#like ok usually I’d sympathize but this is the rare case where they actually didn’t fuck somebody over 😂

[kissingcullens]

It’s funny how in SPN the Winchesters do SOOO much horrible shit, but the times when people actually hold them accountable are usually the FEW things that they actually weren’t responsible for?

Like when Pamela showed up lol, and decided to summon the then-unknown Entity that was Castiel, and the voice of this eldritch horror the likes of which none of them have ever experienced is like “HEY FAIR WARNING YOU’D BETTER STOP RIGHT NOW OR ELSE”

Dean: Hey this is a bad idea you’d better listen to the horrible Presence and stop right now

Sam: Yeah I agree you’d better listen to the horrible Presence and stop right now

Pamela: It’s fine, I’m a medium! 😌

Pamela after its very much NOT fine: WHY WOULD THE WINCHESTERS DO THIS TO ME

#spn for ts #supernatural for ts #Not to be too hard on Pamela lol #they did her dirty like every woman on the show but I did have to laugh when she was like You Winchesters Fucked Me Over #like ok usually I’d sympathize but this is the rare case where they actually didn’t fuck somebody over 😂 #YOU did that Pamela

[paganchristian]

A picture I took out the window, a peaceful ride in the country, the rolling hills, the cows, the clouds, the blurry images streaming by like a tape, a childhood feeling, memories of gazing at the sun or the moon out the window and the ribbons of powerlines dancing, how beautiful they felt to me then, how full of happiness they seemed to be, dancing in such lovely curves, in rhythm with the music on the radio. 

 It reminds me of something simpler, more innocent, and more joyful, and more hidden, from the world, untouched, unseen, unfound, but wholly at home, loved and belonging, not alone, just almost yet unborn, living in a cocoon where the smaller and more simple the world, the better it is, and if the only other creatures who know me best are my other friends who are children.  And we all inhabit a secret world where innocence is everything and nothing but innocence exists. My sisters, though, weren’t that innocent and kind in all ways, to me.  And disturbing things had already taken root in me, in religious obsessive confusion, at that young age, and a feeling of numbness was starting to settle in, and a repression of my natural personality had already begun to work its way into my life.  It’s visible in home videos where my behavior began to change, and though no one says they knew why, I recall that a teacher was an influence upon me, to stifle my joy and exuberance, and as submissive as I had been taught at home too to be, I willingly shrank into a tiny shell.  But if I just vaguely let my memory rewind itself into the territory of faulty memories and feelings that tell more than facts, I can tap into a sense of pure innocence that I think is actually a mixture of reality, and fiction, and wishes and present tense life that has let me regain a feeling of childhood again, and paradise regained.  

I think that my relative is reachable, if only I reach them in such a delicate way, and I found and really saw and wanted to read again, this book I’d gotten, about mental health issues, certain mental health conditions they have.  It’s been sitting there but something just suddenly made me want to read it again, so eventually I may, though I’m having some difficulty with it, because I feel depressed by the subject matter.  I feel unsure that it will really help me.  Their particular manifestation of this condition is not typical and I don’t know if the book addresses this variation.  But maybe I can find other books or good websites that address that particular variation of the condition.  And really that condition might be a secret locked door that will let me reach them much better, if I can find the key to open things, because it is well known to have tremendous impacts on relationships of all kinds.  Whether it extends to our family relationship, they seem to have the idea that it doesn’t but after all I’ve read, and sensed and they have seemed to hint, I wonder if it does.  I wonder if I could help them much better with their problems if I understand all this, and yet, this condition is notoriously hard to treat so maybe it is more of a matter of accepting what is.  Sometimes it’s treatable but often it seems to be very resistant to treatment, unless the person with the condition t is very willing to cooperate.  

And I’m not a therapist of course and they’re not coming to me for psychological treatment, yet sometimes loved ones can help far more than therapy, as was the case for me, with my bipolar and anxiety, and yet my case was different, by far, than average.  And the loved ones and friends helped a while, but then I changed myself over decades of struggle and isolation and being totally alone and unable to voice my feelings to those who didn't’ care any longer (and therapy and drugs didn’t help either, but I was never treated for bipolar type 2/cyclothmia, only depression, so not sure about that aspect of the drugs).  Sometimes family and friends and loved ones can help, other times not.  Then the ones who helped me eventually turned their backs on me, but maybe it was too much, maybe it’s more of a burden than most can stand after a while.  

Even therapists are often depressed and they have one of the highest suicide rates of the occupations, I think I read.  It makes sense, if you think of the burdens they are feeling if they can’t help but feel overwhelmed by all they hear from others and then not being able to help them, as often people don’t respond well to treatment, and then therapist likely was attracted to that occupation because of relating and sympathizing with those suffering, which means they are more likely to be depressed or vulnerable to depression or mental illness, you would think, than the average population.  It’s not uncommon for therapist to have their own therapists too.  

