and her shadow started to fade away as well as the memory of my existence in her life.

Reality 3

Walking towards the bar a thought hit me. I wondered if I was to veer off the course of searching for my mother once more being drunk at a bar. Would it be worth it to find her at her normal hour of going down a dark path?

Thinking about it, I went somewhere else. As the sun started to set, I started to see my shadow become a beacon of freedom and I started to follow it wherever it lead me. I hoped it lead me somewhere far away from my mother and to a new life filled with happiness. Once I came to my senses and looked where I was, I realized I was lost. Just I and my shadow and a dark place filled with dead trees and the sound of creatures I didn’t want to meet. I was scared and for once I wish I had a real mother to come and save me from my troubles. That was never going to truly happen.

Walking for another hour, I came across a house that was one breath away from crumbling down. I went closer and closer until I was right In front of the porch. Dangling above me was a broken light that was so close to snapping from the wire it was connected to. A feeling came over me to walk into and explore the darkness. I wasn’t alone though. My thoughts comforted me as I walked deeper into the shabby house.

I looked around and saw old pictures of little kids and a girl with no shadow in this one specific picture.

She looked so familiar but I just couldn’t put my finger on.

I starred at the picture and I started to get dizzy. I looked down at my feet and suddenly I saw a faded image resting in my shadow. It looked like my dad and I can see the family resemblance of me so clear in his features. I was spooked, unable to move and no clear direction whether this was real or not. I felt a sense of anger and sadness wrapped in one. I felt like I was just gave up and no one had the feeling of loss to look for me or care for me.

I never questioned why I haven’t seen my dad in the years of me being alive so why do I feel like I know this man looking back at me as my dad and why does it affect the way my mom acts towards me and towards herself?

I stumbled on the ground almost puking on myself and looking at the door noticing it was gone. I was scared and looking around there was no other exit in sight unless I started to explore. What was I thinking coming here? I looked back down to my shadow lost in the figure. I wondered what I was here for and why does this torn down house have a memory I never lived?

Chapter 1

My name is Liana. At the age of 14 I started to attend John Bishops High School taking average classes with average other kids. I didn’t really make many friends due to my shyness except for this one boy who always followed me around telling me many of stories he would make up of another world. His name was Elliot and he was a very adventurous kid who loved to be in his own world. He had an attraction me (friendly wise, to my knowledge) that actually made me feel much better when someone was actually there to talk to me in this big school.

Every day would be the same routine. I wake up, try to talk to my mom but she just ignores me and looks at me with regret. Take a snack from the kitchen as breakfast and start walking towards school.

I wish sometimes my mother would take me but she changed the day my dad disappeared and my mom lost all emotions towards me.

I get to school and I see Elliot walk to me saying hi. I respond back and asked how his weekend went. He said he went on a little hiking trip with his family which consists of a little brother, his mom and dad. In my head I’m wishing that was me. It sounds wonderful and a dream I could never make come true. As we entered the school, Elliot kept talking to me and I was listening closely. While I was walking, I accidently bumped into one of the cooler kids who were in the 11th grade while I was in the 10th. “Hey kid, watch it!” I said sorry and looked down and just stayed there. Elliot tried to defend me but the older kids brushed him off.

I guess this is why I keep to myself most of the time because the other kids kind of find me strange sometimes. Sometimes I don’t know exactly who I am since growing up; I never truly had a personality and always felt lost in everything I do.

When I’m in my room at home, all I really have to express myself is a sketching book and the four walls of my room which stretches my shadow high to the sky. Sometimes at night, my shadow takes up my whole room and I stare into nothing. It’s sad and it feels like I am getting lost into another world as my mom goes out at night to drink her sorrows away. I would normally go after her around 7:00 pm and drag her back home. It is a struggle sometimes but it’s something I feel like I should do in order to keep her safe. Even if she does treat me life nobody at most times, she is still my mother.

I tend to be observant of everything that happens at school even if I don’t participate in any activates. I would sometimes hang around the gym while Elliot goes and plays with his actual groups of friends or go outside where the tables are and sit alone while I draw a new world just for me. There is boy in the same grade as me who wonders arounds the tables just eyeing everything I do. I know I am weird but what is with him buzzing around me as if I am dead meat? He goes away after sometimes and I feel relieved.

