#you know what i partially blame myself i dont talk about it enough either. i forget how many things ive left in my wips folder sometimes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

sadsapphicslut · 3 years

Text

chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!!

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

Chapter One

A Dead Brother

I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

“Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

❈

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

“Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

It rang four times before he picked up.

“Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

“Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood – that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene. My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

❈

The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

#my writing #writing #original writing #original content #original fiction #creative writing #dark academia #tw death #tw drugs #tw mentions of sex #tw swearing #tw mental illness #tw medication #alo writes

6 notes · View notes

kunrengui · 3 years

Text

just sum venting, ignore :)

dont read if you have like some sort of family issues- trauma or something LOL

my family has been going through a lot of stress in these past 2 years and i feel like im in the only reason this family hasnt lost their minds yet. my dad takes out his stress by screaming at my mom, my mom takes out her stress by screaming at my (younger) brother and me, my brother is NUMB to all disappointment and im genuinely scared because my brother acts psycho and like actually full-on sobs and screams if he isnt allowed to watch vids or play video games all day or the wifi connection is weak or gets cutoff for a moment and thrashes things around but hes 10 and nobody is listening to my pleas of reducing his screen time because they cant deal with his tantrums when they try to. i feel like im losing my brother and then theres my parents who are on the verge of exploding all the time and im always on edge so im never seen scrolling on my phone or watching something kpop related because my parents are fking racist. Im always around the house doing things like getting my moms phone from the kitchen or getting my dad some water as soon as they ask me irrespective of what im doing and like if i hear my parents arguing about who is less tired to turn off the light while im the one actually sleeping i have to get up and turn off the light so my dad doesnt accidentally say something hurtful to my mom and my mom doesnt forget to make breakfast the next morning.

and like recently its been worse cuz my grandfather passed away 2-3 months ago idek it feels like forever so were staying at my grandmothers place that isnt even in the same city and i can feel my mental health deteriorating because i used to live here as a kid and i have a lot of bad memories i want to forget but here i am reliving them. anyways its 4 of us plus my grandmother so that makes 5 people sharing 2 tiny bedrooms a hall and a kitchen but the house feels like its divided into two because my dad and my grandmother dont talk to each other so they just stay on their own side and i share a bedroom with my grandmother and my brother. my brother sleeps in the middle but the bed is actually 2 twin cots with rock-hard matresses from the 1980’s awkwardly put together so the middle is uneven and uncomfortable but my parents wont let him sleep with them because he never lets anyone around him sleep peacefully (explains my eyebags) and he refuses to switch with me so now im also genuinely worried about his back. he also sometimes randomly screams at my grandmother and i glare at him and ask him to stop because its disrespectful but my grandmother screams at me instead because she is partial to him to the point where if she had to push me off a cliff to save him she’d do it in the blink of an eye and im not even exaggerating because this is a fact that everyone who knows her is aware of. shes rich and my family already knows shes going to write off her entire inheritance to my brother and idrc about the money but it hurts. like this one time my mum was talking about how she was going to preserve the land my grandmother owns so my brother can build a farm house there in the future like OKAY i get it we live in an indian society where youre just supposed to marry off the girl and give her 0 inheritance but that shit hurts lady. most of the time i even have to give up my portion of the food when my brother is suddenly in his psychotic mood where he wants other peoples stuff- my grandmother is my brother’s bodyguard, personal attendant and lawyer who’s current job is to either train me to be her successor or if I disagree then turn against me.

i cant blame anyone for the stress part tho. we werent as affected by my grandfathers death as we were by its after affect- he has a business and now my dad has to take care of that and 2 other businesses while also opening a new one and it doesnt help that all 4 require full-time attention. and in hopes of being helpful and fucking fixing this family, i promised to help with the advertising and the managing of the social media accounts of the new business. not even kidding ive been spending the last one month skipping classes saying they were either cancelled or unnecessary to work on photo and video edits for the store and promoting it. idk the last time i touched my textbooks and my parents dont know because im hiding the report cards. my limbs hurt from constantly using the stairs of the 4-floored store.

about half an hour ago my mum told me to refill all the water bottles while i was brushing my teeth and my dad loudly replied with a “Why does everyone give her all the work” out of spite for my mom. everytime he says that it makes me so mad i want to punch the wall because no matter how genuine he is, it sounds sarcastic to me because he makes no effort to help me. and it did NOT help when i lost the soft thing on my earphone 5 minutes later, making me feel like crying because my earphones are the ONLY thing keeping me sane here. the only escape from this. the only excuse i can give my mother when she asks why i didnt hear her call me in such a small house.

i just want to go home. i want my own room back. i want a pair of earphones plugged into my laptop, and i want to drown myself in Kris Wu music. i want to spread my limbs on my queen sized bed and pretend like i have all the time in the world to be bored.

i dont get why we have to go through this when were actually rich. im usually humble about it in rl but atp idec because i really dont get why we have to go through this when we can even afford a house in beverly hills or something. actually, maybe its because my parents dont have enough time or patience left to fix the bed or get a bigger house.

and then i open instagram to see people my age hanging out with their friends, having the time of their lives while im just rotting away here. the only 3 closest friends i have- one just stopped calling me after changing schools and making popular friends and the other blocked my number over some petty fight from months ago. thank the universe im still chatting with my 3rd at least.

but im okay because i tell myself im doing great. im patting myself on my back. im going to go back home at some point and im going to get myself a new pair of earphones.

im proud for staying strong. im proud for not nearing the breaking point. im proud for keeping it up for 2 whole years and im proud that i wouldnt hesitate to continue.

bless you for reading this.

3 notes · View notes

ghoulstars · 5 years

Text

i Sure Would Like to not have to be literally relieved/excited when my mom goes to bed every single night because otherwise i feel constantly tense and at risk of something happening to make my living situation unsafe, again, even if we’ve had a good/normal day

shes back on her fucking bullshit today and she usually confronts me on things that have made her Mad(tm) that ive “done” but today she hasnt said jack shit to me. all i can figure is: shes upset that i didnt get up and help her stain the wood for the porch we’re building where our old shitty side deck was shes upset bc i didnt wash all the dishes ?????????? who fucking knows

heres the kicker though folks: i didnt wash all the dishes because for some reason, since replacing our water heater, when the water from the sink starts getting cold it doesnt gradually get cold, it literally goes from like scalding hot (even thru gloves) to hardly lukewarm and i was only washing dishes for about 20? 30? minutes last night before the water temp fucking plummeted so i couldnt finish. bonus is that there were literally only like 5-7 things left to wash and it was literally just 3 styrofoam cups, one pot and like...2 or 3 forks/spoons. absolutely incredible and worth spitefully giving your daughter the cold shoulder over, am i right folks

and me helping stain was only even a fucking a possibility because she gave me an open ended offer to help her last night and i gave an open ended response. she asked me if i wanted to try to go to bed early enough and she would call me in the morning and just see if i wanted/felt up to come out and help, and i said i would be willing to try and id do my best. so when my manic ass had a manic moment and i slept for 3 hrs from 6 am to 8 and was dying and couldnt pass back out for any reason of course i texted her and told her i couldnt fucking help lmao. my fucked sleep schedule is a result of my Crazy Quirky Wacky Bipolar 2 anyway and like she refuses to help me or sympathize with me abt my mental health so ??? guess ill die?????

i didnt get back to sleep around fucking like 12/1 pm and i noticed that she stopped fucking replying to my texts literally right after i said i couldnt help and then every time she walked past my room, where i was Clearly Awake And On My Phone With My Door Open, she flat out ignored me. wouldnt even spare me a side glance.

