just talking/worrying about my life

i really really want to go away to college, partly because i actually really like school when i'm not a) severely mentally ill and b) having to take classes i hate and c) 100% online classes, and also because i really want to be more independent and not live with my mom and college feels like a good opportunity to do that (and i've lived in the same city since i was 6, i would really like to live somewhere else)

but to be honest i'm terrified that i won't get accepted anywhere out of state and then it's like... what do i do now? i didn't do as well on my SATs as i could have had i known about the test more than 2 days in advance. i'm a high school dropout and most of my community college transcript is withdrawals. i did do well in the classes i actually completed and i did really really well on my GED, but it's been so long since i've been in school or even really doing ANYTHING that i feel like i'm just not smart enough, or just too out of practice to even get in anywhere. and if i do manage to get in, i'm terrified that i'll go away and won't be able to handle school, or won't be able to handle living alone, or won't meet any of my personal goals i want to accomplish during college, and i'll just have to drop out and move back with my mom (which is not the end of the world if it does happen, i love my mom and i know she'll support me, but i don't want it to happen anyway). and then it's like... college is so insanely expensive. i know i'll have my parent's support but it's SO much money and then i like... have to pay for food, what if i'm horrible at feeding myself and i relapse and have to drop out? what if COVID gets significantly worse and i'm alone in a strange city and i get sick?

i know that all of this is the extreme what-ifs i do in any scenario, and i always, always doubt my capabilities for everything, and more often than not it turns out much better than i expected (like i was CERTAIN i was going to fail the GED at first). and if i don't apply to schools there is zero chance that i will get in. i know i'll be able to survive no matter what happens, and i have parents who are well off and who will always let me move back home if i need to.

but somehow when i was 15/16 and just assumed i was going to die before my eighteenth birthday everything seemed less stressful. now i'm here, alive, wanting to live, 19 years old and it's like. now what.

Mistakes - Topper Thornton

Word Count: 2599

Warnings: death, swearing.

A/N: So I had to look up Topper’s mother’s name, and found out that apparently he is a professional surfer??? Did I miss this the countless times I’ve watched the show???

It was three day’s before Topper was getting married. It was going to be the biggest wedding on the island. Finally, the Thornton and Cameron family coming together. This wasn’t for business, or blending families, this was simply the will of love between two people. Topper and Sarah had been together, broke up and then got back together when they came home from college. Topper went to university out west, studying pre-law while Sarah stayed home and got her nursing degree. It was about five years they weren’t together. Topper moved back home to finish his degree and started to work for law firm on the island. To say that Cynthia and Ward were ecstatic was an understatement, they had already started making business plans around their kids’ marriage. Cynthia invested in Rose’s real-estate, and Rose helped her find a new office for her clinics. Cynthia also helped Sarah get a job at the hospital.

Nothing was being left behind. When Topper and Sarah announced their engagement to everyone the planning went crazy. The engagement party was held at the country club and no expense was spared. It was obvious Rafe wasn’t getting married any time soon, and Wheezie was still too young. Sarah loved planning all the events and getting the photo’s done. She was happy to being doing all of this with Topper by her side. At one point in time, Topper was over baring for Sarah, almost too invested in pleasing her. When they were in high school the relationship didn’t work because they were on two different pages, they had two different needs. When Sarah left for college, she had a couple boyfriends but nothing really lasting, when she moved back to island, she ran into Topper at the Heyward’s grocery store and he asked her out for coffee to catch up. The rest being history.

Topper on the other hand had a serious relationship that he left out west. Y/N was everything to Topper at one point in his life. He had grown from his relationship in high school. Learning from his mistake he always tried to not be clingy towards her. She was a history major, planning on becoming a teacher. Y/N loved kids, she always dreamt of having plenty of her own. Topper and Y/N were together for almost four and half years. Y/N thought she was going to marry Topper, never imagining her life with anyone else. They had made plans together. Moving back to the Carolina’s when they both finished school. Topper working at law firm for a while before starting his own practice, Y/N working at the high school he went too, or maybe the elementary school. They both wanted kids, Y/N wanted more then him, but they could compromise. They wanted to buy a nice house by the water, teach the kids how to surf, have a garden, maybe a dog. Everything was planned, until it wasn’t.

Y/N’s mom got sick her last year of university. Her mom had been sick a lot when she was a child, always spending time at other family’s houses growing up. She was an only child and her dad left when she was a little girl. When Y/N got the news that her mother was sick and needed her help, she didn’t question transferring to a university closer to home. In all honesty she thought about dropping out, being with her mom full time. The doctor told Y/N that this was her last fight. They thought she might’ve had 5 good years left, if they were lucky. When she told Topper this, he held her while she cried. He didn’t know a lot about her childhood, just assumed she like to keep that private, but that night she told him everything. Maybe she should have waited to bring up leaving, but she had to get everything off her chest that night. “Top, she only has a couple years left. I need to spend those with her. I need to be there for her.” Y/N tells him through tears and sniffles. “Wait, what do you mean? You’re not leaving, are you? Y/N/N, we have plans.” Topper was upset that she could so easily replace him. Not thinking twice about it. “You can come with me; we can do this together. I’m not sure if I can do this without you. Please Top, come with me. I need you.” She looked into his eyes and got the answer she wasn’t looking for. She saw anger and hurt. This wasn’t the Topper she fell in love. The one that was so kind and thoughtful.

That was where things ended. He wasn’t changing his life, not the life they wanted for her. It was selfish of him, but they had plans. So they went their separate ways. Topper always kept an eye on the obituaries from her hometown. A couple years after being with Sarah he finally saw it. Y/N’s mom had died and left everything to her. He sent a card and donation, wondering if she ever got. He even paid all the funeral expenses. In some way he was trying to make up for the hurt he caused her. That next day he proposed to Sarah. When they were sending invitations to everyone, Sarah asked if his list was ready. They had the same friends so they only people extra he wanted to invite were some colleagues and old university buddies. He kept one invitation for himself though. Not telling Sarah why he wanted and extra one. He wanted to send one to Y/N, but he wanted to send more then just an invitation, he wrote her letter, wanting to get things off his chest before claiming his love to another women in front of a church. He knew it was wrong to send it, but he didn’t care. He figured you’d moved anyways after your mom died. You always said you hated your hometown. He sat down at his desk grabbing a pen and just started to write.

Dear Y/N,

I don’t know why I’m doing this. I can’t being to imagine what you must be thinking right now. I could take a swing at it though. Maybe your think what the hell is he writing me letter for. He broke my heart; he tore it into a million piece when I needed him the most. I don’t know why I did that to you. I think maybe because I got so scared you were going to leave and move on without me. I had pictured our life a certain way for so long that I didn’t want it to go any other way. I fucked up Y/N. I fucked you over when you left. I read about your mother online. I should have been there with you to get through everything. I should have been there with you, to hold you when you cried for her, to help make the big decisions. I donated to the charity you picked out. The school meal program, the was sweet. You can see that I’m getting married, to Sarah of all people. She’s a nurse now, working at the hospital with my mom. Things have gotten better with my mom. Things aren’t so bad between us. She loves planning this wedding, her and Sarah are like kids in candy store with the details. I finished law school; I’m working at firm here on the island. It’s nice to be home, I’ve enjoyed surfing on the east coast again. Sometimes I look around and I wonder if things would have been different if you stayed and we did this together. I wonder if you would have liked it here or maybe you wouldn’t because you hate storms, and we get a lot of hurricanes. I want to apologize Y/N. I want to say I’m sorry for hurting you the way I did. I’ll never forgot the look on your face that night. It keeps me awake at night. What I did to you Y/N, it was wrong, and I wouldn’t blame you for ripping this letter up and not giving me second thought. But if you don’t if you read this know that I’m inviting you to the wedding. I want you there, and not in some vengeful way, but as someone who I still want to have there. I understand if you don’t want to come but I hope you find it somewhere in your heart to change your mind.

Yours truly, Topper

It was sunny that day. Y/N had run to the post office on her break at work. She had finished her degree a year late, opting to take a year off when her mother first got sick. She got three good years with mom. They did everything on her bucket list. They went to Italy, then went rock climbing. Her mom took a cooking class, but most importantly she watched her daughter get married. When Y/N moved back home, she had no time for men. She wasn’t over Topper and wanted to put her full focus on her mom. After a while things got better and her heart started to hurt less. She wasn’t looking for a relationship, but when a new teacher started at her school her boss asked her to help him out. Evan was great. He was funny, kind and smart. He listened to everything she had to say. He heard from other teachers what was going with her mom and he became her support person. He proposed after only eight months of being together, but the two of them were so happy. It was different happy then Topper. He didn’t make her feel the same way but she had to come to terms with the fact the no one was going to make her feel that way. It wasn’t fair to Evan to expect him to be someone he’s not. When he proposed it was the best day of her life. You guys did rush the wedding, but only because Y/N wanted her mom to be there. That was the last thing on her bucket list. To see her little girl, get married. Evan and Y/N didn’t take a honeymoon because a few weeks after the wedding her mom had finally passed. Y/N was devasted, she was hoping by some miraculous discovery they would cure her. It was a poor girl dream that didn’t come true. Y/N had planned the funeral with the help of Evan. When Evan went to pay for the funeral, the pastor told him it was already paid for by an angel donor. When he talked to her about, she assumed it was someone in the town that knew her mother.

When Y/N saw the letter she recognized Topper’s hand writing. It was like a child’s, scribbled and almost unreadable. She could only read it from years of helping him study for tests. Her heart stopped for the second time in her life. Sitting in her car reading the words he wrote to her brought back a lot of painful memories she sooner forget. She was so angry with him for bringing the past up but was happy to know that he had moved on from her. She never doubted that he would, after being so cruel to her, she began to wonder if all those years were just lies. Some sick joke to him. Though no matter what he did, Topper Thornton always held a special spot in her heart. She looked at the wedding invitation that went sent along with the letter and wondered if she should go. She could be spiteful and bring Evan with her making Topper fell some sort of pain. She didn’t think he could ever feel the same pain as she did. If it weren’t for Evan she would be alone right now.

