☆ (emoish) gregoriah!
i meant to post this earlier, but its okay, hi!! posting this on twitter in a bit
not really sure what else to say... i was debating givin him a centipede tail like some artists do but by the time i was doing the lineart i gave up on tjat. so yeah tailess greg bowomp :(
his head looks small now that i think abt it
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I’m thinking and I honestly kinda love what they did with Ambrosius’ first impression. He really does seem like a kind of stereotypical stuck up jock jerk, mostly because that’s the cliche when characters are literally endorsing sports drinks. We see him and think oh, the golden boy. AND especially since he was introduced right after Ballister, the underdog.
But then the next scene we see him be GOOFY, he’s impersonating the news reporters and trying to make his friend laugh and feel better. And then you’d think oh, he’s actually not a bad guy, he’s silly!
But right after that you see the SOFTER side of him, where he completely melts and says “they’re gonna love you. Like I do” and it’s like oh. He’s so SWEET.
And we keep getting that side, when he’s helping his BOYFRIEND with his armor, where he gets super overprotective of Bal, when he winks and does his WOO and we see him from Bal’s eyes, and he looks so FOND, and when he cheers for Bal with such fierce pride and it’s just !!
It also just brings up his persona/how he acts in public vs in private with people he TRUSTS (get it haha trust)
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so while i was writing the book, i became violently suicidal.
this was mostly due to the fact that i had a very bad reaction to some meds and my brain stopped producing any serotonin. also i was in the last semester of grad school where it's actually illegal to feel anything but dread. so it wasn't going well.
somewhere in the fog of it i became aware i needed help. nobody was taking clients or my insurance. i didn't want to do inpatient care - it wasn't right for my needs. there's not really an "in between" stage between "inpatient" and "no care," but i was trying to do the right thing. i was trying to activate the chain of command that was my emergency plan. i knew i needed help now.
i used betterhelp.
i know, i know. i'm a straight-A student and so smart and so clever, how could i ever use something so blatantly bad. to be honest with you, i didn't feel particularly keen on it from the getgo - things that seem too good to be true usually are. also, if something online is free, the price is usually your privacy.
the thing is that there was kind of a global pandemic happening at the time and i worked 5 jobs alongside of being a fulltime student and also like writing a book on the side. it is a miracle that i even thought about getting help. i would love to tell you i had the mental wherewithal to like, process whether this was the right choice for me. mostly i was desperate. i was so suicidal that i was trying to find a reason to stay inside of fortune cookies. i was the kind of suicidal that looks like splatterpaint. i hadn't been that bad in an entire decade.
they took my data. i gave them it freely. somewhere out there, they have a dossier on me. on everything i survived. my story in little datapoints, scattergraphed beautifully.
the first woman told me that really i should be grateful, because (and this is a direct quote): "at least you're not anne frank." i said that i felt that statement was antisemitic, as anne frank's life and experience shouldn't be compared to like, a nonbinary lesbian in western massachusetts. the therapist said that i should try to use lucid dreaming to try to picture myself in an actually scary situation, like running from nazis.
i applied for another therapist. i was willing to accept the possibility that there was a bad apple in the bunch. the next therapist and i even laughed about how inappropriate that statement was. and then, in our next session: the new therapist said if i was struggling with body image issues, i should just work harder on my appearance. she spent 3 sessions in a row talking about how she was grieving, and made me memorize facts about her grandmother so "she can live on through my clients."
i am a three's-a-charm kind of person. okay, so what if the last person made me uncomfortable. i figured it was just a misunderstanding of priorities - she had felt she was sharing with me, i had felt like i had to take care of her. i applied for another therapist.
the last woman asked me to help her pray. she bowed her head. i stared at her, frozen, while she said: lord, i beg you: cure her. take the pain of being gay away from her.
i spent somewhere between 2.5 and 3 months on betterhelp. in that whole time, i was not getting the professional help i so desperately needed, even though i was fucking trying.
in the end, i survived this because i finally could get off the meds that were literally killing me. a request for a real therapist finally went through. i survived because my friends saved my life. because nick let me sob myself dry in his arms. because maddie took the razors out of my room when i asked them to. because grace slept over in my bed for like 3 weeks in a row since nobody trusted me not to hurt myself when i was alone. i survived because i got fucking lucky. because even when i was desperately suicidal, i was too old and too self-aware to take "you need to be prettier" as good advice.
the thing is that there's a 19 year old me who isn't like that. who would have heard "just think about how grateful you should be" and said - oh, i see. i would have assumed that is what it means to be in therapy: the same thing my abusers used to tell me. that i am just pretending and lazy. that i am ugly and unworthy.
betterhelp positioned itself to take advantage of an incredibly vulnerable community. it preys on desperation. it knows it is serving people who are not doing well mentally. it saw that there is a huge need for real, immediate, compassionate mental health care: and then it fucking takes your money and privacy.
i still get their ads on instagram. last night i watched as a woman in a pool pretends to talk to a different woman. they discuss her anxiety.
there's a 19 year old version of me, and she didn't survive this. she was too tired, and drowning. i almost fucking died. this thing almost fucking killed me.
in the ad, the woman playing the therapist takes a note on a clipboard and then nods once, sagely.
i have to admit it's a pretty scene. the steam and light coming off the pool water lands on the actresses. like this, it almost looks baptismal, holy.
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Remaking this post because my old blog got nuked
Hey my old blog @doggirlnarcolepsy got terminated in the recent trans fem tumblr purge, so I'll be posting from this url from now on. Unless tumblr decides to reverse their rash and uncalled for decision, I guess...
Me and my wife have been struggling make ends meet this month and have an unpaid internet and power bill totaling at $225 that urgently need to be paid off or collection agencies will make our life a living hell recouping the charges and fees we will incur.
(You can read the original post @queensizeddonger for more detail)
We haven't been able to pick up our hormones or my wife's ozempic yet, as we've been putting aside everything we've received to cover the overdue bills. We've haven't been able to cover groceries either for a while so we've been going days on and off without dinner as our only meal trying to ration what we have left.
Everything has just been so chaotic these last couple of weeks negotiating with utility companies for extensions, barely eating and tumblr nuking my blog out of literally nowhere.. If anyone is able to help out it would be a huge relief for the both of us and we would be incredibly grateful
P*yp*l: QueenSizedDonger
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