and when i woke up at 5 pm today, no matter how late i wake up my mom always comes and wakes me up no matter what, today she walked by my room twice EVEN WHEN IT WAS THAT LATE AND I WAS STILL IN BED without saying jack fucking shit to me, and only came in on her third time walking back by to her sitting room and just blankly went ‘youre not laying here in the dark’, turned on my light, then swiftly left

then before that she’d texted me, after telling me for weeks to just use our limited data even if it runs over bc our wifi cant handle my phone being connected along with all our other devices anymore, that im going to have to use my laptop now bc she isnt paying another 200$ phone bill this month. here’s kicker number 2: after literally outright giving me her food plans for tonight and tomorrow yesterday she also texts me that she didnt cook. just a flat “I didn’t cook”. im so fucking depressed all the time that i physically and mentally cannot handle getting up to find and cook myself my own like ACTUAL MEALS and making food that requires actual cooking is often times out of the fucking question, and shes been not cooking for SEVERAL nights here recently, sometimes days in a row, and with my depression being wholly unacknowledged by her, once again, guess ill fucking perish??? unless i can miraculously find the energy to make chicken fingers or ramen noodles im going to be doing what ive fucking done almost every goddamn night this past month she hasnt cooked which is live off of snack foods and ensure lmao. KICKER NUMBER 3: she promised me that either tonight or tomorrow, bc she has a Big Foobaw Game, she wouldnt cook and would instead get me my alltime favorite chinese food from my alltime favorite chinese restaurant that she knows i love a lot, and regardless of what night her game was, she didnt cook tonight and i LITERALLY heard her say less than an hr ago that she’d be cooking tacos (which she intended to originally cook tonight) tomorrow. that being said, her specifically saying she ‘didnt cook’ today when she promised to get takeout in general at some point this week makes me think tonight was just supposed to be tacos (esp if what i think i can remember serves). and now she hasnt cooked anything at all! and tomorrow its gonna be tacos! :) fucking knowing how she is and how she works and functions with her abusive behavior towards me i would not be surprised and am also partially convinced that for whatever reason she’s all DooDoo Angery at me that shes doing this on fucking purpose to deprive me of the treat she promised out of spite/as some kind of passive aggressive ‘punishment’ HAHAHAHA ECKS DEE SO FUNNY XDDD

the only other time shes acknowledged my fucking worthless existence(tm) today was to pull one of her Iconic “im only saying this really ridiculous shit that ive never said before and we’ve never talked about before, ever, just to take digs at my daughter bc she Displeased Me” moments, where she walked by, almost totally ignored me again but stopped like. like she was gonna just keep walking but caught herself and she ended up like...halfway obscured by my doorway anyway and quickly said to me “i need you to sweep.” and then she went to the bathroom and i hear “and take your (cat) poop out too. litterboxes get done every night.”

we have two litterboxes. never in the history of ever has she said anything to me about they get done Every Night >:( and that has never been an established rule, nor have we ever even spoken about me doing that. i do them every few nights, usually on different days, bc there’s Two Litterboxes. and surprise surprise my depression impedes my ability to keep up with them without her having to tell me to clean them most of the time which pisses her off, except i literally did them 1-3 nights ago and theres no way that they both need cleaning again already and now shes suddenly on her shit like. they get done. every night. in that fucking vaguely militant voice she gets when she’s mad like that and is fucking with me on purpose

but fucking like even regardless of all this other shit, point blank, she is the one who has not expressed any of her annoyances with me today to make her act like this. how can i fucking communicate about the issue when she doesnt TELL ME WHAT HER ISSUE IS and instead opts to mentally and emotionally screw with me for her own satisfaction--and even then!!! she has no right to be this mad with me over not helping with the porch bc SHE left it OPEN ENDED and NONCOMMITTAL, SHE could have easily asked me why there were dishes left (though bc i have to do them so late at night/early in the morning bc im fucking depressed shed prolly just blame me FOR doing them at that time bc if i do them TOO LATE at night then the WATER TEMPERATURE GOES DOWN because its COLD AT NIGHT or something like that) but she didnt and now like everything else, fresh off my period, still manic, always rapid cycling, just got off the manic depression train slightly after being on it for two days and then before that it was Severely Uncomfortable Euphoria, feeling just so fucking wrong in my own skin and feeling too many emotions that are too strong that i dont want, so on and so forth, im the one whos suffering because of her unresolved neuroses and narcissism

and like....to be honest, real shit? with how fucking unpredictable and fucky she’s become since our Big Fight i also would not be surprised and sort of have half a mind to think she’s just mad for literally no reason (related to me or otherwise) and is doing this just because lol

#personal #dont reblog #long post #abuse tw #parental abuse tw #emotional abuse tw #mental abuse tw

1 note · View note

crimsonsalutations · 6 years

Note

What don't you like about fandom hanzo? :o just asking because I'm really picky about it myself personally

oh anon youve asked the Wrong question bc i have A Lot of thoughts on my boy hanzo

BUT before i say anything i just want 2 say that Despite the fact that i bitch a lot abt characterization on this blog, i dont intend hate or disrespect @ anyone who portrays characters in the way i bitch about. fandom is about making yourself happy & if a characterization makes you happy then you should pursue it despite what my dumb bitch ass has to say about it. ok.

ive mentioned this a few times before but i

A. love redemption arcs and

B. dont like... victimization. whether its canon or not-- like a character whose whole thing revolves around them being a victim of everything in their life? eh. boring. like widowmaker: she was a happy ballerina... she got brainwashed... it’s like... now what. she was happy, now she’s a victim, there’s nothing cool in there to explore.

i dislike characterizations of hanzo where people try to explain away the fratricide with ‘he was abused by sojiro’ or ‘he was brainwashed by the clan of elders’ partially because of what i just said and partially because it just seems unlikely in canon bc

1.chu... a while ago, said genji was part of overwatch when he was human, which we took as a slip-up but i dont think(?) that he ever took that back.

2.genji says something in retribution like ‘no matter what i do... i cannot escape my fate’ when mccree says they’ve become assassins, implying he’s tried to escape becoming an assassin.

3. overwatch was conveniently close enough to genji & the shimadas that they could swoop in and save him before he actually died

4. genji wasnt murdered. he was brutalized. he has scars up and down his arms, he’s got burn scars on his face, and when hanzo was done with him he couldnt walk anymore. plus there’s a post somewhere on here that theorizes due to the nature of blackwatch genji’s prosthesis + the blood spatter in hanamura, it seems that hanzo attacked him from behind

hanzo’s bio says

Upon the death of his father, the clan elders instructed Hanzo to straighten out his wayward younger brother so that he, too, might help rule the Shimada empire. When his brother refused, Hanzo was forced to kill him. This act broke Hanzo's heart and drove him to reject blah blah

but genji’s death doesnt seem like some kind of duty driven, single-manly-tear-slipping-down-the-cheek, hold-him-in-your-arms-as-he-goes death. he was brutalized. hanzo was angry.

while hanzo’s bio talks about hanzo’s broken heart, genji’s bio says this

Hanzo demanded that Genji take a more active role in their late father's empire. Genji refused, enraging Hanzo. The tension between the brothers built to a violent confrontation that left Genji on the verge of dying.

and i mean ok. im not here to judge hanzo or condemn him (personally i think ppl who try to assert their moral superiority over fictional characters are.. a little pathetic) & there’s a lot that goes into this, pressure from the elders, japanese culture, unhealthy environments. but hanzo had a choice.

all this stuff seems to imply to me that genji betrayed the shimadas for overwatch. maybe he caught on that he was in danger without sojiro around to protect him. maybe he just wanted out. i dont know. does it matter?

but hanzo couldve spared him. couldve cast him out. couldve done a bunch of things, but he didnt.

the fact is. that hanzo killed his brother. (brutalized his brother).

and thats why i find him interesting. how do you deal with that?

like, okay. you’re standing there, and you’ve got your little brother’s blood on your hands. and you’re looking down at him (at his corpse) and the adrenaline high is leaving and it’s beginning to sink in that you’ve murdered your little brother. in cold blood. what do you do? what’s next?

i mean, you punch someone in the face and you feel bad about it, you go ‘oh shit im so sorry’ and you grab them an ice pack. but genji’s dead. there’s no one to apologize to. there’s no way to fix it. you’ve done a terrible thing. an evil thing. an abusive, awful, terrible thing. and you cant take it back. and there’s no one or nothing to blame it on: you did it and there’s nothing you can do to change that.

what’s next? where do you go from there?

that’s what i find interesting about hanzo. because thats the thing about overwatch. anyone can be a hero. even if youve killed your brother. even if you’re the worst person on the planet. all you have to do is try.

and. in this context it makes more sense that hanzo rejects genji at first. the cycle he mustve been going down those ten years.