Weeks turned into months and Y/N never told Evan about the letter she received. At first, she thought she wouldn’t go. Not giving Topper the validation that he still had some hold on her, but then she thought it might bring her closure to see him getting married. Maybe it would be like officially closing that chapter of her life. That’s what brought her to place she is now. Sitting in a plane on her way to North Carolina to watch the man she once so dearly loved get married. She brought a simple dress not wanting to stand out, as she clearly wasn’t going to know anyone. She had only been this nervous a few times before. Waving the flight attendant over for a drink, liquid courage is what she needed. She wasn’t going to make a scene. Just sneak in the back, watch them say their vows, and sneak back out. She didn’t even book a hotel room opting to leave right after. She told Evan that she was meeting a friend out there from college which wasn’t a complete lie.

After the longest flight of her life, she caught the last fairy boat to Topper’s hometown. She drove through town in a rental car. It was small but cute. She found herself picturing the life she could’ve had. All the things Topper told her about his childhood. She even drove by the school reminiscing on the time she spent with Topper. With 10 minutes until the wedding she parked the car outside the venue. Just breathe Y/N, they’re so many people here he wont even notice you. Twisting the ring on her finger she pulled herself out of the car and towards the church. Sitting in the back Y/N listened to people talk. All of them speaking about Topper and Sarah when they were younger, how he couldn’t have found anyone better. She noticed that he’s not up at the alter. She remembered that he always wanted his mom to walk him down the aisle, saying it just made sense.

Y/N was pulled from her train of thought when the music started to play, watching as the door opened. Her heart stopped; there he was. He had aged. He let his beard grow out a bit, and his hair was lighter. He looked so handsome in his tux. His mother looked the same as always, stern but happy. Then the wedding party came out three bridesmaids and three groomsmen. You recognized one of them being Rafe Cameron. You met him a couple times with Topper, they were best friends, but he was heavy into the drugs. He didn’t look strung out though. When ‘here comes the bride’ started everyone stood and turned towards the door. When they opened again a beautiful woman stepped out with her father. She looked stunning, the dress was simple and delicate and looked like it matched her personality. Y/N felt jealous of her, she wanted to be the one wearing the dress. Looking up at Topper, he looked like he was going to cry. That’s when it happened, he looked around the room to take the moment in, he saw her standing in the back looking at Sarah. He didn’t think she would come but he was glad she did. She looked older, but happy. She changed her hair colour, finally got the bangs she always talked about getting. Looking at her and then back at Sarah, Topper knew he was making the biggest mistake of his life. He wanted to run but knew he couldn’t hurt Sarah like he did Y/N. He couldn’t break two girls hearts’. So, with that he kept his eye on Sarah and forced himself to make the biggest mistake ever.

Lonely Heart || Rafe Cameron

Introduction

chapter summary: You’re overjoyed after being accepted into your top school until Rafe drops a bomb. The two of you have an emotional discussion at your going away party.

warnings: nothing really, maybe a swear or two, lightly edited

word count: 1.8k+

author’s note: the suspense was killing me and i couldn’t wait to post so here’s the intro chapter :)

series playlist | series masterlist | main masterlist

You’d been in shock all morning. You’d just gotten your acceptance email from the University of California, Los Angeles. Your parents were away on business and weren’t answering their phones, presumably stuck in meetings. You called the other two people closest to you that you couldn’t wait a second longer to share the news with.

“Hey, are you home?” you asked into the phone pressed between your ear and shoulder as you squeezed into your sneakers.

“Yeah, why?” Rafe replied on the other end.

“Great! Don’t go anywhere. I’m gonna call Janelle and I’ll be there in ten,” you avoided his question and hung up before he could reply.

You and Rafe had been friends since you were five. Your father and Ward were long time friends and now business partners. You practically grew up at one or the other’s houses and had countless family dinners together. It became a weekly tradition, Sunday nights were for Cameron-Y/L/N dinners. If you missed one, you never got to hear the end of it. Being an only child, you loved it. Sarah and Wheezie were like sisters you always dreamed of having. You would say Rafe was like a brother to you, but typically you didn’t have a massive crush on someone who was supposed to be like family.

The two of you met Janelle when you were ten. She had just moved to Kildare and you spotted her sitting alone at lunch one day. Rafe had started walking to your usual table with Kelce, but you stopped at the raven haired girls table. You asked if you could sit with her, to which she shyly nodded and avoided your gaze. The two guys had given you confused looks until you waved them over to sit with you and the new girl beside you.

Janelle had agreed to meet you at Tannyhill and you hopped in your car, taking the short drive through Figure Eight to the large mansion. You parked behind the truck and hopped out, making your way through the front entrance and into the quiet home. You called out the brunette boy’s name and heard him holler faintly from outside.

You walked through the living room and out the open french doors to the backyard. You found him sitting by the pool, facing the waterfront. He looked over his shoulder at you and you smiled widely.

“Y’know, it’s kinda hard to properly tan with a polo on, Cameron,” you teased, plopping down beside him on the sun lounger.

“Shut up,” he responded with a roll of his crystal blue eyes. He turned to look at you, noticing the glimmer in your eye and raised an eyebrow. “What was so important you had to come see me?”

You opened your mouth to answer when a loud, familiar voice interrupted, “What the fuck is so important you couldn’t say it over the phone?”

You and Rafe turned to see Janelle making her way towards you with a smirk on her tan face. Her nearly black hair was tied up in a ponytail and her electric green eyes glimmered in the reflection of the pool water. She sat down on the lounger opposite you and Rafe and raised one of her perfectly sculpted eyebrows.

“Jesus, you two are like the same person,” you muttered.

“Spit it out, Y/L/N, since you corralled us all here,” Janelle insisted, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands, staring at you intently.

“Sooo, I got an email this morning,” you started, biting your lip to hide the grin spreading across your face. You quickly continued, not able to leave your friends on the edge of their seats, “UCLA. I got in!”

You squealed and fell back in the lounger, hands clapping and eyes squeezing shut in excitement before you bolted back up to a sitting position. You turned to Rafe and immediately started rambling.

“I know it’s not Berkeley like we always talked about, but it’s only a couple hours difference! Well, five or six to be exact, but we could visit on weekends! I could drive up for one, you can drive up for the other. It’ll be a little different than we planned but I think we could make it work!”

Rafe and Janelle at in silence as you continued on your rant about getting into your dream school. They shared a look and the dark haired girl gave him a sympathetic smile.

“Y/N,” Rafe’s voice interrupted you, causing you to fall silent and turn to him. He had his head down, avoiding your gaze as he softly said, “I’m not going to Berkeley.”

You glanced at Janelle, who also avoided your gaze and wrang her fingers together in her lap. You let out a small, disbelieving laugh before asking, “What?”

“I’m going to UNC, Chapel Hill, like my dad wanted.”

You felt your heart drop into your stomach, a sickening feeling settling inside of you. Ever since you and Rafe turned thirteen you both said you would go to Berkeley together. You’d take on college together — like you had everything else in your lives. It was all the two of you talked about for the last five years. You only applied for UCLA because of your major and the fact that your mom went there and pushed you to. You never thought you’d actually get in. You always figured your plan with Rafe was set in stone.

“What happened to wanting to walk your own path? What happened to hating Ward setting up your future for you?” you stood up, staring down at him disbelievingly.

Rafe ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He closed his eyes and grit out, “Things change, Y/N. I don’t want to go to Berkeley. I want to stay here.”

You felt your throat closing up, eyes brimming with tears. You didn’t want to go to a college on the other side of the country by yourself. You wanted your best friend, the love of your life, by your side, how you always dreamed it would be. Now he’d sprung this change of plans on you without warning and you didn’t know how to take it.

You glanced at Janelle, who had her eyes trained on Rafe. He was bouncing his knee and biting the inside of his cheek like he often did when he was uncomfortable. She glanced up at you and shrugged once, leading you to believe she had no idea he was feeling this way. Slowly, you sat back down beside your best friend.

“Okay.. So you’re gonna stay,” you said softly and reached out, taking the brunette boy’s hand, giving it a small squeeze. Rafe looked you in the eye, forcing a smile to his face. He leaned into you, wrapping you into a tight hug.

—

Your going away party was rough. Everyone congratulated you and wished you good luck but your mind was elsewhere. Rafe had barely said a word to you when he arrived with his family. It was like every time you walked into the same room as him, he’d get up and leave. You’d try to go after him only to be pulled into a conversation with one of your parents friends. You entertained them all, wanting to please your parents who were giving you everything. You were forever grateful to them, as they were paying your monthly rent in your Los Angeles apartment and insisted that you didn’t work. They were giving you a monthly allowance for groceries and a little free spending. You swore to them that one day you were going to pay them back for it all.

“Hey,” you whispered to Topper who had been snacking on a fruit tray in the kitchen, “Have you seen Rafe?”

Topper looked down at you then glanced around at the other guests in your house. He bent down to whisper back, “Saw him head upstairs. Go, I’ll cover for you.”

You nodded and slipped away quietly, avoiding running into anyone as you climbed your stairs quickly. You peaked into the game room, then the media room and lastly your bedroom. Rafe sat on top of your bed and stared at the wall that used to hold hundreds of pictures. It was now bare, all packed away in cardboard boxes ready to go with you to California. His eyes traveled around the empty room before finding yours where you stood in the doorway.

“I’ve been in this room a thousand times and I hardly recognize it,” he said softly, hand smoothing over your wrinkled comforter.

You didn’t say anything, walking over and sitting beside your best friend. He held out his hand, a warmth spreading through his body as your fingers intertwined with his. He eyed the boxes stacked in the corner of your room and sighed.

“I’m not leaving forever,” you whispered, leaned over to rest your head on the brunette’s broad shoulder. “I’ll still be there for our family’s Christmas trip to Colorado and the Spring break trip to the Bahamas. I’ll be home during the Summer. You’re not losing me completely, Rafe.”

“It feels like it. How am I gonna go from seeing you everyday to every few months?” he asked, squeezing his fingers around yours. The words he wanted to say were on the tip of his tongue but he swallowed them down. If he said it, you wouldn’t go, and he couldn’t let you give up your dreams because of his selfishness. He had to let you go.