But anyway, if I just have to accept my relative’s issues rather than help them, because their mental condition is often not responsive to treatments, well, ok.  And that makes me think, about the idea that maybe sometimes we can’t even stand to see our flaws, and it will destabilize us if we do, and not only that, but we need to be validated in our wrong ideas, so that we feel like we have a sense of purpose and worth, and it’s really strange to think of that.  Usually people don't think that way and yet I have lived that out myself and it really feels, looking back, that I did need that.  As long as it doesn’t do any kind of harm to anyone and it’s the best you can do, then maybe sometimes people are so trapped in their delusions in certain ways for the time being that they might need that. 

I think that I don’t have to worry so much about upsetting the fragile balance of my family member, if I just don’t go too in depth or say too many things that seem too challenging, too judgmental, or whatever, about their issues.  Not that I’d say it as criticism or advice or even suggestions directly aimed at them anyway, but just like I said, if I made a blog or wrote letters or made a website or whatever like that and shared it with them, this is my life, my interests, and instead of expecting you to be interested I will just give this to you to do as you so choose, to read it, or not, to respond or not.  It’s not directed at you, just a depiction of my life, my life story, my interests, my passions, the things I’d share if I felt I could share, but since I don’t want it to be a burden or an obligation, since I feel like maybe I’m too far out on a limb for anyone to relate to all that much, I will just share it in this distant, kind of detached way.  

If you really want to talk and enjoy responding to what I say, maybe we can find new things to talk about but if not we already talk a lot, every once in a blue moon, which is enough for me.  This is just throwing this out there, just in case we can be even closer than we are (We are now already close in this rarely talking but I trust and love you so much kind of way, even if we don’t need to talk much, maybe couldn’t find anything to talk about in common.  But we’re there if things fall apart, or if we just have to vent to someone.  That kind of “close-ish” family relationship type of thing).  

And I know that if I did that my views, my values will be confrontational and challenging to them, because they have expressed such extreme sensitivity and offense and misunderstandings over other people that I know they would see my views in the same way and they have told me they stew in rage and self-loathing and bitterness and feeling abandoned over the littlest of things.  I know it’s fragile and yet I feel like if I just keep things very low-key, simple and only  occasionally hint little bits of what might be considered “too positive”, or “too simple”, or “too spiritual” or too cool and aloof, too detached, or too whatever it is, too judgmental, that they might read and distort and misinterpret me to mean...  

Then I think I can write these things.  I just have to carefully weigh each word, even when I’m putting it in this detached, distant space that is not directed at them, but just my own thoughts.  My relative needs someone to help them somehow, and they are not willing to reach out or look for help in many places at all, so I’m one of the very very extreme few people (or maybe the only person) who is in a position to help them.  The only other person they are very open to is just as stuck in the same mental condition they also have and so I don’t have any real hopes for them to help.  

I don’t feel the best qualified to help myself.  I’m not always the most optimistic or the most encouraging or the most good at compliments and cheering people up and framing things in this really friendly, kind, gentle, uplifting way.  I try m y best but it seems that it just flies by me and I’m oblivious.  I see others responding in much more helpful ways but I don’t even understand how they do it or what they’re doing but I just see that it’s much more uplifting and encouraging and validating and enthusiastic and whatever.  More insightful, clear and well-articulated, more helpful, and so many different things I see many do much better than me, when it comes to cheering up people or helping people who are down and troubled.  

 My main strength, I think, is that I don’t judge and expect too much, and I’m actually not overly optimistic, not unrealistically, so, and not overly simplistic, because I’ve been there myself.  Yet because I’ve overcome things in this really weird and difficult way, sometimes what I say sounds too simple and easy, but it’s not.  It’s just so simple it’s hard to trust and be willing to try (and others may need other things but my case was not and is not minor and if it worked for me, it can work for some of the worst cases of depression, which mine was one of the worst my former psychiatrist, an expert in the region, said he’d seen, in his many years of treating people.  He expected I might be depressed all my life).  It’s not that I needed only simple things to help, because what helps me is elaborate and complex, many-layered, immense, and even still, fragile, and only healing but not curing me,...  But parts of what have helped me the most are very simple and sound dismissive to some people, but it’s not.  

Anyway, maybe I can learn how to be more helpful and encouraging in ways I see others doing so much better than me.   But it’s just one more thing for me to try to figure out, when life feels like too much.  And when I can’t just wait before I act to figure it all out, because they need my help and care right now.  Though sometimes things change much more quickly than you would ever expect, once you have the right information and take the right actions to grow, improve and change yourself.  So I am hopeful.  And I ask God for help, as ever.  Yet when I wrote all this about my relative on this blog, things seemed to change, and I noticed and felt like reading that book though before I’d had it on the shelf for months and it felt hopeless, worthless, but suddenly I saw it differently.  Something about blogging, what is it, it changes my feelings.  Maybe it’s some mysterious energy of people reading or maybe it’s something else, like my own consciousness reacting in new ways to the focused sort of social atmosphere and the endorphins of that or maybe it’s something else.  I wonder what it is.