i killed my brother --> im a terrible person because ive killed my brother --> i killed my brother because im a terrible person

his whole concept of himself has devolved into this brother-killer who can never redeem himself, and then genji pops up one day like ‘hey whats up’ and this isnt just forcing hanzo to re-evaluate his relationship with genji, but also himself. it’s a bit self-centered, yeah, but he rejects genji in part because He Is A Brother Killer, that’s just how he sees himself. genji shows up and hanzo’s like, ‘you cant be alive because im a filthy bastard that killed my brother’

its obvious he still regrets it though. he says it was duty (i cant even get into that w/o more context abt what he means by ‘duty’ + the whole situation beyond vague descriptions in bios) and he also stopped using a sword after that. which is interesting either way. was that out of respect? did he just feel sick using one? idk.

the whole idea of blaming what he did on abuse or brainwashing is just so meh :/ to me because i just dont like those kind of stories. partially because a lot of the time they just feel like the author is trying to garner sympathy for an unlikable character, and partially because oftentimes abuse is passed off as a motivation when it’s not.

lots of people are abused. there is no one reaction or outcome of abuse. someone lashes out at their abuser and kills them, that’s because they were angry or scared, not because they were abused. the anger was created bc of the abuse but the anger is what led them to act, not the abuse.

hearing about the abuse just makes me sad, and to be completely honest it doesnt make me sympathize with a character any more or less. it’s just like adding really bland cheese to a sandwich. i can tell the cheese is there, but i cant taste it and it doesnt really affect the sandwich. all it does is give me more to chew.

hanzo didnt kill genji because he was abused or brainwashed, or else all abused/brainwashed children would kill their siblings. hanzo killed genji because he was angry (maybe that anger as born of abuse. frankly i dont think it matters much). what i want to see less of with hanzo is ‘fucked up bastard kills his brother’ and less of ‘poor abused baby accidentally tripped and stabbed genji with his sword :(’ and more ‘confused man tries to figure out how to live with himself after realizing he is kind of an awful person’

plus i feel like hanzo is a very specific balance between a broken man and a complete jackass and no one seems to combine those 2 traits in a way that satisfies me

#i like hanzo #i wouldnt go near him if he were a real person but i like him #i think hes interesting #but so many ppl take all of the stuff about him that i find cool #and toss it away in exchange for excuses over what he did #i mean fact of the matter is he's a bad person #im not here to judge him.#but he is.#but where does he *go* with that realization?#what does he *do* with it?#sorry for any typos btw haha #Anonymous

25 notes · View notes

vioisgoinginsane · 3 years

Text

So the current ratio of times i got hit on is

2 random strangers on the street and

2 guys at work that basically made me sing "no" By meghan trainor

And that's only started once i turned 18 (currently 19) Idk it's like they can tell or something?? I know some girls get hit on even younger than this (i partially blame the make up indistry for making you think looking 25 at 14 is normal)

Either way lets look at my humble observations and conclusions so far! Cuz you can never have enough #metoo posts! Lets talk about how I'm (sadly) glad to have been a joyless kid that repeated "leave me alone" A thousand times and i made the whole class hate me for not wating the benches to be put in a semicircle (cuz i was literally the only kid who didn't cheat at tests) because it turns out being able to shut down conversations is an important skill into adulthood. So boys, let's talk about why you don't hit on a random girl on the street and girls, We're doing a recap on the strategies.

The funniest thing is that they talk in the same generic format:

*generic complement like "you're beautiful"*

I know. Thanks.

This asserts that i know my self worth. Society seems to deem liking yourself as vanity, but really, if all a man can do is affirm to someone insecure that " Yes. You are in fact beautiful" You're probably not brining anything to the table. Also, you don't want to be with someone who WANTS you to be insecure about yourself.

*proposal of social engagement*

I answer no.

They ask the same thing again, but phrased differently.

Does he really think I'm gonna change my mind just because he changed "go out for coffee" To "come by my house"???

Also, This shows obnoxiousness. I don't want to see you in a public setting, where i am perfectly safe to leave you if i am uncomfortable, why on earth would escalate that to asking me somewhere i don't know???

I ask to stop insisting. I won't change my mind.

He asks why.

Further showing obnoxiousness. Bitch, we're strangers. Get a clue.

1. Stranger danger rules follow into adulthood. Don't tell him your name or contacts. " Now why would you need to know that?"

2. Now you can't possibly say you like me for my "personality" Now is it?

3. Bold of you to assume that a random girl on the street, or at a bar, or anywhere really, will always consider talking to a man. She might be a lesbian. Or have a boyfriend she is actually committed to. Or asexual. Or aromantic. Or just not looking for a relationship right now. Or you've made a bad first impression, actually. Her reason as to why doesn't matter, because she DOESNT OWN YOU a reasoning why. Especially since if she actually tells you, she'd be taken as shallow or a stonecold bitch. You act as if the default answer should be "yes" And she needs to give a reason to say "no". When actually the default answer is "no" And HE needs to give a reason to say "yes".

So far I always start with hope that maybe, just maybe this one will get the 'no" By the third time i say it, but i have only been met with disappointment. Do not be afraid to assert the fact that you do not wish to speak with this person. That is just how you avoid "sending mixed messages".

" Thank you, but no, thank you."

"I do not know you. Don't speak to me."

"I do not want to speak with you."

"I am not interested."

"Stop insisting."

"I do not want you in my personal space."

The ratio is currently 2 strangers on the street to 2 guys at work that made me repeat myself way too many times.

The very first time was some dude on the street and it was uncomfortably close to my house like my first thought was "oh shit. If he follows me any more I'm gonna have to walk 2 more streets in a circle and enter the convenience store and buy something i dont need"(did actually end up doing the latter) so it goes

"What's your name?"

*silence* now mind you. This came out of fuckin nowhere and this literally never happened to me before. My reflex was *i abso-fuckin-lute-lee am not telling you my name*

"How long have you lived in london"

Here i corrected him that it's technically not london

"But how long?"

"Oh.....a while..."

"Can i buy you a drink?"

Here i stop to remember that I've been living close to a bar and haven't noticed for the first 2 years.

"I can't drink."

Now mind you, i wasn't quite sure if this was creepy till i said that and he still insisted. Cuz one definetly assumes "not old enough for drinking" When they hear that and in my case I've been mistaken for younger than i am many times before.

I repeat no like upten more times till i cross a road and yell "stop insisting!" And he finally turns around.

That was my first time. My latest time was this guy at work that asked me out a whole day and every time i said no and then the NEXT day i try to straight up ignore his existence cuz the other time this happened the other dude eventually got it.

This one didn't. He got into my work space and distrupted me. He got into my personal space and when i gave him a good elbow he called me violent and said I'm not allowed to hit a man. Here i inform him that in my very first day one of the managers gave me full permission to punch whoever annoys me. He dismisses it. A girl next to us tells me to ignore him. I think "you're part of the problem". He jokingly says he can report me to the manager.

"Go to limburi" I said between my teeth and i cannot quite express how this tasted. I learned this "bad word" From an obscure YA book i read when i was 11 (Tara Duncan). I learned it when Selena was telling the man who imprisoned her for years and traumatised her and was forcing her to marry him and had the nerve to say he loved her to go to hell. And meanwhile in the real life i was getting bullied and nobody was doing jack about it. Good thing i never unlearned the habit of complaining regardless.

How to complain 101

I call the first manager that passes by and i tell him "see that guy?

That one. That one. That one. That one. Thatonethatonethatone. That one. (Really wanted to make it clear it was that one) he's not leaving me the fuck alone."

"Wait what? Dial back. What is he doing?"

"....he keeps hitting on me even tho i told him to stop—which is rather innapropriate for a work environment— and he's distrupting my work. He's coming here and not letting me work and it's making me so upset i kinda wanna go home!" (All of this was yelled because i work in a loud place)

And to praise of my workplace and Rob the manager he told me "if he does it again come tell me" And i think he had someone talk to him or something cuz he has never said a word to me since!

But i was so angry for a GOOD while cuz here's the fucking thing. I'm not english.

Im romanian.

The dude that harassed me was too.

So was the girl that told me to ignore him.