“I’ll call you every chance I get. We can have Facetime dates on the weekend,” you promised, tilting your head to look up at him. His eyes found yours and the pain in his azure irises made your chest ache. “You’re still my best friend, Rafe. That’ll never change. Right?”

Rafe gave you the best smile he could, one that didn’t meet his eyes. You frowned and reached up to cup his jaw, stroking your thumb over his cheek slowly. His eyes closed in fear that you’d see he was on the verge of breaking. You fought the urge to press your lips against his and show him how deeply you cared for him. You couldn’t jeopardize your friendship that way when it felt like it was already falling apart.

“Hey,” the two of you jumped at the sound of Kelce’s voice, turning to the doorway. He gave you both a sad smile and pointed his thumb over his shoulder, “Topper sent me to find you. Your mom’s looking for you.” he disappeared down the hall after that, leaving you and your best friend alone once again.

“C’mon,” Rafe muttered, standing from the bed and tugging you up by your hand.

You pulled on his arm once you were on your feet and wrapped your arms around his waist. His arms wound around your shoulders and squeezed you tightly, holding you as close as he could. Your face was buried in the fabric of his grey button up as you mumbled, “I love you, Raffie.”

Rafe chuckled at the nickname, a shortened name for giraffe because you always insisted he was too tall. He placed a chaste kiss to the top of your head and shakily whispered, “I love you too, mini.”

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her Nebraska (1982)

In July I flew to Massachusetts with a plague on, and I felt that it was wrong, but my mother had begged and I’d been out of work for months. Mornings there I ran in long, uneven ovals on the same roads I’d memorized in high school. There’s no sidewalks, but the few feet of dirt between the craggy pavement and the open mouths of the fields serve all right for a single body in motion. When a truck comes up close from behind, the ground shakes, and I step away bouncingly from the street toward thigh-high yellow weeds and grass, and keep going. I was slowly picking my way back in that dirt, sweat-slick from only a plodding couple of miles in peak summer heat, and sucking the wet cotton of my mask in between my teeth on every inhale, when Taylor Swift announced she was releasing a surprise album produced by the guy from The National. Not the guy from The National, like, the voice, but the guy from The National whose photo was circulated on Twitter earlier this year as some kind of antifa super soldier, which isn’t the case, but would’ve been rad. First, I stopped dead to send some outraged, misspelled text messages, and then I ran home faster than I’d moved in years.

Tall, blonde, patrician pop star Taylor Swift is to me something like a cross-between a wife and a boogeyman. Bound we’ve been since we were really children. Time and its changes haven’t rid me of her, and what’s worse is I have never quite been able to wish they would, though I claim as much all the time. Countless hours of my one wild and precious life have been spent on endlessly analyzing the minutiae of Taylor Swift’s music, the mind that made it, the real world events which influenced it. And though all the while I have known she is only a person, and that people, while each strange and lovely in their own ways, are, in the end, mostly dull, needful in just the regular manner, the fantasy is better, the sick dream of a megalomaniac songstress, curious, thrilling, probably evil, and I choose that. I don’t know Taylor Alison Swift, born to this world in, I presume, the usual way. But my Taylor Swift? I’m a renowned expert. I’ve always eaten up stories—movies, music, celebrity news, the one my grandfather tells about falling off his bike once in Ireland as a boy and his face “cracking open like an egg”—like a starved dog. I’m obsessive about my interests, but not inclined to intense fandom, and certainly not fandom in the mode of the stan. For one, I’m too self-absorbed. But caring intensely for a famous person is falling in love with a ghost, and that’s all right—I mean, what the hell? We’re here together just dying... Let’s enjoy—but is an affair best undertaken with the knowledge that everyone alive has their own complex interiority, as unruly as your own, and that you, a stranger, are not in any real way connected to the lawless, blurry middle of that celebrity, and will never be. It’s freeing and fun to know this. I mean, these people are basically in your employ. Glamorous dollhouse dwellers. Acknowledging that uncrossable distance allows for a different, healthier closeness of pure imagination. My feelings, then, can comfortably be at once both fiercely intense and entirely silly. I am a foremost scholar in the art of the Taylor Swift who exists in my head. The real person raised in Pennsylvania I don’t know at all. I have some conjectures on the matter, and, as with all my conjectures, every hackneyed theory, each picky little opinion, I’m sure they’re perfect, brilliant, just absolutely right, but that’s still all they are. Taylor Swift, figure of the cultural imagination, is the Jodie Comer to my Sandra Oh in Killing Eve, annoying and pretty in frills, taunting me endlessly and holding us trapped together in a dance of most enchanting death. But the real Taylor Swift has favorite bed sheets and a social security number and a British boyfriend, none of which I have any desire to know about, and if I saw her at a restaurant I’d politely avert my eyes before, yes, dive-bombing the group text. There’s nobody on Earth I’d stand in line to speak to, but then I’ve been speaking to a certain figment of Taylor Swift for nearly half my life.

I went to a Taylor Swift concert the night before I moved into college in 2009. My father’s work friend, firefighter by day, near professional gambler by night, got comped tickets to the Fearless Tour stop taking place at the nearby casino, and he let me have them as a reward, mainly, for happening to be seventeen. Live in-person and performed acoustically, “Fifteen” made me cry. A few years after that, in the thick, sticky part of my first post-college summer, I wrote approximately twenty-three million words about her in these very pages.  (”Pages”) At that point, Taylor’s most recent release was 2012’s Red, and the work I produced that long ago July about Taylor and her career, writing I was fairly pleased with at the time, feels now, besides just being extremely clearly written by a twenty-one year old, strange to me for the way it favors the sweet over the sour almost uniformly. There is a wholesome kind of ardor in that writing which maybe I’ve outgrown the ability to hold. Or maybe Taylor just proceeded to spend the next half a decade plus releasing one bad single after another, and it was taste—and trespasses against taste—and not some shift in my nature which altered the tenor of our bond. I have real love for my particular image, gleaned from public statements and published art, of smart, bizarre famous woman Taylor Swift, and I admire the bulk of her output very much. I’m just no longer so inclined to fawn. This is not to say I am here to offer a Taylor Swift hate screed. I couldn’t swing it, and, anyway, I’m not a pop feminist-for-hire circa 2010. But we’re older now. Things are different. At twenty-eight, twenty-nine this month—Taylor will, also this December, turn thirty-one—I regard Taylor Swift warily, like an ex with whom you have a tentative friendship, perpetually on the brink of falling one way or the other into hatred or delight, only to wobble back the opposite direction again at the slightest provocation, but still, despite best efforts, even, I regard her all the time. 

folklore was released at midnight on July 24th 2020, but I was at a cabin in rural Vermont without Internet or cell service. I drank Bud Light seltzers with my mother while watching the eerie pandemic return of Major League Baseball, and when I got into a strange bed there I stewed, knowing there were people out in the world all over who were hearing Taylor Swift songs I never had, and that this was a fundamental wrong, a disruption in the balance of the universe. I listened to it the next morning in a Dunkin’ Donuts parking lot. 

And folklore is great. That’s the terrible thing. Slightly less great, maybe, than some people have insisted, tricked, I think, by just the pronounced shift in sound. But it’s great. A little gift I asked for a thousand times and was still surprised to get, like a wife who didn’t expect her henpecked husband to ever follow through and buy the paraffin wax hand bath as-see-on-TV. For years, I’ve been halfheartedly insisting that Taylor had a great album in her. I’d say it even, perhaps especially, while she stubbornly fed me gruel. Or worse, gruel with the occasional whiff of something better. With a ripe, little raspberry dropped into the slop. The bright, villainous thrill of “Getaway Car” made me believe Taylor, my Taylor, was in there somewhere under the lacquer of sequins and synth, which, while not objectionable by default, seemed a costume, and an ill-fitting one. The lived-in world of “Cornelia Street” made those old scars sting. That gay “Delicate” video. When she did “Call It What You Want” on SNL and played guitar while wearing an ugly sweater. If the abominable “ME!”, lead single off Lover, was the stick, 1989’s “Clean” was the carrot. I was Charlie Brown, and Taylor my Lucy, yanking the football back again and again. Over drinks I still yelled that Taylor Swift’s next album would be, “her Nebraska”, referring to my favorite Bruce Springsteen record, and learned to live with that egg on my face for good. I suppose I even came to like it. There was something inherently funny in taking up, like, “blind faith in the as of yet untapped greater artistic potential of massively wealthy and popular singer Taylor Swift” as my totally inane personal cause du jour, and eventually it was a bit, a gag I performed to be obstinate and didactic, but way down somewhere awful near my kidneys I meant it the whole while. And then she did it. A pandemic befell the world and amid a sea of human suffering Taylor Swift remembered she can write. She wrote, and with a massive, crucial assist from Aaron Dessner, whose music on this record is sometimes so beautiful it actually angers me, as the last thing I needed in already perilous times was to be made to try and marry my uniquely perverse emotional responses to beloved divorced dad band The National and fucking Taylor Swift,  she made an album which, if not her Nebraska, per se (I’ve come to realize that a major part of believing Taylor Swift will one day make an album I find as quietly devastating and gorgeous as Nebraska is knowing that no album will ever actually be Her Nebraska... That each will, rather, to me, be more and more evidence that it’s coming still, more proof that the limit is untouched, on and on ad infinitum, or at least until the seas take us into a place of salty peace.) is a shocking credit to all my hard-fought and deluded confidence. folklore is great. This fact has made me feel almost equally as disoriented from my understanding of the world as the time-melting COVID-19 lockdowns have, and it turned my Spotify year in review annual collective AI humiliation kink thing into a glaring indictment of my mental state, but still, I mean... It’s great.