After a long day of school, Elliot and I take our separate ways as we start to head home. He says that I should try and get to know some of his friends. I told I him would think about it. As I walk home and get closer to the door, I see that is it unlocked. I look around the house and cannot find mother anywhere. As time is passing and I am working on my homework from school and eating whatever food I can find in the kitchen, I see that it is getting closer to seven o’clock and I feel as if I know exactly where my mother would be at this hour.

Which reality should I take for Chapter 2?

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wezbrd · 7 years

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love yourselves kids

I heard them fucking in the room next to me and I wanted to smother them to death but I also wanted to kill myself.

My friend was fucking another friend of ours who I’d been crushing on for forever but never did anything about. Because most of the feelings I’ve held around sex have been shame.

So I felt this ball of rage boil up inside of me and this contempt and anger and self-hatred engulf me.

I couldn’t sleep, so I just heard them fuck on the squeaky, broken couch outside of my friend’s bedroom in a shitty Ikea-apartment.

The more and more I listened, the more I felt broken inside, too.

And then I started to overanalyze my thoughts and my fears and my deep, dark insecurities.

Later, I came to the realization that most of these insecurities weren’t about how many women I had in my life or my how many friends or how much money I was making because none of that shit really mattered.

They were about me.

My deep-seated insecurities.

My first sexual interaction happened with a girl who was a few years older than me, I think when I was 11 or 12 or something.

And I say “interaction” but it was a trauma.

She’d paid me $20 to stand in front of her in the corner of my room and kinda rub my dick around.

And that got her off because she was as deranged as everybody else in the world. The only difference was that she owned it.

That left me scarred for years until, recently, I talked to my therapist about it. I told him that it had a greater impact on my self-esteem and my fears around performance than I’d ever admit.

My therapist asked me, “how does it feel to talk about this right now?” and I told him, “shitty. Really shitty.”

My next sexual interaction was in 8th grade with a unicorn.

(And I say unicorn offensively: she was black and a Jew.)

We were playing around with each other on the couch when I pointed down to my dick and realized that it was growing.

I pulled it above my waistband and moments later she was going down on me in my friend’s basement.

And the funny/horrible/ridiculous part of it is that my friend was sitting there right next to me with a pillow as our makeshift divider.

And so, until that point, my sexual experiences had been far too public and traumatic for normal eyes.

That was the last time I’d hooked up with anyone until my freshman year of college.

That was for the better.

The lies we tell ourselves.

We were going around the room playing never have I ever.

And it was almost my turn and my palms started to clam-up. Because the topic of conversation had turned to sex.

I was thinking of what direction I might be able to take it in. I wanted to avoid admitting to the rest of the populace there that I had, in fact, never had sex with anyone.

And that I had a lot of shame surrounding that shit.

I couldn’t come up with anything so I lied.

Until I was 25, I lied to everyone.

I couldn’t keep my stories straight.

“Yeah, yeah, there was this girl over the summer who I had sex with,” but nobody believed me.

I was never a very convincing liar around those things.

And so, over the years, I found my friend’s and enemies around me get laid and I couldn’t help but feel like a total fucking loser.

The trap of defining yourself by your sexual inquisitions was never anything that I’d taken the time to actually question.

And so, female friends and male friends alike all had those shitty sexcapades.

I felt like I’d missed the boat.

The years kept ticking by 19, 20, 21, etc.

During the day, I projected this happy, jovial personality. Someone who was as awkward as they were funny.

And who women adored but that I found difficult in actually accepting.

At night, I was insecure, uncomfortable in party situations and aloof to the advances of women.

I had no fucking idea which way was up.

So I spent most of my time in the realm of avoidance. Drinking to excess, beyond the point of comprehension and blacking out on the regular.

Waking up the next morning questioning everything about my life.

And the deep, dark thoughts of depression and suicide took up long-term stay in my mind.

“I need a girlfriend.”

I was joking with my friend, hungover one morning, senior year of college that, “I could use a girlfriend.”