I've been in that burning trash of a school system and know for a fact: he is used to getting away with this shit and I am used to complaining about it and nothing being done.

And i am one of the lucky ones. Some are in a place when nobody does shit or maybe they aren't but they think they are cuz that's what they are used to or aren't confident enough in their english to complain or dont have someone to complain to.

I can probably find the date of every single one of these instances in my journal. I keep them. I'll probably keep writing them.

But i am only 19 and i am already so tired.

#why we need feminism #abso-fuckin-lute-lee not #how to complain 101 #everyday feminism #me too movement #its in the little things

1 note · View note

chickenstuffedwithmozzarella · 6 years

Note

Yaaay!! Thank you Soraya's inbox, sorry i blamed you on eating the last ask😂😘. You did great. Nono, he wasnt a torero, he looked like a prince. (Which is not better bcs i dont like any of those figures but... whatever). Ooh, talking about suits, did you see the ranking hsfashionarchive did of the suits he wore this tour? Bcn was winning, pink suit was second and Mdd was third!! (1)

[I hope this works 😜🙏🏻, bc this was TOO long, jajajaa.]

Ohhh. Your mom is the best. So supportive! Petition to give her that award. She is clearly the winner. (1D clinex? capitalism in its pure state 😂. Did they really made those? Glad i didnt find it on time bcs i would have definitely brought them as a joke to my sister or something). You are already playing Niall’s songs to her? Did she like them? Does she have anything similar to “pikachu get away” she had for SOTT?. (2)

JAJAJAJJA. Netflix always does that to me too. Dont know why. I started watching Black mirror backwards bcs of that. Did you understand anything of chapter 7 os ST? (Did you finish the show??). Yep. The 8th season is the last one, and i dont know hoe to feel about it. Dissapointed by the shows? As in with the ending?? Or how? (3)

You sound like a devoted cat lady, yes. Ooow, i have little cousins too, though they are reaching the age of “too cool to be seen with you, old girl” Of course they make me laugh. Honey is a menace and i appreciate it. JAJAJAJAJAJAJA. He ate the chorizo?? Honeeey!! 😂😂😂 that made me laugh at loud int the train and now my neighbour is looking at me weirdly. I see, you’ll never get bored with him. (4)

When i was younger and + close minded, i didnt like tattos. Considere also that the ones I had saw in real life were the tribal ones, so there’s tgat. But then i grew up and started liking them (you can partially blame larry for that). Nobody in my family (cousins and so) has one, and thats kind of a encouragement, I’d love to piss them, but my dad has threaten me to disinherit me (we dont heven have that, lol) and i dont have any tatto on mind, so i wont do it… maybe in the future, yes. (5)

I MISS LOUIS TOO! I hope he is fine. Resting and so. Im sure that creating the album that will destroy us all takes a lot of effort. (Seriously, where is heeeee?). Heeey!! I wont get bored. Or mad! I have such a great time talking to you. If i dont talk more its bcs of the character limit and bcs im always worried about pressuring or imposing. Dont be dumb. If i dont answer its bcs im busy with finals and so. Nothing more. Promise. (6)

THANK YOU FOR UNDERSTANDING. i know i know. It makes sense and its a smart move, but… i cant stand raeggeton/latino, its not for me. Sad. I havent lost hope though. Maybe ill change my mind later Yeah, i have the same problem with my friends, they only listen to trap and raeggeton and i die everytime. We mostly agree to put something neutral like pop or the radio. (Disney songs never get old😂). (7)

Ay. I just saw that i wrote “heven” instead of “even” and now i want to delete myself. I was walking while writing the asks and i didnt proofread it. I feel so dumb. Anyway, sorry for sending so many asks (today i made a record xd) and, as always, good night!!————————————————————————-Hi!!!! Yes! I saw the ranking. But it isn’t exactly a ranking. It’s more to like chose wants your favorite suit. I did it and guess what? My first choice in the Madrid one, jajajaa. Second the kilt. And third the jumpsuit. Very accurate.

Oh, you’re telling me! My family bought me a bunch of 1D merch (unofficial all): the clinex, a hair brush, a bracelet, 2 books!, one perfume (this I love it, it smells so good), a make up box… I can’t even remember everything. Ah! A birthday card too!! Where they talk when you open it. I always use to wish happy birthday to people (the audio) 🤣🤣🤣🤣. I had to tell them to please stop wasting money on those things. I don’t even know where I have it. And if a can ask, I’d rather they give me the money so I can go to their concerts,jajajaja.EDIT: I can’t believe I forgot the poster!! I have it beside my head right now,jajaja, and I only realized it was there when I looked at the boys to ask for inspiration,😅😅)

Oh, my mom loves Niall’s album too. But I don’t think she “knows” any of the lyrics,jajaja. Though, she knows the hmmmm in This Town. But that’s all. She and my sister, both separately were like: “oh! who’s him??” When they heard Fire Away. And I was like: “ehhhhh, it’s Niall’s album, so guess who’s it?? What, you like it? See, Harry’s not the only one who can sing…” jajajajja. It’s because of comments like this, that they think I don’t like Harry. And I get so offended when they hint at it! Like, of course I like Harry. But I like all of them too!! God!! I love Niall’s album so much (I’m hearing it right now, bc I couldn’t remember what song was the one they liked it so much, and now I can’t stop 😅). Harry’s and Niall’s albums have been lining in my car since they were released. I had Harry’s playing in a loop till I got Niall’s one and I interchanged them. Then Harry’s came back a month or so before his concert. And now it’s time for Niall’s again. (You can’t imagine how hard it’s being writing this with honey laying on my arm!! Jajaja, I can’t barely move my fingers😅).

AND WHAT DID YOU DO WHEN YOU REALIZED YOU WERE WATCHING BLACK MIRROS BACKWARDS??? I’ve watched canter 1 and 2 of ST afterwards, but I hadn’t gotten to watch the whole thing yet. I can’t stand to be looking at a screen for 50minutes without doing anything. And don’t get me wrong, lol, I can be on tumblr for hours, jajaja, but a have to move my hand, and I can go from a blog to another… y'know, jajajajaja. And when I watched chapter 7 of ST i was like, okay… now they have to investigate what happened… or a guessed they would be doing flashbacks… jajajajajaja. Then I realized my mistake and thought I was stupid, 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣“I see you from a different point of view🎶🎶” ( sorry, that’s me singing,jajajaja, Seeing Blind. I LOVE that song)And shows have disappointed me in the sense that they turn out to have an awful ending (seriously, I know you do it for the audience, but end a show how it deserves it, don’t turn it into shit just for a handful of money); or bc they just end it bc they don’t have enough audience. It’s always a matter of audience,jajaja.if they have a lot, they want to explode it. And if they don’t have enough they finish it ASAP. 😒

Honey is a menace, yeh, I couldn’t love him more,jajajaja. He can’t see me petting Liam, he gets jealous and comes to me and headbutt my hand so I pet him too. And Liam is so patient with him. They’re totally like liam and Louis, jajja. Hey! did I tell you the story about when I got Liam? no!! Well, someone gave my dad 4 kitties (they were sooooo small). So, guess their names (it was post March 25, 2015…) yes!! They were named (by me) Louis, Niall, Harry and Liam, jajajajajja. But Harry died a couple of days later, because he was really really young. He couldn’t survive without his mom ☹️. And the other three, my dad took them to a place we have were he has a little garden (?) with vegetables and chickens and proper farm-y, jejeje. I wasn’t too (any) into cats back then, so… Then he brought home one of them, to have our home free of mice. AND IT WAS LIAM!! And I adopted him. I took care of him. We started loving each other. And he became useless with mice, jajaja. He’s totally domesticated now 😝. And that’s his story. The rest? Louis became a big alpha male at their new home. But s car ran him over last summer, and he died 😔. And Niall is a female, jajajajaa. And I hate her. Because she hasn’t been able to keep her kitties alive once!! (She’s pregame again, and we’re praying this time she knows who to be a mom🙏🏻) Ah!! And Honey had siblings the other day!! The guy who gave it to my dad is my brother’s friend and he show him a pic. There are two white cats!! I WANT THEM!!! But they don’t let me have anymore cats! Jajajajaja.