In talking about folklore a bit this week, there are a number of specific topics I intend to cover—what a thrill it is to hear Taylor say “fuck”; Taylor’s terrifying birth chart; the astoundingly perfect bridge of “the last great american dynasty”; “because my ass is located at the back of my body”; the bit in last year’s “Lover” where deranged WASP Taylor Swift implies that to “leave the Christmas lights up til January” is some signifier of being a love-struck bohemian, when actually everyone who doesn’t employ domestic staff to take their lights down does this; how reputation is the best of the Taylor Swift records released in the latter half of the 2010s, actually, and the people who can’t see that are cowards—but intend mostly to let the muse move me where she will. Against the advice of my better angels, she—that tie-in marketing eldritch terror—always does.

can you write a scenario where he gets caught making out with his s/o by the older members and they scold him (nct park jisung )

Paring - Jisung x Reader

  Frustration surged through your veins just like the blood in them. You had three finals to study for and no space left in your brain for the information. Times like these you were very envious of your idol boyfriend who didn’t have to deal with asshole professors in his freshman year of college like you, but that envy never lasted long seeing as you witness first hand what those countless hours of work he puts into perfecting his craft sometimes did to him. He was barely a legally grown man but had the aches of a 70 year old who worked in construction and then it’s times like those where you’re glad you never tried to become an idol albeit you being a pretty good dancer like Jisung.

 Slamming your hand on the back of the couch, “Fuck!” you yelled into the currently empty air, your apartment being void of anyone but you at the moment. “Please remind me why the fuck I want to become a surgeon.” Questioning whether or not you should take the chance now and change your major. The sheer amount of required areas you needed to know for your psychology, biology, and organic chemistry exams taking a toll on your health as you feel a skull cracking migraine come along. 

You had wanted to be a surgeon ever since you were 12 and your dad had to get a life threatening surgery. The attending surgeon had calmed you down from what you now know was a panic attack with facts about the surgery and other distracting things to help you handle it better. All you had at the time was your dad and because of that surgery you were able to spend four more years with him before he ultimately passed away in his sleep. 

Thinking of that story and of the surgeon who looked so cool to you that day always seemed to replenish your love for the practice. 

“Okaayyy lets go, I got this. Do this for dad and the others like him-” You were interrupted by the obnoxious ring of your phone indicating that you were currently getting a call. Releasing an inhumane sounding groan you reach for your phone, only for butterflies to instantly appear in your stomach. Your boyfriend you were just thinking of was facetiming you. You quickly press the green phone icon on the screen and a comfortable looking Jisung pops up on the screen.

“Y/N, y/n, y/n come over to my dorm. I'm bored and I miss you even though you look like you got ran over by an 18-wheeler...I’m also hungry because Jaemin hyung didn’t cook me any food before he left, so can you please come over….and bring food.” Jisung smiles cheekily into the camera. He already knows that you’re gonna say ye-

“No. I’m sorry Jisung I can’t today.” 

It hurts your heart to say that especially since you don’t really get to see Jisung a lot now because of your conflicting schedules. Seeing the immediate sadness in his eyes once you say you can’t come over almost brings tears to your eyes. You barely ever see your friendly giant of a boyfriend and now once you have the chance too you can’t because of stupid finals. 

“W-Why not?” 

“I have finals next week and even though I only have tests for three classes it’s a lot to study and I really have to pass these classes with good grades in order to get into a good medical school, so I can’t come over today.” 

You see his eyebrows furrow and his nose does a slight scrunch. “Why don’t you come over here, no one is here right now and I can help you study.” He says after a short pause.

“I don’t know Jisung, you’re pretty distracting and I really need to concentrate.” You state admitting that you saw him as a distraction, something you would have never admitted to unless you were really out of it.   

“Pleaseee I promise to not be a distraction and to only be helpful.” You should’ve known better, knowing your boyfriend that statement would only be halfway true but you didn’t care, the incessant want and need to see him and hug him in person combined with the pent up pure frustration had you agreeing stating that you’ll be there in a little. 

~

Upon seeing the boy answer the door you felt all of the built up panic clinging to your body as if it was a leech just melt away. Seeing Jisung was like a breath of fresh air, it was just what you needed to keep pushing. Jisung looks down at your hands and sees a shit ton of note cards each in a different container and the food he asked you to bring about to spill out of your arms. 

    Taking some of the containers while letting you walk through the door Jisung voices the reason for the confusion plastered on his face, “I thought you only had three tests to take, why do you have like nine containers?” 

“Because my baby chick, each class has three main parts that we have to study and know for the test and out of those three anything could possibly be on the test.” He looks at you with a face like the one meme of the black guy in a white shirt with question marks around him. Laughing at his confusion you start to sit everything down in the living room. “Come on I have to know all of this by next week and I only have like a quarter memorized.” 

~

You guys have been studying for the past three hours. You can see that helpful Jisung won’t last much longer. His patience is waning  seeing as this is his third break in the past fifteen minutes and honestly you can’t blame him. Taking a look around the room you see note cards and highlighters scattered all around you two and the floor almost looking as if a school supply store threw up on the floor. Surprisingly having Jisung help you study actually did change a lot. You now had most of the content memorized. 

You’re still looking at the index cards highlighting parts that you can’t remember when you feel arms wrap themselves around your midsection and hair starts to tickle your cheek. 

“AHHH baby can we please take a break I’m tired and I know you are too. You've been working really hard nonstop.” Jisung states whilst laying his head on your shoulder. “We’ve been studying for three hours straight and I really want some real alone time with my baby before everyone gets back from their schedules.” 

“Just wait a little longer, I promise I’ll pay attention to you once I get this down.” You state distractedly not taking your eyes off of the card in front of you. Ten minutes go by and you still haven’t put the cards down when you start to feel feather light kisses splayed across your next. 

“Stop that tickles.” You state giggling dragging out the stop. 

“No. I want my s/o to stop looking at a piece of paper when their handsome boyfriend is right here trying to get their attention.” He states with a slight whine in his voice. 

It’s not like you didn’t want to give attention to him, you really did but you just couldn’t and the kisses he continued to lay on your skin weren’t helping. This is why you were hesitant to come over. 

Feeling Jisungs kisses solidify your attention starts to waver. You slowly start to unconsciously put the card down your head tilting back to give him more access to your neck. A slow moan slips from your lips as Jisung moves around to the front of you and puts his lips on the place on your neck that he knows drives you crazy leaving a light hickey. 

“Will you pay attention to me now?” He asks switching back to the light kisses on your neck. You bite your bottom lip in an effort not to moan again and Jisung starts to move his hands to your waist. 

His cool lips start to travel up your neck and at this point the cards have long since been forgotten. Hands moving to the back of his neck playing with the hairs on his neck. When he makes it to your face he stops and looks at you causing you to open your eyes that you didn’t even realize were closed. 

Your lips part to let out quiet pants of hot breath and as Jisung looks you dead in your eyes you feel your cheeks start to heat up at his intense gaze. “You need a rest and since you won’t let yourself willingly I had to make you.” 

“Kiss me Jisung.” You let out breathly due to him starting to kiss around your face. He makes his way to the top of your face slowly kissing both of your eyelids, then your nose and cheekbones. 

You feel the exhaustion knotted in your body start to fade away as he steadily massages your sides cause you to relax uncontrollably.

Kissing both of your cheeks he moves to your lips and he stops. Grazing his lips on yours he slightly teases you causing you to let out a huff of irritation and him to chuckle and mumble about how cute you are.

Jisung finally kisses your lips as you let out a short sigh of relief. His slightly wet lips glide against yours as you start to leisurely kiss. He switches the position on the couch making sure your lips are still connected. He lays you on top of him and you move your legs to sit on his sides. His large hands move to your back and he slips one under your shirt while the other lays against your back. His hand gently makes random shapes against the skin of your back. 

Your tongue slips into his mouth as they start to slide together effortlessly. But the bliss of the moment is shortly lived as you hear a sharp dramatized gasp come from the doorway into the living room. You and Jisung immediately split apart at the sound, when you see an openmouthed Jaemin and Jeno standing in the entryway. Soon Kun, Taeyong and Johnny make their way in with bags in their arms only to drop them dramatically on the ground.

“JiSuNg-aH wHaT Is GoInG oN HeRe.” Jaemin yells quickly walking toward you two. Jisung quickly sits up only for Johnny and Jeno to clear their throats, and you realize that him sitting up has caused you two to be in a very compromising position. I mean it’s not like you two haven’t been in that position before but not in front of his hyungs. 

Scrambling to stand up you both fall on top of each other causing another dramatic gasp to be released into the air but this one from Taeyong. That’s not the only sound though because you soon hear badly muffled laughs coming from Jeno and Johnny. Jisung helps you stand up and pretty soon Taeyong and Kun join Jaemin in front of you. 

“What were you two doing just a moment ago huh?” Jaemin questions with his hand on his hip and his tongue poking the inside of his mouth. 

Jisung is the first to answer, “I’m pretty sure it was obvious we were kissing- OW” You grab his ear and pull it toward you at his snide remark hissing that now is not the time in his ear. 

“Did you think that because we were gone on a schedule that meant to invite your s/o over and suck each other's face off?” Jaemin questions earning swift nods of agreement from Taeyong and Kun. 

“Well first we weren’t sucking each other's face off. I like to think we were more decent than that-” Jeno interrupts Jisung, “That’s beside the point, the point is...ha. Why were you two haha making out on our couch.

“Jeno is right, Me, Kun and Johnny came over here to hang out with you guys seeing as it’s been a while and we walk in to catch you about to eat your s/o.” 

“And what is this mess on the floor? I about bussed my ass on a highlighter making my way into here.” Kun states

“Jisung was helping me study for my finals next week, and we’ve been studying for the past three hours so we decided to take a break.” You say causing two roars of laughter to finally break the surface. 

“Hahaha t-take kikiki ttt-take a… oh my god you sure took a break alright.” Johnny finally got out while Jeno was still crouched over from laughter 

“This is not funny, they at least could’ve gone to his room.” Taeyong bargains 

“We can do that right now if you want-” You quickly pull his ear again and tell him to just apologize, “I’m sorry.” You both chorus

“Look it’s ok we get it you’re both almost adults and you weren’t doing anything wrong just next time please make sure to do that in your room and not out in the open where someone could walk in.” Johnny reasons picking up the bags and making his way to the kitchen. The other hyungs follow him and leave you and Jisung alone in the living room to clean up the note cards. 