Somebody to take care of me, to rub my belly when I ate too much Little Ceasar’s and to dress me when I couldn’t stand-up straight which was too often to count.

“Nah, dude, you don’t need one of those,” he said.

“Just do your own thing, man.”

He was right. My delusions of grandeur were just that.

I’d remain disillusioned for the next 3 or 4 years.

But if I’d started listening to his advice then I would’ve spent less and less time and energy on trying to find a lover.

And more time on learning to be an awesome fucking person.

[Related: How to Get Your Heart Broken]

What happens when you move.

It wasn’t until I turned about 25 and realized, I have no fucking friends here. What the fuck am I doing?!?

I was sitting on the floor in my beautiful apartment in Denver because we hadn’t gotten a couch yet. There was a handle of cheap whiskey next to me and I was feeling this intense loneliness.

What the fuck did I just do? I thought to myself.

A few of my friends back in New York called me that day, but I mostly felt deeply alone and lost, then.

I don’t remember exactly when it happened.

(A mystical faerie climbed through my window and showed me a better way of living. Just kidding.)

But I do know that, over the next few months and years, I started to focus more and more on a few things in my life:

A.) Eating healthier.

B.) Working out daily.

C.) Socializing with more people and finding communities of people who I love to hang out with.

D.) Getting outside and having fun.

E.) Drinking less alcohol.

And holy shit, guess what fucking happened?

I started to feel more confident, attracted great people with less effort and generally felt happier.

And then I built a social circle.

And then I started pursuing work I loved.

And then, at some fucking point, I found an amazing partner (or a few).

What my friend told me a few years earlier finally held some stock in my mind:

“Just do your own thing, man,” as we split hits from a small bowl and watch another episode of Party Down.

It’s never about the thing.

I thought that when I had sex for the first time that my deep-seated insecurities around relationships and performance would go away.

They didn’t.

They won’t.

More often than not, we peg our own self-worth on the realization of something

When the better question we should be asking ourselves is, why do I actually want this thing?

And if we ask the question why a handful of times we’ll come to an unfulfilling conclusion.

It’s almost always never about the fucking thing.

You see men in the world of pick-up and you think, these guys are so successful with women, they must be so confident.

And the ironic thing is that they’ve developed that skill set of seducing women out of toxicity.

A toxic relationship with themselves.

And so, it wasn’t about building relationships and having sex. Not even close.

Instead, it was about avoiding the real question of: why do I hate myself so much?

And then you get to the bottom of it and you discover that your upbringing, the way your parents treated you or a fucked up relationship with a sibling did it.

Or something else.

And you keep digging some more.

Then the depression and sadness and existential questions set in.

And you realize that everything external you’ve been chasing could’ve been shortcut if you’d just asked, why, why, why? a few times.

What’s your number?

I have friends who are chasing an infinite amount of money.

They want to have so much that they can walk into a car dealership with a briefcase full of cash, buy a half-dozen cars and leave with a Fuck You kinda smile on their faces and enough money left over to hit the strip-club. Other friends who need to get married tomorrow.

Other friends who need to get married tomorrow.

They’re always in relationships because they’re looking for the one.

And others who can’t stop having sex with anything with two legs and a hole and a Tinder account.

They have numbers.

Some of them, they’re $20 million.

Others, 100 men (or women).

I do, too.

My number is 20, this year.

I want to ask 20 women out.

I wrote that down somewhere.

Because that scares me.

I hate dating. I hate asking people out. I generally deplore human interaction. (Kinda, but not.)

But the reality is, if I’d asked myself why, why, why enough times I’d realize that I don’t have to ask 20 people out.

That I’d benefit much more from doing uncomfortable things (at least for me) like talking to women in bars or at coffee shops.

Or learning to love myself and spend less time and energy defining myself by something I’ll never stop chasing. (Which is, well, women.)

In the meantime, I’ll keep chasing that number.

I’m already more than halfway there.

What happens when I get to 20?

I’ll find something else to set my sights on.

And I’ll never be happy.

Not until I realize that it’s not about the fucking women.

Or the money.

Or the relationship(s).

It’s about you.

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