Hey, we might have in common the reason why we started liking tats, jajajjajaa. And, well, to piss off the family is as good a reason as any other,jajajaja. And why are dads like that?? When my sister and I got our lips pierced he went to pick up at the train station and as soon as he saw us he turned around and walked to the car without saying a word,jajajajja. I HAD TOLMY PARENTS WE WOULD BE DOING IT!! I asked my mom:hey mom, if a get a 10 in maths, can I get a piercing?? And she say okay. So I got a 10 (I might cheated or not on this, bc I already knew I had a 10, but wel…), and I got a piercing.my sister only got it, bc I was 16, she had to go with me as an adult, and giving she was already there, she got one too,jajajaja. (My granny almost kill us 😅)

Oh, louis has a BIG responsibility on his hands. He will be killing a lot of people when he puts out his album. He has to chose the proper songs to do it. It will be considered a massive destruction weapon, so he better be careful. But god, for real, when will Louis and Liam release their albums. At this pace, Harry and Niall will be releasing their second one before LiLo has finished their respective tours. And when they finish, Narry will have release their second one, and will be promoting them. So Lilo will start working in their seconds one. And… and… AND ONE DIRECTION WON’T COME BACK EVER BECAUSE THEY CAN FIX A DATE WHERE ALL OF THE BOYS HAVE NOTHING TO DO, AND WHAT WILL I DO??? 😭😭😭😭😭 (sorry, I panicked a bit there,oops).

Uggggg, I can’t stand raeggeton either. I can’t stand the music, argggg. Or the culture of it (the how it treats women, and glorifies sex). I can’t I can’t.and you can’t go out without hearing it. My friends and I went on road trip once. And it was my friend’s car. And she only listens to raeggeton. And after 10, 15, 40? minutes I had to ask her “will this song ever end???” And she told me it was already a different one. And I swear I almost jump out of the car,jajajajaja. We were crossing a bridge, and I wanted to jump out of the car!!!!! I couldn’t listen to that any more!!!!! Ejkbvwirbfeuirnfrvoieefvnv The she caved and we switched to movie’s soundtracks,jajajaja.

Ha! Don’t worry about sending a lot of ask, I learn something, you’ll see,jajajajaa.Also, I forgot to ask early. Is your sister a 1d fan too, then? She goes to concerts and knows the song… how lucky! you have someone to talk about all the gossip!! (And they know what you’re talking about…) or is she a “casual” fan, and doesn’t get into fandom drama? She just likes the music and doesn’t care about their lives?are you both into drama?? God, I don’t discuss drama very much online, but if had someone face to face to talk about it… I would be the happiest person in the world,jajajajaa (what an exaggeration 🙊).

I think this is all. I LOVE ORPUR CONVERSATIONS!! Jajajaja( I hope I did it correctly and all this is under read more, jajaja)Byeeeeee!!!! 😚😚😚😚

#anon #iuubefvkjnevjknefv #it's the first time I put read more #I learnt how to do it yesterday (I had too google it #lol)

2 notes · View notes

trickstarbrave · 5 years

Text

im gonna go in to talk to management again tomorrow. i dont like doing it. im having a bad time in my life rn. its almost finals straight up soon. i got a lot of shit to do and take care of for my final projects.

but it has been nearly a MONTH since i have reported this issue. i have followed up with them. i took pictures for them. i explained to them i smell weed from her room sometimes and alcohol a lot. i think she is getting drunk and throwing up in the bathroom and never cleans it and i have cleaned it off the toilet but projectile vomit is where im drawin the line bc i have already gotten sick and thrown up myself one weekend from cleaning it.

my mom called. bc it still wasnt clean and my roommate LIED about cleaning it. and instead of reprimanding her for not only violating her lease and knowing she violated it, she LIED to them to try and cover it up while STILL not cleaning it. they decided to just piss around talking to higher ups. they wanna sort out a “meeting” where “all three people, roommate me and a manager” all sit down and talk abt what we want done w the problem. what i want DONE WITH THE PROBLEM IS FOR HER TO CLEAN IT UP AND STOP LEAVING HER VOMIT ALL AROUND THE FUCKING BATHROOM. if she CANNOT control herself and drinks and smokes until she throws up and cant be bothered to clean it she either LEARNS TO CLEAN IT or fucking STOPS DRINKING AND DOING FUCKING WEED. if you cannot control yourself and your actions and cannot clean up after yourself it has officially become a PROBLEM.

they also dont seem to care i told them she has weed and didnt do shit abt it. at all. its not allowed on campus remotely and were still technically on campus so.......... they could get in trouble w campus PD.

they have expected me to live in a vomit covered bathroom one month minimum. they never offered to help clean up the problem. they never explained to me any disciplinary action that would be taken besides “scheduling a roommate meeting”. this girl has ignored me knocking on her door to tell her to clean it up, and wrote be back a nasty message basically blaming me for being too mean and thats why she didnt even ask to use my cleaning supplies to clean up her fucking vomit that she has left more than once (she knows she has a vomiting problem but never bothered getting any cleaning supplies or asking me after the first incident if she could use mine) she has lied to all of you about cleaning the mess when she didn’t. she isn’t going to clean it up unless you take serious action and make her by threat of eviction and even then idk if she actually will or just leave it and cry and find some place else to get drunk and high and bang on the walls at 4 am over and over.

i want them to tell me she is in the PROCESS OF BEING EVICTED. or i want a refund or partial refund of my months rent for november. bc this is problem that should have been dealt with and solved before now. they should have said “we’re sorry she lied, we’ll send someone up to take pictures of the mess to prove its still not been cleaned by this day, we’re sending someone up to clean it, she is going to be disciplined for this and put on probation and if she does this again she will be increasingly disciplined [x] number of times and fined for the clean up crew before we send out her eviction notice”. but they didnt do that. because addressing the problem. actually pursuing it and making sure it was taken care of and making sure she knew this was unacceptable and making good on the promise that if you violate your lease you can be thrown out.

i firmly believe they are just trying to down play and ignore and make it difficult and more and more difficult for me to actually get this done. so that they can continue to collect rent money from her as long as possible. they dont care if she is making my life hell or makes me sick. they don’t care if she is violating the agreement to them she signed. they don’t care so long as they feel it is a small enough problem they can get me to shut up about. maybe they expect me to clean it and keep cleaning it until i move out. maybe they think i’ll give up and let her throw up all over the bathroom and then can bill me a lot of damage and cleaning fees at the end of the year bc they bill both of us for damages to the common area. i dont Know. but i do believe strongly that they are ignoring this purposefully for money, and they are a bunch of wanna be slumlords who will just charge multiple tenants for damages and keep collecting rent and dont care so long as by summer they make the places look nice and pretty for inspection. if someone gets sick or hurt and kids do drugs there, they dont give a shit unless it gets in the way of their money. and ill make it clear in my meeting with the manager i think the only way to get a proper fucking response at this point is to write out all this shit i have been thinking for a long time now, the shit my mother has said, the shit my friends have said, and write reviews on every single social media platform they have and every single review websites and make it very clear to everyone else who is thinking about renting this is the kind of behavior they can prepare for if they live here.

#emetophobia

0 notes

thenameisbinx · 5 years

Text

Blame Monday

ive been wanting to write down this entry since tuesday but i was busy trying to regulate my thoughts. Writing has always been my point of solace where in i find peace of mind and a completely different outlet as to talking to my friends about what im going through. i’ve set to making this entry in defining my roles and the effect of them. however, i ended up realizing its too complicated to describe.

so let’s start it like this instead.

Facade - a false, superficial, or artificial appearance or effect

OK. let’s not waste anytime by letting people see who you really are. Smile for the audience and don’t show that your hurt, in pain, or depressed. Keep moving and show that you’re fine. be in everyone’s good graces. please them like a slave. adapt, change for them, plead for their acceptance. All the while, bury your thoughts of reality within you. you’ll get to that stage where youre always wanted.

Reality bites. you keep wearing a mask for too long that you forget how to be weak, to be vulnerable. i learned that word when i was seven. one of the words you learn at that age where words originating from the french language. it was along the lines of “rendezvous” words or english classes that tries to teach different sounds of words that has literal sounding letters. When the teacher told us what it means, i always thought it was acting. Facade is a character that you want to play but not in a movie, but in your life. it dawned on me that ive been doing that awhile. since i could remember. Then i keep just playing along.