Picking up two highlighters and putting them back in the box Jisung grumbles, “Great, now I’m never gonna hear the end of this.” Looking at you reorganize the cards he thinks in his mind, ‘It was worth it though.’ 

Who Am I?

I have attempted to dialogue the events in my life at least 100 times beforehand but probably more but could never bring myself to be completely honest.  Call this a personal inventory if you will.  I consider myself a better writer than most however when it comes to writing about myself my brain goes blank.  I know what I want to say, it’s just how do you go about telling anyone....”I am a Heroin addict.”  

I have read a couple books about other addicts & have watched countless documentaries, movies, & shows about addiction.  Always paying close attention to how the writer unfolds his/her story trying to translate it to my own with little success.  I eventually came to the conclusion that so much has happened in the two decades of drug use that there is no way fathomable to include everything...at least not in your standard literary fashion.  

A few days ago I stumbled across a new series on Netflix about a girl that liked to blog on Tumblr & suddenly I felt I may have an outlet to format this timeline of events.  Make no mistake about this...everything I write from this moment on is 100% true whether you choose to believe it or not.  Hell looking back....I don’t believe it sometimes & constantly find myself asking God why am I still here & why have so many perished before/besides me?  What makes me so special?

Most stories I read/watch about addiction are pretty generic.  It typically starts with someone who was injured & prescribed pain killers only to get cut off from the doctor & led down the dark & endless path of Heroin addiction.  They tell stories about the terrible things they did to maintain their habit & of loved ones they hurt along the way.  While I did horrible things as well, hurt & lost too many loved ones to addiction...this story is unlike any of the rest.  This is a story of addiction...obviously...but also one of organized crime, corruption, murder, extortion, jail/institutions, & love but mostly death.  

Every addiction specialist or rehab I have been to always had the same fault....they try to find some underlying reason as to why I started, “self medicating,” & attempt to address it.  I’ve had numerous heated arguments with councilors & doctors who insisted I was suppressing something deep down & may not even know it!  While I have heard of such instances to actually be the case I can very well tell you I am as normal as you are.  

I grew up in a child’s utopia in an upper-middle class suburb roughly 20 miles North of Detroit.  Think of the famous Tim Allen show, “Home Improvement.” Not only was I raised in Metro Detroit but I also come from a family of two parents, still married, & was the youngest of three boys.  I know most people’s perception of Detroit isn’t very high however in the 80′s & 90′s it was a great place to start a family.  Before the auto industry tanked most people skipped college to work on the assembly line at one of the, “Big Three,” (Ford, GM, or Chrysler) & lived comfortably.  My dad was a, “Safety Restraint Engineer,” for a subsidiary company with several patents still in use today!  We spent our days riding bikes through endless trails behind our house, building forts, playing back yard football, & camping in the backyard on warm summer nights.  My brothers & I were raised Catholic.  Went to Church every Sunday & Catechism on Thursday nights.  If I could change one thing about my childhood I wouldn’t.  It was that perfect!  My Father didn’t fail to raise a man...I failed to be the man he raised. 

When someone asks me why I started doing drugs I tell them because it was fun....simple as that.  I know it sounds cliche but it’s true, everyone was doing them.  My older brothers were way ahead of me, listening to Grateful Dead & dropping acid in middle school!  I just liked drugs a lot more than everyone else. My mother knew I had an addictive personality because I would take everything I did to the max & always looked for instant gratification.  I never wanted to wait/work for anything.  I think my brothers were aware of this as well because they would NEVER sell me pot in these early days.  They wouldn’t even talk to me about it.  So as far as being as normal as everyone else....maybe that one’s a stretch.  On the other hand I was years ahead of my classmates & understood how things worked much easier than the majority of my class.  

By the time I reached High School I was selling/smoking pot & hanging out with kids my age but it wasn’t long before I caught the attention of the older guys in the neighborhood.  I had already garnished a somewhat questionable reputation through my brothers by default & everyone knew my name from the paper route I had since I was roughly 12 years old.  At first they were intimidating & I hated whenever I had to deliver papers on one of their streets...praying they wouldn’t be outside playing basketball or something.  They always hung around the same two or three houses depending on who’s parents weren’t home that day.  If they saw me coming every one of them would stop what they were doing & aim their attention towards me.  All of them except one.  I knew his face & heard stories whispered about him in the hallways at school.  His name was Franco & he was not just the leader of their group...he was, “Head Fucking Hancho.”  You know the scene from mob movies where people from the neighborhood come to sit with the boss & ask him all kinds of favors in return for their loyalty?  That was Franco at age 15!  He had everyone’s respect....even that of my older brothers who looked up to nobody.  If you had a disagreement with Franco it didn’t go far.  I’ve seen him hit guys so hard they temporarily lost the ability to speak!  After a couple minutes of hazing from the guys he would shout from the porch telling them to leave me alone & they would scatter like roaches! 

These encounters would eventually lead up to my first drug deal.  Up until that point I had been stealing whatever I could from whichever brother wouldn’t notice at the time & smoking/selling it with & to my friends.  They eventually caught me & beat the living shit out of me.  I don’t think they were actually mad about the missing weed it was more about not stealing from your brother.  The same day I was caught stealing weed I planned on meeting several kids from school at a friends house & of course everyone was expecting me to bring the pot.  To this day I don’t know how I got the phone number or the guts to call it but I reached out to Franco’s best friend Mark.  I don’t really no why I chose him....any of the older guys could have found me weed.....but I knew Mark sold it regularly & to pretty much anyone.  There was no cell phones at this time so I had to call his house.  He wasn’t as angry as I expected & told me to wait 5 minutes before riding my bike towards his side of the neighborhood.  I did exactly as he instructed me to & before I could get to the end of my street he was pulling up in a dark green Ford Ranger...Frank was with him riding in the passenger seat.  Mark got out...threw my bike in the back of his truck telling me to hop in the backseat before getting back behind the wheel & pealing off.  The music was so loud I could barely understand the lyrics over the bass let alone what Frank & Mark were saying but it didn’t matter because they weren’t talking to me.  At the time I thought Mark must want to get out of the neighborhood before doing the deal but after getting to know him I learned...that was his, “thing”.  He loved to drive around, blaring music, & smoking weed with whoever was willing to tag along.  He hated driving alone & his truck was like his office.  Frank acted as if I wasn’t even there...holding a cool composure looking out the window while nodding his head to the music.  Eventually we pulled down a random street, where Mark turned down the music before pulling the truck over.  He turned around & asked me how much money I wanted to spend before opening a large grocery bag filled to the top with little, “dime bags,” or roughly a large gram of weed in each bag.  I don’t know if it was how he had them bagged up but it was more than I had ever seen in one place at the time & my brothers always had a lot.  I had a handful of crinkled five′s & one dollar bills I collected from my friends earlier in the day at school.  It came out to around $24.  I remember it was less than $25 because Mark insisted that an 8th cost $25 & that I was a dollar short.  I didn’t even know what an 8th was or how much it cost but didn't want to screw up my first deal so I pretended it was just an honest mistake & he threw three bags in my lap.  Franco asked where I was going & asked if I needed a ride which I humbly excepted.  

From that day on things changed little by little with every passing day.  I hung out less & less with the kids my age to be around Mark, Frank & the rest of the older guys.  They saw me as the kid who could sell a lot of weed since I already had that reputation from my classmates.  I saw them as a ticket to popularity.  In my mind it was an even trade.  My mother had an entirely different opinion.....constantly telling me I should be hanging around with my younger friends.  To me it was harmless....choosing to see it as normal for a kid my age.  I had no idea where this new found friendship would lead us.  I had no idea what I was getting myself into.  

As I was saying before....so much has happened since this day that I cannot even begin to piece it all together in a manner in which it flows conveniently into a timeline of events.  This is the beginning of my attempt & you will have to stick with me to learn more as I continue to publish.  I will warn you upfront that I will be changing some names, maybe even places or be vague as I am still getting death threats to this day & also don’t want to negatively impact any of the families that have already been ripped apart from unimaginable losses.  Lastly I am still weary about telling my story in it’s entirety.  I am sure those who are close to me will be able to figure out who I am since most of what I am going to tell you has never been a secret save one part.  I have never told ANYONE the FULL story other than my parents.  I feel it is the main reason I have struggled in all my attempts at telling/writing what actually happened.  Please understand that I take absolutely NO pride in the things I have done & only feel I need to document what I went through so maybe the next kid contemplating the path I chose....will rethink the decision.  I can tell you now their is no glory or honor in what we did & the end result was nothing but pain & suffering for our victims as well as ourselves.  I really hope nobody reads this the wrong way & that I am able to accurately portray the pain/anguish we caused so they realize how brainwashed we were & the impact you can have on others no matter how minor you think it is.  You have to stand up against what may seem to be the correct/hard decision at the time or even a harmless one that you know in your heart/gut is questionable & choose to do what you know to be right.  The definition of the word, “popular,” is; liked, admired, or enjoyed by many people or by a particular person or group.  The groups that are using/selling drugs are the minority & in the end you will find most are not truly your friend.  When I go on social media, looking back at all the kids I graduated with, I realize now that those who did well in school & actively participated were actually the, “cool kids.”  They are the ones posting pictures of new houses, nice cars & beautiful wives with blossoming families.  There is nothing cool about being alone & having nothing to show for the last two decades of your life but scars.  It is not romantic in any way shape or form.  You will not find comfort.  

Stay tuned for more to come! 

November Health Update

Friends and Family,

I have been thinking about whether I would share a recent health update on Facebook/social media and I have decided I would because I feel it is so important to educate and spread awareness. I have always shared updates about my chronic illnesses here to keep my family posted, but also to educate as many people as possible since so many people don’t understand anything about chronic illness and how it impacts someone’s life. I’ve always known people may pass judgement as a result of these posts, but I feel a deep responsibility to speak out since I am one of the lucky ones.

There was a time, about five years ago or so, when the doctors were telling me I would never lead a normal life and I should apply for disability. They were prescribing invasive medication and recommending surgeries left and right, making it obvious they really had no idea what was going on or how to “fix” me. I was 19 years old. I had big goals for my life and I wasn’t willing to give up. Thankfully, I had great medical insurance and support from my family and I was able to look into alternate, more natural methods to cope with these illnesses. These natural methods are why I am able to function so well today and live life fully. Again, I am one of the lucky ones. Most people dealing with chronic illnesses don’t have access to the resources I did and I am grateful every day.

As most of you know, today I live in Jersey City and I work in Manhattan. I found a job with a company I really love this year and a role that makes me excited to go to work. I do life with the love of my life and the best person I know, Devin, and I have the cutest cat in the world. I have met amazing people since I moved to this area and I am sure many will be lifetime friends. I truly have a blessed life and I wouldn’t trade it for the world.

This year, however, I was also diagnosed with a new condition, Intracranial Hypertension. I had been having the symptoms for years and yet again, doctors could not figure it out and were throwing pills at me. My pain levels became excruciating daily at the end of 2017 and through most of 2018 and I became determined to get answers. All of this led to a weekend in the ICU with a fantastic neurologist who was also determined to find the answer, and he did.

I am getting to my point...

Following this diagnosis, I have had to make several adjustments. I have to take medicine every 12 hours, almost exactly, to manage the pressure and pain. This medicine is hard on my stomach, so I have had to go back to a more limited diet. The medicine also makes me even more tired than I was before, so I prioritize eight hours of sleep a night and rarely make exceptions. I have good days and bad days, but there are more good than bad days now. Finally, and most importantly to this post, I am unable to take birth control pills because they exacerbate my condition.

Most people who are close to me know that I was diagnosed with a genetic condition, Ehlers Danlos Syndrome, at 12 years old and very soon after that decided I would not be having biological kids. When I was this young, my thought process was simple. If the condition is genetic, I don’t want to pass it along. I hadn’t even gone through the worst of my health issues at this time, but I still didn’t think it would be fair to pass it down to a child.

Fast forward 5-10 years later, and I had never had the desire to have biological children, and my health was always a major concern. Looking back, I made the decision not to have children very early on and was at peace with it, but when I was 19, the decision was really cemented. I was a freshman in college and I had to drop out because I was so ill. I was in and out of the hospital for a year or so and had a few near-death experiences. I knew that I would never, in a million years, wish this on my worst enemy, let alone an innocent child. If there was any chance my child would be sick like I was, I wasn’t taking the risk. Not to mention, my life would be in danger during a pregnancy because of my health issues. Intracranial hypertension was just one more diagnosis, one more reason I knew I had made the right decision early on.

On November 29th, 2018, I will be having my Fallopian tubes removed (permanent sterilization) in Richmond, VA. It has been a challenging journey over the years to explain my reasoning for this surgery to doctors and friends and family and receive reactions like, “You are too young to make that decision”. I kept asking every year at the gynecologist, but I knew this surgery likely wouldn’t happen until I was closer to 30 and I was okay with that because I could take birth control. In light of my new diagnosis and the fact I could no longer use birth control, I knew I had to find a doctor who would listen to me, listen to my story, and trust that I knew what was best for myself and my body, even if I am young. I am so grateful to have found this doctor at Virginia Women’s Center.

There are a few people who have been instrumental in this process and I could not have done it without their support. Fighting health battles is exhausting and these people kept me going. My mother has been my biggest advocate since Day 1, and she fought to find answers when I was young which led to my Ehlers Danlos diagnosis. My mom has been by my side through every sick day, new diagnosis, everything, whether she is right next to me or we are hours away from each other. My mom came to the doctor’s appointment in Richmond this fall to support me and provide background information that supported the fact I was 100% sure I wanted this surgery. I will also be staying with her after the surgery and through December as I have follow ups. My Papa, mom’s dad, has also been extremely supportive over the years and with this situation.

Devin is the most amazing man and has loved me so well and unconditionally over the past few years that we have known each other and dated. This situation has been no different. I told him about this when we first started dating and he has always been on board and in agreement. He has taken care of me almost as much as my mother at this point during flare ups at home or when I need to go to the hospital. Devin’s mom has also been one of my biggest supporters with this situation and in general as she understands chronic illness on a personal level.

I am posting this knowing that this is a controversial topic and there will be varying reactions. These reactions will range from full support to thinking that this is absolutely wrong and I shouldn’t be doing it. You probably have questions, like:

What does Devin really think?

What if you change your mind?

Why are you having your Fallopian tubes removed and not “tied”?

What are the side effects of the surgery?

I invite you to ask me these questions in a private message if you have them as I truly aim to educate. For the past few years, I have felt I am not in control of my body, future, or health because I am young and female. Doctors and people I don’t know very well have told me countless times that I will change my mind. It has been frustrating and depressing, but I continued to advocate for myself and my health and happiness anyway.

I want anyone who reads this far to come away with a few thoughts:

- Chronic illness is a daily fight and you do not understand unless you go through it or are around it constantly.

- Women have the right to decide what to do with our bodies and reproductive systems. Period.

- Don’t write someone off because they are young. Listen to them and their story, listen to their view of the world, and gain a new perspective.

- Be your own advocate with EVERYTHING- health, career, happiness. You know yourself better than any other human in the world. Trust yourself and find your happiness. It can be exhausting, and it usually seems so much easier to just give up and take no for an answer. Don’t give up. Keep fighting another day, then another, then another. Stand up for yourself even if others won’t. You will be amazed what can happen.

I hope this helps open minds and educate. I am always happy to chat about any questions you have regarding chronic illness or this specific surgery/decision. Thank you for reading.

Xoxo,

Marie

The New Broken Scene

Pairing: TFW x Friend!Reader

Prompt: “She's Kinda Hot” by 5 Seconds of Summer

Word Count: 2,309

Warning: a couple swear words, a few feelings being touched on (not really angsty, but sad), fluff, talk of the end of the world, Winchesters being Winchesters.

A/N: this is for @sis-tafics “Jill’s Bday Pop Punk Challenge”. This was hard for me to write for as I had no idea what to do lol. I finally got this written up last night and I like it. The characters may be a little OOC, they may not be. It kinda jumps around at times, but I was trying to pick a character for each group of lyrics, so that’s why. I hope you like it.

Team Free Will, what a name. Let's see, there's a ex-blood junkie, a high school drop out with six bucks to his name, mister comatose over there, and a girl on the run. Sounds about right. 'Course, “titles” change over time, people/creatures add on every now and then, but any way you slice it, Team Free Will is just that. A team that saved the world; countless times mind you. To put it frankly, they were like the Kings and Queens of this new and broken scene, always finding a way to patch it back up.

My girlfriend's bitchin' 'cause I always sleep in She's always screaming when she's calling a friend She's kinda hot though Yeah she's kinda hot though (Just an itty bitty little bit hot)

“Damn, this chick won't leave me alone,” Dean grumbled to himself as he pressed “Decline” on his phone. Every time he answered, Melanie (or whatever her name was), would be practically screaming through the phone at Dean, or whining that he wasn't calling her back.

“Dude, just change your number or tell her you're not interested,” (Y/N) offered as she sat down next to him, cracking open a book to research their next case.

“You don't think I've tried?” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “Screw it, I'll call her back and tell her it ain't working out. She's kinda hot though...”

(Y/N) watched Dean grab his phone as he stood up and placed a call back. She just shook her head with a smirk. When will he learn?

My shrink is telling me I got crazy dreams She's also saying I got low self-esteem She's kinda hot though Yeah she's kinda hot though (Just a little bit a little bit hot) She put me on meds, she won't get out of my head She's kinda hot though (One, two, three, go!)

When Castiel was in the mental hospital, Meg was his only sense of comfort. The doctor he was seeing didn't help him; only made him feel worse about his predicament, even if he didn't show it. The medication he was given didn't help; Lucifer always made an appearance. But now he was free of that place, and yet Meg stood by him.

Another normal day in the Bunker, relatively speaking. Castiel couldn't stop staring at Meg, but he stared at everyone for prolonged periods of time. Most just ignored it. Meg however looked up and held his gaze before Castiel looked away, a small blush spreading across his cheeks.

“Yes, Clarence?” she asked, smirking when he started at her sudden question.

“I uh...you...Ithinkyou'reratherbeautifulMeg,” he blurt out as fast as he could, embarrassment clouding his thoughts.

Meg caught what he was saying and made her way over to the flustered angel. Patting his cheek softly, she placed a small kiss to his rosy cheek. “Thank you, Castiel. You're rather handsome yourself.” And then she left, leaving behind a flustered and happy angel.

My friend left college 'cause it felt like a job His mom and dad both think he's a slob He's got a shot though (No, not really) Yeah, he's got a shot though (No, no, not really) When you've got bigger plans that no one else understands You've got a shot though (Oh my, that's a big plan you've got there)

With Mary back in the picture, Sam often wondered how she would feel knowing he left college, a chance at a normal life, to return to hunting with Dean. Would she think he was a slob? He didn't voice his queries aloud, mostly because he feared he was right.

Fate as it were, had other plans. Mary was going through some old files and records, trying to see just how much she missed (it was a lot), when she came across an old acceptance letter. It was addressed to Sam from Stanford. She knew he mentioned it to her, but she didn't know the full story. Did he graduate? Did he go back at some point? Figuring she'd get better answers from Sam himself, she set off to find her boy.

Dean was on a supply run with (Y/N), and Castiel was off doing some heavenly duties, leaving Sam and Mary in the Bunker. She found her son in the library, reclined in one of the rockers in the corner with a book in hand. He heard her footsteps and looked up, a smile on his face. “Hey mom. What's up?”

“I had a question for you, Sam. Found this in a pile of records in storage,” she handed him his old college acceptance letter. She watched as his face dropped at the sight of it, a sort of sadness creeping in his eyes.

“What did you want to know?” Sam asked, trying to hide how his voice cracked a little.

“What was it like?” Mary questioned, grabbing one of the chairs at the tables and pulled it over. With a sigh, Sam launched into his tale. How he got accepted, hid it from their dad, left hunting to go to school. He told her about Jess, how she sadly died, how he never went back and finished like he told himself he would. At the end of his tale, Sam was convinced Mary would think he was an idiot.