Before, i would bring the sadness of my day by showing to the people that i’m ok. That it doesnt hurt. My mom pulled my hair and complained how thick it was, even if i was sitting still not wanting her to try to do my hair. called me, “worthless” and “incompetent”. instead of crying, i’d laugh and play around with some classmates the moment i get to school. Or the time that my sister made fun of how ugly i was in front of her friends, that i’m just an orphan. I just talked back and said, “Well, at least im not fat.” Then, there was this one time that my dad scolded me for trying to play in my undergarments, i wasnt naked but i was wearing a thick white top under my uniform and some thick shorts thats long enough to touch my knee under my skirt, like my friends were doing at school. i wore three layers everyday and wasnt allowed to take it off till i go home but i saw some kids doing it. took a layer off and played. i was 6. Dad dragged me out of my school yard and slapped me right in front of the guard. Don’t get me started with my brother. let’s just say, he never made me feel like im important in the family. he’s the only person that treats me like im nothing and no one until now. like my opinions didnt matter, or as if what i do doesnt have any relevance. yet, i’m the jolly one. the funny one. the energetic one. the loud one. the push over. easy definition, the masochist. Harsh but partially true.

Now, implications. still, verbal cues. like, “lazy”, or “stupid”. in the family, its more verbal but emotional responses. Mostly they cuss, or scream or yell. If i reciprocate the same but not intentionally, i still get scolded. i cant talk back because im just the help. i’m obligated to do what they want me to. Even if im tired from work. Even if i just got dumped. Even if my mind is going through some stuff.

what you dont know. i go through these every day and i don’t bring it at work or when i go out with “friends”. I’ll go to work with a smile on my face like nothing bad ever happened to my life. i’d put that big smile on my face and just laugh things out. Remember just the little good things that happened and seemingly move on, but i don’t. its slowly sinking into my chest. Subconsciously weeping like a baby, consciously aware that during a meeting i’d want to cry just because i couldnt keep it in a box. i’d clench my fist as if im waiting for my palms to bleed because it crate wasn’t chained shut. it oozes when you can’t regulate.

Obedient - submissive to the restraint or command of authority

the words “dont” and “do” are basic commands to me. any question that has “did” are immediate doubt on me or even the start of the sentence “have you” makes me quiver already. i was taught to obey a form of authority. Parents, older siblings, uncles, aunties, prefects, teachers, apparently, anyone who is older. so when someone says, “believe me” or “did you know”, i immediately am in awe. i believe them. the fun fact is stuck in my head. i pass down the knowledge or experience. There’s another word for obedience, gullible.

i was once asked by my brother to go through trash when i was a kid. because he threw something he shouldnt. i was asked to do my sister’s homework because my mom overheard her asking me to do so. i was told by my so called friends to ask people for their numbers for them for their friendship in exchange. I have reached the point that i feel guilty when im not doing what people ask me to.

imagine working. imagine dating. imagine meeting new people. i can paint a picture but it’s too painful. Subconsciously, i thought i have removed that side of me. unfortunately, reflecting on the past few days, NOPE. i thought my defensive stature in every decision ive made was and the only way to take off that obedience or gullible card. Looks like i have been. being conditioned this way from the very beginning makes it seem impossible to take off. Obedience equals to gullibility. Refusal equals to guilt.

my dad comes home drunk one time, asked me to give him his gun to point at my brother. i said no, he shook me. no one else stopped me but i obeyed. i talked to my sister’s friends once. she told me never to talk to them and beat me up till i had bruises on my stomach. i wanted to cry when one of her friends talked to me. so i ran away. i wasn’t allowed to sleep until i memorized multiplication set of 9. it was 3AM, i woke up on the bathroom toilet. my mom woke up and asked me to recite it. closed the door and told me to recite it till i said the right answers. there’s consequences if i dont follow. i took that till adulthood.

i have guilt if i don’t do what i was asked to. more guilt if i really decide not to. it consumes me till i finally give in. i feel regretful right after. then, i completely try to forget. that never happened. ever tried telling your boss no? i learned how to say no last year. i had multiple speeches dedicated to me with people saying, “Do you even know how to say no? do you even hear thank you?” i feel obligated to do what people want. i feel obligated to give what people want or need without being asked to. let’s stop there. i sound stupid.

Strength - legal, logical, or moral force; degree of potency of effect or of concentration

People see what i want them to see. Facade comes into this picture. i’m always strong. can never show my weakness. if i do, i lose. if i don’t, i lose internally. i’ve been playing the supergirl card all my life. issue is, i’m always alone. always the savior never the saved.

Superhero syndrome. ever heard that song Superman?

It may sound absurd but don't be naive Even Heroes have the right to bleed I may be disturbed but won't you concede Even Heroes have the right to dream It's not easy to be me

my whole life revolves three things; work, home, friends. i always wanted to be alone, but i don’t survive it much. never felt wanted anywhere, even if its family or friends. then, work came. loved it because it was the only place the NEEDED me. but seems that i wear my cape there everyday. to the point that i couldnt be clark kent there either. always strong, never vulnerable.

been saying lately, im tired of being strong. then Monday came. That’s that for strength, it’s pretty self explanatory on my side. it’s too literal of a section so i hope this would suffice. for the last of the entry.

Tired - drained of strength and energy

Trigger : work

Action : Resignation

Symptoms : Nausea, shaking hands and knees, vomiting, clouded vision, crying, Lack of sleep, loss of appetite, lack of motivation, heavy breathing, sleep paralysis, sleep apnea

Diagnosis : Unknown

Working Impression : Panic Anxiety Disorder

i’ve defined some of my roles. a glimpse of my mind and soul but to the people i’ll be send a link of this too, i bet you only know some. some, would even say they never knew. you know, i dont share my feeling or these heavy stories. seemed irrelevant. one time, 1st grade. i shared a problem about the family to a friend. This ‘friend’ made it seem too petty to the point i avoided sharing problems since then. i feel like any problem i have has no value to others. so i keep it in. just me. maybe a few blank pages. some ink. mostly tears. by myself. on my own.

when i feel bad, or depressed when i was a kid. i would cry faintly inside my closet. come out after an hour or two. wiping tears of my face. i got caught once, by my dad. i just said, nope i was just checking my closet. i acted as if what he said before that point was ok. i step out when i feel weird and want to cry. ive learned how to cry heavily without showing an expression or even in a quiet manner. Congrats to me, i brought that till adulthood.

Until Monday. i tried to put up my mask. but couldnt. i tried to be strong. but couldnt. i tried to obey. but couldnt. i remember asking my boss recently, can i be selfish? all my walls broke down in one day. all my optimism. my positivity. and i thought that i can do it. what people saw of me, they couldnt recognize me.

i showed me. the weak one. couldnt even get myself to fake it. fake being strong, fake happiness, no mask. i couldnt even try. i was just done. even basing on what ive written on this entry, getting tired wouldnt be an option just yet. i didnt even talk about love or difficulties. i only got to write down instances. i was just done pretending.

since that day, i couldnt regulate. i associated almost everything and get anxious about everything. seeing the exit to my work makes me tense. walking to the building tightens my chest. getting inside makes me palpitate. claustrophobic. i dont usually breathe heavy but the doctor said breathing exercises would help. SOMETIMES it does. but not everytime.

it took years to learn how to regulate these thoughts that i experience daily and i feel like i have to go through two decades again to learn how. i didnt lose myself, thats for sure. but i feel like im not strong enough to stay in one place anymore. to have the same people in my life anymore. i want to leave. i want to disappear.

you know what i did after i broke down on my boss? i sat in a Starbucks branch in Molito. and starred out the window for two hours. spaced out. even my friends knew i dont do that. i felt like i died and im just the undead walking around doing my daily routine.

why am i writing this? it’s 2:35AM. nearly sleepy by the way. i’m writing this for me to realize something. i already just did. i just realized that what people knew of me, wasn’t me. what you see and experience of me now, is the true me and i dont like it. i want to be wild binx on good days. bea when im home. bianca when im at work. looks like i can’t be that for a while.

to those im sending this link to, i hope you read the whole thing. so you really know where i’m at. youre worried or concerned yea? well, here i am. here it is. i’m sorry im dumping my indifference this way. i’m sorry that im burdening you of my petty problems. i’m sorry i cant be myself. i’m sorry i cant be that person you knew.

blame Monday.

#anxitey #define me #monday #mental breakdown

0 notes

astraltraveller · 6 years

Text

not an end to all the endings.

so i guess the last time i made a post about this, it was late aug ish. early sept maybe. i remember being crushed after. i remember feeling used because rarely does a guy want to have sex with me and not want to date or try someting. especially when the guy seems like a good guy. and i remember so fondly of the hope that surged the night of. when i got that apology msg and actually felt like maybe there was something there. my heart lept. it surged. it was a rushing and hopeful feeling, the feeling I had rarely exdperieneced from my history of being with someone who didn’t nkow hwo to appreciate me or apologize for their mistakes. itw as such a breath of fresh air and deep down inside i had a feeling that he was going to do a 180. i din’t think he would ask me out to date me, but i knew it would be at least asking for a second chance. and a second chance it was. i remember not expecting to go to a nice place at all. i remember walking agood 15 min to a nice, hipster, refreshing, new start place. I wanted to say that iwanted to go back ot that time but i dont know if i really do. I dont know if anything will change.i rmember tryign ot put off the conversation because i knew what was coming and my heart was saying this is it and my head was saying this is too good to be true. And i had just finished being hurt, i didn’t think there would be a second call. I just didn’t want to deal. When it finally poured out what was really up, intnerally i was jumping for joy because it was even better than waking up from a bad dream. It was as if you turned back time and could change it all. Coming out of a bad dream means just that. It doesnèt affect what actually hpapens. Fror me on that day, something actually changed. Iwas happy. I was grateful. I never felt that way before about a guy being so forward with an apology. it felt so nice. it felt so mature. for a while i believed this was something different. it was like a fresh start. I felt hopeful, I felt liked. I felt like someone made a mistake and was trying to get me back. it was like with soumil but … more raw. without such a big long mistake. it was a short pinch, an injection with an old school vaccine. rough and hard but it’s so fast it really barely has time to make a lasting impression. it doesn’t leave longing. it leaves soreness that feels good, that feels like life experience.it was thrilling. i remember it was suhc a heart to heart. i was quite happy in that moment ot hear, even indirectly, that this person had in fact not meant what they said, that they actually would consider dating me, and that they made a grievous mistake, grievous enough to backtrack and fix it right away. to swallow one’s pride.

I did find it strange shortly after that there was some distance. there was chatting, but i recall it as not quite on the same wavelength. they didn’t show up often. it wasn’t reliable. i would later find out that it was a tooth infection, being sick, and being busy.

bad liars always lie.

I believed him though. i believed it because those things happened. i lamented to amit about it. hwo annoyed i was. how at the coffee shop he had suggested going for lunches and then going to drinks. (never dinner, oddly). to which i always said yes. was always thrilled. was on the defense and never offered first because i had jsut been hurt and was cautious. even initiating of messages was liek that. i was playing this weird game wherei would avoid talking last because i noticed he would always type a message after. i woud also rarely initiate, a what’s up, etc. pictures became less frequent.

a side note. i will talk about this more later but i actually spent most of my train ride today pondering why things ahd changed. wondered if is houd say something. not sure waht to say, so i scrollled through all the messages from the beginning. realize that he talked on an almost daily basis. lots of talking points. long messages. lots of pictures. i don’t know where that went. if anything, wouldn’t your interest be piqued and you feel more comfortale sending them later? iremember when i went to visit mill in canaidan thanksgiving. i remember awaiting messages. i even played the mute game because i ddint want to know. evenutally i got a reply ot a picture i sent pretty promptly but i didnt ralize til a day later. i was internally a little devastated because i remember that during my interview trip, he had messaged a lot, not only to check in on how i was, but also to send pictures. liek the blender bottle. and stuff from the cottage. and i don’t know why i epxected that to happen again. but even by then things had changed. this was after the coffee. i was thinking to myself, what did i do wrong? where is this clarity? i knew deep down my gut instinct to message him and send one of the few tumblr drafts i had just didn’t come off right. it evolved from

I don’t want to be saying this because you don’t owe me an explanation, but I think it should be noted that the way you’ve been treating me has really been

I didn’t want to say this, but I think it needs to be said because it’s just straight up not respectful.

did i say something wrong? I feel you’ve been quite shunning lately and I’d appreciate if you were more straightforward. i feel really confuse and it’s making me a little uncomfortable

did I say something wrong? I feel shunned and it’s confusing

it doesn’t feel straightforward

did i say or do something wrong? based on how conversational you’ve been, I don’t think I need to tell you why I’m asking

did I say or do something wrong?

I was looking relaly intnetly at the messages to see when mine had been seen. i knew something was up when i looked and saw that he was active and just didn’t view it. and then he saw it, almost an hour later. and that was 10 min after i opened to check. my heart sank. i messed up didn’t I? I said that I do’nt like excuses. but it was prefaced by omething he brought up. and i didn’t talk about his exucses lately. but what i really wanted to say was, care to explain? the day after the hotel, you saw i sent snapchats but didn’t open them for hours. finally oepened it to send a message. nice, but short. a couple of smileys. i then sent a text reply. unread for 4 hours but was active on fb. then i sent a video which got seen quickly. then a reply iwthin 10 min. then i knew by then that the shunning was on so i decided not to engage fully. no smileys, short. no furahter conversation.

with each iteration, I projected less and less blame. partially becuase it sounded caustic. partially because i didn’t think itw asrigiht. mainly because he’s leaving to the new office probably by next week. did i want to leave my last imrpession, with no smeblance of possibly hanging out, as an awkward, hanging-in-the-air immaturity, act of pointing fingers, blamingand blaming, the same way as i had done shortly after the coffee confession (when I said i went too easy on him) and after I scalded him for being a flake? was that the impressi on ireally wanted to leave? any possibility of spending time would be nill. and we’d never see each other by necessity.

i didn’t want to take a shower and give it a thoguht. i wanted to press enter and be done with it. i wanted to tell myself that maybe he would message. maybe he would fall asleep arleady and he just wouldnt see it and id have to stare my message in the face knowing that i couldnt change it. becuase he wouldn’t reply ot it right away. iknow this from experience.

but i did. i took a shower and really thought about it. it became, very quickly, “did i say or do something wrong?” because this was short, curt, a genuine question, not salty, not inflammatory, and not incendiary. it was a genuine short question.he would either answer yes or no.

and then it hit me while i thought about it. do i need to send this message? what will i learn from this that i don’t already know? nothing. i already know everything i need to know. i was just trying not to face it. hojin told me. and it makes perfect sense. if you like a girl, you don’t play gamees like that. and you certainly don’t backtrack 100% and go from snapchatting how im doing and dinners and food and leading to naughtier talk and quick responses to how im feeling, to not sending a single picture except a certificate. to taking 8 hours to open a snap. to open. messages. that takes a special kind of potential to use. it’s the kind where all you just want is to get laid. to satsify the curiosity that i probably had sown by sending my vibes. and a freaking snap story wit hthe blue one. i’ll awlays wonder if that woudl have happened if i had just not sent those. would there still be more of that excitement, that ambiguity? did i give it away too early?