“Oh Sam, I'm so sorry. I wish you never had to go through that,” she comforted, placing a hand on his knee and giving it a small squeeze.

Sam gave her a tight smile, trying to hide the pain inside. Mary, however, saw right through it. A mother always knows. Standing up, she pulled Sam into a hug, feeling him tense slightly before slowly bringing his arms up to wrap around her. Running her fingers through his hair, she felt him relax into her touch.

“I'm proud of you, Sam. I always knew you'd go to a school like Stanford one day. I wish you could have gotten the chance to be a lawyer, but just know I am so proud of you. Despite everything, you still became an amazing young man. Quite literally saving the world. What mother wouldn't be proud of that?”

Sam felt like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. Breathing a sigh of relief, he tightened his hold slightly, whispering a “thanks mom”. That was what he needed to hear.

They say we're losers and we're alright with that We are the leaders of the not-coming-back's But we're alright though Yeah we're alright though We are the kings and the queens of the new broken scene Yeah we're alright though (Uno, dos, tres, cuatro)

Jack stared out the window from the backseat of the Impala as the scenery flew by them. He, (Y/N) and the boys had just wrapped up another case. Another win for Team Free Will. At least it wasn't another apocalypse.

Sometimes it felt like this world was out to get them, whether it be another monster, a human, or for Jack, another angel tried to take him away from his family. The Winchesters had blasted them away before they could do anything. He was grateful, but sometimes it felt like it was too much.

He looked over at (Y/N) and saw she had these white chords in her ears that were attached to her phone. Reaching over, Jack tapped her shoulder and she turned around with a smile as she pulled out one of the chords.

“Yes Jack?”

“What is that?” he asked, pointing to the earphone chord in her hand.

“These are headphones. They allow you to listen to music. Wanna listen?” she explained, offering him one of the pieces. Jack gently placed it in his ear and s grin spread across his face as music came through.

“This is amazing!” he exclaimed, shifting closer to listen with her. While he may not understand the song or know who it is, something about it stood out to him. This band, 5 Seconds of Summer (which he also didn't quite understand), their song spoke to him in a way. Him, (Y/N), Sam, Dean, Castiel, and Mary were definitely like the Kings and Queens of coming back from the edge.

Sometimes I'm feeling like I'm going insane My neighbor told me that I got bad brains But I'm alright though (We're alright though) Yeah we'll be alright though (We're alright though) 'Cause we're the kings and the queens of the new broken scene And we're alright though (One, two, three, four)

(Y/N) was on the run for as long as she could remember. Whether it was running from a monster or the local cop that caught her playing hooky from school, not like she could tell the cop she was hunting for a monster. From an early age, her neighbors thought she wasn't going to make it in life; her parents were almost never home (they were hunters, what would you expect?), she didn't do that great in school sometimes, and they caught her talking to herself sometimes and thought she had gone insane. Turns out she was talking to a Zana and only she could see her (Emma was a friend of Sully's; who she got to meet later on when he needed their help).

Yet despite all the negativity that surrounded her from an early age, she persisted. Her grades went up, her parents stopped hunting for a while (at least until she was older), and Emma knew that (Y/N) didn't need her around much longer. But it was okay, she checked on her from time to time before moving on to the next kid in need. (Y/N) proved her neighbors wrong when she got accepted to college. She'd spend a few years there and graduated as an English major, but turned to hunting instead. That was how she met Sam and Dean, on a werewolf hunt of all things. And she's been with them ever since.

Her parents retired from hunting and set up shop as a communications hot spot between hunters with the help from Bobby. But that was okay with (Y/N). It meant they would stay safe. For now, the world was in the capable hands of Team Free Will. And they were doing alright by their standards.

They say we're losers and we're alright with that We are the leaders of the not-coming-back's But we're alright though (We're alright though) Yeah we're alright though (We're alright though) We are the kings and the queens of the new broken scene Yeah we're alright though (We're gonna be okay)

“Man, things just never seem to go easy on us, do they?” Dean sighed, sinking down into a chair at their kitchen table, an ice pack held to his cheek. Sam was rummaging through their first aid kit for some painkillers, the wound on his arm had stopped bleeding by now. (Y/N) limped over to a chair across from Dean and watched as Cas tried to heal him. Sadly, he used a little too much grace expelling the demons they dealt with and so healing would have to wait for a bit. He would recharge tonight and be good by morning.

“It's fine Cas. Just worry about getting some rest, alright?” (Y/N) replied, patting his hand before getting up to get some water for Dean. They four of them worked on patching each other up and then beers were passed around as they cheered to another job well done...sort of.

Sometimes they wished they didn't have such a burden on their shoulders, but if they didn't do what they do, who else would save the world?

“You know what boys? How about we do nothing tomorrow but take a day and relax. Have a movie marathon or something. Maybe start tonight when Mary gets home with Jack and show them all the movies they missed or don't know. Get them caught up on something current. Let someone else deal with the monsters tomorrow. We deserve a break. We saved this God damned world numerous times; let someone else save it tomorrow. We need this,” (Y/N) declared, getting up to go change before any of them could object. Yeah, she was right. Let someone else handle it tomorrow. It'll be okay.

Na na na na na na na na na na na Na na na na na na na na na na na But we're alright though Na na na na na na na na na na na Yeah we're alright though Na na na na na na na na na na na We are the kings and the queens of the new broken scene Yeah we're alright though

“Well, here's to another job well done, boys. And Mary,” (Y/N) held up her beer for a toast, listening to the replies and clinks from her family around her. They saved the world again, and this time, it got them Gabriel. While he was still recovering, he was happy to be free and apart of their little ragtag family of misfits. He fit right in.

“Here's to family,” Mary saluted.

“To friends,” Castiel stated.

“To my saviors,” Gabriel replied.

“To my family,” Jack added, a smile on his face.

“To freedom,” came Sam.

“To Team Free Will 2.0,” Dean chuckled, but it was true.

“To us. The Kings and Queens of the broken scene. Earth's heroes,” (Y/N) cheered. They didn't know what would await them tomorrow, but for now, they were alright. Everything would be alright in the end. The Earth had them to protect it, it was going to be just fine in the hands of Team Free Will 2.0, which included two salty hunters, one half angel kid, dude that just came back from the dead...again, an Archangel turned Trickster back from Hell, a mother back from the dead, and a girl who didn't have to run away anymore. This was their family.

The Amazing Spider-Man 2 (2014) Review

  Let me preface this review by saying two things, Number one: This review and the context of it all must be prefaced by the fact that I am a gigantic Spider-Man fan, and Number two: If you like this movie more power to you.

 Let's begin at the start of my story and with my personal story. It was May 2014, I was at the last moth of sixth grade, and I was massively hyped for this movie. I remember for months I watched speculation videos on my hand me down original iPad from my grandpa, and my first laptop from my Aunt. I remember being allowed to stay up and watch the entirety of the Oscars that year just solely because something Spider-Man related was supposed to happen at the ceremony (it had to be cut for time). The day soon arrived, May 4th, the day my Dad agreed to take me to go see the movie at a 7pm showing at our local movie theater. The theater was packed, filled with people munching on popcorn, making light conversation, and then the lights dimmed and the movie started. roughly two and a half hours passed, the lights turned back on, I sat confused, was that the movie I spent countless hours watching and consuming as much news I could get on it? My dad turned to me and asked "well, did you like it?" I said yes as a quick and simple answer. I returned to the theater a few weeks later with my mom as she wanted to see it and I wanted to make sure I hadn't dreamed it or something. And low and behold, the movie stood the same the hype was gone this time, the confusion turned to frustration, the disappointment to distaste. after 7 years, I can firmly say that this movie is an absolute steaming pile of creamy, dog shit.

 The good things about the film are brief, and small. there are some really cool shots in this film (the opening Spider-Man freefall is a notable one), the music is interesting, I know some people hate it, but I really don't (it's not Michael Giacchino's or Danny Elfman's, but it's not bland and forgettable like James Horner's) plus I think it's a brilliant move to give the electric based villain a theme inspired by dubstep and electronica had to have been the easiest decision ever. I also don't hate Emma Stone as Gwen Stacy, I know that Stone is an incredibly talented actress and is certainly trying her hardest to make this shit work. That also goes for some of the supporting cast (mainly Sally Field) they all are trying their hardest to make this shit work.

 On the other side of the coin, all of the stuff I dislike about the movie, or as I like to call it everything else. I don't hate Andrew Garfield as Spider-Man, but I hate him as Peter Parker, I'm so tired of Peter Parker being portrayed as handsome. this is also a minor criticism with the Tom Holland Spider-Man, but less so because I can reasonably believe  Tom getting bullied. This is a interesting thing to point out with Andrew, as the exact opposite is said with Tobey McGuire in that he was a good Peter Parker but a week Spider-Man, and that Tom is a good balance. If I had to pick between the three,  I'd pick Tom, but I still like Garfield and Tobey.

I remember being hyped that all these villains with Rhino, Electro, and Green Goblin. But after the film whenever a film announces more than two villains, I become wary. Jamie Foxx is unintentionally hysterical as Electro, right down to his whole motivation being that Spider-Man forgot his name and the media turned away from when Spidey did something, to the electric eels shocking him fixing the gap in his teeth. Then on the other side of the coin of bad performances in the film is Dane Dehaan as Green Goblin, who grits his teeth and throws temper tantrums, and acts more like a toddler than Spider-Man's Nemesis.  Oh and the plot, Jesus H. Fucking CHRIST the plot, the film adds and drops characters and subplots like a right leaning celebrity drops jobs after a terrible tweet. So lets count all the story that is happening within the movie. 1.) Peter and Gwen's relationship 2.) Peter feeling guilt over Gwen's dad 3.)  Gwen going to college 4.) Electro terrorizing the city 5.) Harry inheriting Oscorp as well as his Dad's Goblin disease 6.) Harry needing Peter's blood 7.) Harry uncovering a sinister conspiracy at Oscorp 8.) Peter looking for info on his parents 9.) The Fedora Man setting up various Spider-Man villains that would have supposedly appeared in the next films and the spinoffs, like Doctor Octopus, Vulture, Etc. 10.) Black Cat being shown to exist 11.) Aunt May at the hospital 12.) The Little kid that Peter saved at one point

 That's TWELVE major and minor subplot's that all exist within the movie either as a part of the film, or to set up other films (plus a cut subplot involving Shailene Woodley as Mary Jane which if kept in would make the count thirteen!). That's the biggest sin with the film, its sole existence was just to set up however many years worth of sequels and spinoffs and sequels, when the film should have simply the sequel to the previous film. hell cut all of the villains beside Electro and maybe keep Harry as a side character similarly to the Raimi trilogy and focus it on both Peter and Gwen's relationship and give Electro better motivations than "Spider-Man forgot my name" and that automatically changes the film into a film instead of a flailing, dying corpse that was slowly asphyxiating on it's own bloat of vomit and shit made of a once great franchise.