I really enjoyed the time in the hotel. i really enjoyed that night. i was really, much like myself when i had the coffee that time. i was so thrilled that he wanted to have dinner with me and offered the whole takeout thing. it was relaly sweet. he was kind. and oh was he horny. i mean we ate for an hour and talked and … and oddly enough, after the sex iteslf it was so… almost relationship like. it was strange. it was … intimate? i remember things that i won’t say in detail, but esentially the fingering at the movies, the asian pr0n, wanting to fuck me since we really started talking,the kissing at the end as if he couldn’t get enough. and me, in a daze… “see you on monday”.

what was i really thinking? i was giddy. i did notice as well, there was no messaging when he got home or i did. not even a simple one. to ask if i had gotten home safe would be silly, i didn’t leave. but was that not his role? wouldn’t it have been strange of me and extra clingy and oxytocin-highed to ask if he was home safe?

perhaps it would have been. and perhaps i should be glad i didn’t. i was surprsied to see that i didn’t get any messages from him after my lsat. he didn’t owe me any. but i just didn’t expect that. i thought, surely if he was so intent on having dinner, snapchatting so often, messaging, heavliy flirting.. saying that he should have kissed me the time penney gilbert came by… all the while (not drunk)... surely.. a message? a good luck? a “i hope it’s going well”. nothing relatoinship-y. i mean, clearly i didnt need to say that because i was writing a test taht started well early in the moring, which is why i was in the hotel in the first place. and i didn’t finish till 1. at which point i promptly snapped a picture. and i walked with baited breath and worked half-aware, waiting for that vibrate. waiting that maybe there would be some interest in me, in my work, in my day, in hearing from me. but there was none. not till much, much later taht day. so late in fact, that it was 11pm on saturday night and i was pissed enough t odecide not to open it and wait till morning. i was pretty devastated. had it all crumbled so fast? what did i last tell him before i left? “how is this different from last time?” “because if i didnt have to go, i would stay”. oh really? says who?

I was hurt, yea. I didn’t think that i fell off the radar of being important so quickly. it went from me being “slow” replying in 15min, to him taking 5-8 hours while during awake hours and being clearly active elsewhere.

I chalked it up to being busy. I didn’t want to be insecure. but there was something inside of me that was realizing i was being shunned. it hurt. it was so drastic it was so.. fast. it was so soon. it was so ruthless. it was so deliberate. it was so uncalculated. it was done so easily, like it was clearly his only choice. “why would i do anything else?” it’s like the coffee conversation never happened. it was like the no-words version of “what are we?” “i’m not ready to date”. i thought things were different. not that i expected to date, no that i expected any dramatic proposal… but .. never did i think i’d be shunned. it’s like i got whipped around really quickly and was scrambling for the first explanation.

but when you’re in defense and cautious, you don’t think of pragmatic solutions. you think of comfortable solutions. you think back to the first time we went out after i mentioned how this was a shitty situation. we went to duke’s refresher and bar and it was a good time. we talked about everything, but specifically about christmas market. it was really nice. i had a great time. that’s what makes all this so jarring. i know this is the case because i messaged him first for the snapchat on sat, the vid on sun. and then the facebook link about russia being outted from peyonghcnag on tue,then wendesday about meetings on wednesday. it’s clear. i think i was in denial. and it really didn’t truly hit me until about an hour ago. it was when i raelized, that usuually after good sex and a good connection, i like to replay the situation in my head. i only had one chance to do that while still giddy and no semblance of a change was present. and taht was the 4am morning i woke up on the morning of lsat. i couldn’t sleep after and i rmeember lying between those king bed sheets and thinking that i was so lucky and happy. on the bus ride home, i was tired. i was sad. i didn’t get any messages back. they weren’t even opened, which somehow hurt even more. i didn’t masturbate since that night. I just don’t feel it. it doesn’t make me horny. it makes me sad. it makes me horny only when i feel that the enjoyment is reciprocated, that we’re both equally giddy and excited about what went down. i couldn’t do it though. I haven’t been feeling it. because i know that something didn’t sit right. it didnt’ feel like last week, or any week before that. conversations were short, blunt, cut off by other people without returning, and nothing was initiated.

i think this is the beginning of the end.

it make me sad because we went on proper dates. we went to the christmas market, which was a great time. it’s a romantic, couply place. i like looking at it on instagram, other peple posting pictures fromit, becuase it’s so sweet. Ifeel like part of me won’t be able to handle christmas markets the same. it feels like a sham. i felt something, i felt wanted, enjoyed, shown around, in a pretty romantic, couply, festive, really one of a kind environment. ther’s really nothing like it. the crowds suck but i had lots of laughs , like when i took some poor pictures for some people in front of the christmas tree. like when there was a light tunnel with a heart at the end of it that we were awkwardly dodging. like when we had mulled wine, hot choclate, cider. like when we had a nice walk there and back. and while i write this i just cant help but think, did i do something wrong?

the dinner, c’est what. it was nice. good chats and it turned a turn as usual. blew off other skype calls for me. it was nice one on one time. time just flew by. i really liked it. we chatted about everything. like always. i like talking to him. i like his humor. he said he liked me, and he still does. and i gave him a second chance. and i gave in. and we did it. and this is what i get? i really don’t feel like i deserve this. but what can i say?i don’t have to ask what it means. i know what it means. it’s just that up to an hour ago, i didn’t really want to admit it.

coudl i ahve not been salty about excuses? maybe. but i didnt say that to him. it was pretty benign. maybe he just really didn’t have anything to say. i mean, when he mentoined the coffee thing, i already said that that was really nice of him and i appreciated it. but i think it was a nice way of me mentioning that i know what’s up. he wan’st oblivious. i also could have done a “oh no questions, it was easy :D” and asked what he was up to… but let’s be honest. what did i just go over? i’ve been shunned. was i gonna play dumb and act like none of that ever happened? it bothered me. ti’s been bothering me since i looked at my phone on saturday… and was genuinely surprised. taken aback. didn’t expect that in a milloin years. nothing. and nothing on monday.

sometimes i get twinges of , “ should i have said something?” but i realize the only thing I’d be showing is that I can be petty, that i complain. actions speak louder than words. there is no explanation that would do his choice of actions justice. it’s self-explanatory. it’s not an accident what he chose to do. its clear that i knew what was going on. i was not oblivious. “I don’t like excuses”. in fact, to drive that home, I made the right decision to not say a thing. because im not interested in hearing what excuse there may be. i also don’t really need an explanation for whether or not i said or did something wrong. what would it tell me? maybe it’d tell me if I actually did somthing wrong (and the shunning was really self-inflicted), or if not, it was a change of heart on his end. but me wanting to hear from him was less of trying to get an answer to my question, but rather to get a response. to let him know that i know what’s up. but it’s already evident. I said I don’t like excuses. and really my actions in the next while will say more than i think. I won’t be as smiley, I’ll be friendly but guarded. I get it. he’s just not that into me. fool me once, shame on you. fool me twice, shame on me.

I’ve been counting in my head, the presence or absence of him, by the days of the week so carefully in the back of my head, every week. especially those since starting in september.

my days became marked by whether or not i saw him. what we talked about. did he come visit? did we chat? not even just if we flirted, but if he dropped by. for how long? were we alone?

i feel like i’m mourning. i’m mourning because there’s a beautiful office down the hall that’s almost done, that’s almost able to be moved into, december 12. that’s next week. he said another thing , that it’d be nice to come and visit. im scared. i’m scared that after that, there’s no reason to catch up, there’s no reason to chat, there’s no reason to check me out or pass by each other, or to get coffee… there’s no reason. different rooms with keys that don’t work. down the hall but yet barred apart. ther’es just no reason. talking ot him now is like pulling teeth. granted, him asking me to drinks and things was done over messaging, but we’re going to become those sort of people… that sort of friendship where you check in once every 2.5 months to ask how life is. and that makes me sad. because that can happen as soon as 5 days from now.

we talked about something on the 11th. his mom’s going to costa rica. that was the plan, to go to his place, to essentially have sex. you know, wiht privacy and stuff. but that requires an invitation. and i was trying to warm up to it by initiating messages. even though he’d try to chat in person… it would quicly become something else. something...clinical. something that woudl be interrupted. my excuse comment would ahve just been maybe, something he just didnt have a response to. wouldnt’ be the same time. but if the week goes as it already has been since last saturday, there will be no meetup next week. which is ok. i am not really sure i want to have sex. im not in the mood as of now. I’m really not dying to. what i want more than anything is a chance to talk without talking about the possibiility of a relatoinship, just to talk about what has been. he did say we could hang out before then, but that was, of course, while he was horny.

and thisis minor, but him playing dumb at me reutrningthings at eaton center was a little jarring. he’s not an idiot. he knows what i was returning. and he acted like he didn’t want to say a single thing about it. or bring it up. it’s like it’s being suppressed already. and i dont get it. you don’t have to love me. i don’t love you. but are you sure you’re not using me? this hurts.

0 notes