 And you want to know the worst part of this whole thing? that people will say with a straight face that this is not just a good Spider-Man movie, but say it's better than the Tom Holland movie because... He has Iron Man as a mentor figure or whatever. I'm not saying the Holland Spider-Man films are flawless masterpieces or reach the heights of the Raimi movies or Spider-Verse, but they aren't these unwatchable piles of garbage like the earlier DCEU movies, at least they aren't every adaptation of the Fantastic Four, at least they aren't this fucking movie.

2/10

Darkness Prevails epilogue

AND ITS DONE. Though, this was actually very hard to write. I overall wish to thank all those who read my story, and everyone who liked it, reblogged, and commented. You are my very existence. I also wish to thank my boyfriend, cause he’s like my biggest fan, following the story alongside all of you guys haha. Angel, enjoy it hunny! @stillapieceoftrash

Perfect

Of all the words in the plethora of words known to man, Betty would have never thought she would use that specific word to describe her life right now. But no amount of words that came to mind could possibly describe it better than that – her life was perfect.

7 years had past since the events of her teenage years – since her life was on the edge of a blade and she danced with darkness more times than she liked to. After her trip to the hospital and court hearings, Betty finally went back to school, soon after graduating top of her class – valedictorian obviously – alongside Archie and Veronica. Jughead had graduated a year later, having to repeat due to absences and lack of good grades. But once they were all done high school, it was a collective agreement to attend college together.

So they all applied, and got accepted to NYU; Betty and Jughead with the English majors, Archie on a sports scholarship with a minor in Music, and Veronica majored in Fashion design. After long conversations with parents, tons of planning, and house-hunting, the 4 set off for the city that never sleeps (or was that Paris?) They moved into a slightly larger apartment relatively close to the campus, adorned with two huge bedrooms located on opposite sides of the space - “for privacy sake” Veronica had said, a coy smile on her lips. The large common area had 4 desks, one of which was huge – Veronica clearly stating she needed a big one for her designs. Betty was solely in charge of cooking for the 4 of them, whilst Jughead and Archie were strictly on cleanup duty. Their little family was dysfunctional, but just as much home as Riverdale was.

College had been fun too, albeit insane exams. Classes were easy (at least for Betty they were), and her professors were pretty cool. They had even attended a few parties, more so a ‘Veronica and Archie’ scene as a designated “Power Couple” on the campus. Jughead and Betty had chosen more reserved extra curricular activities, such as poetry reading nights at the Java Jones down the road, or (big surprise) the double feature at a local theater.

But it was during their last year of college when Betty and Jughead’s life had changed for the better.

Betty had found out she was pregnant.

After countless failed attempts at getting back into their rhythm, of nights spent crying over too real nightmares and reoccurring ptsd, Betty finally sought the help so the elephant in the room didn’t butcher her relationship with Jughead any further. Though, even with all the struggles, Jughead never pressured Betty into anything, always letting her be the one in charge, pulling away when he felt her whole body tense, or just sit and talk her back from the edge of insanity. He had been everything she needed, and then some. So after weekly sessions with a therapist, Betty was able to expand their relationship to the peak they had it at before.

They spent nights wrapped in naked embraces, whispering sweet nothings to one another as they conquered Betty’s internal battles and heeded Jughead’s external desires. So little words were said during their times together, only primal sounds of need and want, battling for control throughout the night.

And thus lead to their baby.

She still remembered telling Jughead the news, every single detail.

“Juggie, I need to tell you something.” Her lip was between her teeth, eyes carefully watching the man in front of her. They were in their room at the apartment, Betty seating at the edge of their bed while Jughead was perched at the head of it, back against the wall.

Jughead blanked, body timid, eyes concerning. “Did I do something wrong?” His voice was raspy but soft, just above a whisper.

Betty shook her head furiously, placing her hands on the sides of his face. “No Juggie, you didn’t do anything wrong.” His smile melted her heart, hands coming to rest on her sides.

“So what did you need to tell me?” Jughead asked.

“I uh-” Betty bit her lip again, looking away. Jughead’s hand came to rest on her jaw, bringing her eyes back to his, without saying a word he just nodded. Letting out a breath and standing from the bed, Betty finally said. “Juggie I’m pregnant.”

The first thing Jughead did was drop his mouth open in shock. Or awe. Or dispair. Betty didn’t quite know what emotion it was, but what came after is what Betty truly loved. Jughead smiled. He smiled so large she thought his face was going to crack. A full, toothy, completely and utterly happy kind of smile. Then he kissed her. He kissed her again, and again. Peppering kisses across her face, along her neck, back to her face. His arms were around her, pulling her so close she thought he was trying to morph them together.

“Really?!” He asked, so much excitement and joy, Betty had never seen him like this before. She just nodded, unable to find words in this wonder. “I’m going to be a dad?” He said the last word tentatively, sorta like he was testing it out. His smile a few seconds later made Betty assume he was fine with the term, and new title. He picked her up in his arms, twirling her around a few times before setting her down once more, placing another quick kiss on her smiling lips. Jughead stood quickly, launching himself off the mattress with ease.

Then he dropped to his knees, side of his face flush against her tummy as he smiled. “My baby,” was all he said. A tear escaped Betty’s eye, words cutting off from the lump in her throat. She just sniffled. Jughead looked up at her, concerned. “Whats wrong?” He was standing in front of her again, hands on either side of her face. Betty just shook her head, a few more tears streamed down her cheeks. Jughead’s thumb gently wiped them away, kissing her cheeks softly. “You are so beautiful.” Betty just smiled, closing her eyes. “The mother to my baby.”

He kissed her then, and no matter how many times Betty relives the moment, the kiss gets longer and longer. Better every time. Their lips played a devilish dance, limbs wrapping around one another in a fight for dominance. Betty finally let Jughead take control, falling into step with his movements and just living for the moment.

Betty flushed at the memory, touching her lips with her finger and smiling. The door opened to her right, Jughead appearing from the threshold.

“Hey Juggie.” Betty said, smiling. She was making lunch, smiley face sandwiches and only the best fruit. Jughead took a step forward, placing a quick kiss on Betty’s temple.  

“Hey Betts, where’s Hunter?” Jughead asked, grabbing an apple slice and shoving into his mouth.

“In the living room with Ronnie. Archie should be here soon.” Jughead smiled, kissing her temple once more before retreating to the other room, happy giggles erupting from within. Betty smiled as she continued to cut the fruit. Finishing up, she plates everything and quickly emerges in the other room, food in hand and a smile on her lips.

Before her was Jughead, seated on the floor with Hunter – their energetic 9 month old son – while Veronica laughed from the couch. Archie was walking into the room as Betty put the food down, nodding for everyone to eat while she pulled Hunter to her arms. He cooed loudly, throwing his tiny arms around her neck. Betty giggled, enveloping him with her arms.

Jughead was beside them soon after, picking up the toddler easily and tossing him up slightly in his arms, igniting fits of laughter from the tiny boy. Hunter’s green eyes bright with excitement as Jughead continues to play with him, tickling and playing airplane. Betty just watches, laughing at her two boys. Veronica comes to sit beside her, gushing about a new set of cute clothes she’s going to buy Hunter. Archie pipes up about teaching their son how to play the guitar.

“He’ll be a rock star, like me!” Archie puffs out his chest, smirking. Veronica laughs, while Betty just smiles.

“Sure Archiekins, whatever you say boo.” Jughead says coyly, making silly faces at his son.

Archie just smiles wider, laughing. “I don’t know what’s more scary. Jughead calling me boo, or the fact that Ronnie didn’t have my back!” He feigned hurt, thrusting a hand to his chest and hanging his head. Betty bursts out laughing, covering her mouth to stop herself from snorting at the poor boy.

Veronica moves to sit beside Archie, placing a manicured hand on his shoulder. “Babe, there isn’t anything I can do to help you there.” Her smile was smug as he pulled from her grasp, gasping at her words.

“You guys are so mean to me! Why did I ever become friends with you again.” Everyone was laughing then, even Hunter, at Archie’s exaggerated expressions and flailing of his arms. Betty held her stomach tightly, the muscles in her core tense from the fits of laughter.

Once she calmed her laughter, she leaned back against the couch, watching her friends. Archie and Ronnie were talking about something, both their face close to one another and animated. Ronnie was smiling at something Archie said, leaning her head against his shoulder before kissing his cheek. Betty smiled at them, fingers tracing the scar on her wrist idly.

Jughead’s hand engulfed hers, bringing her attention to him. His blue eyes were filled with concern, looking down at Betty’s fingers then back up at her. She just shrugged, smiling at him. He mouthed the words she knew all too well, nodding before he could finish. He frowned, placing their son on the floor in front of him before scooting over to drape an arm over her shoulders.

“You ok?” He whispered, voice tickling her ear and sending a wave of pleasure down her spine. She bit her lip and nodded, not trusting her voice won’t sound heady. She notices his frown again, before leaning her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes gently.

“I’m ok Juggie.”

He cleared his throat, Betty feeling his head move in a nod. She keeps her eyes closed, unaware of if she’s falling asleep of just lost in thought. She’s brought back to reality when Jughead moves away from her, causing her head to dip painfully to the side. Rubbing her neck, Betty just opens her eyes. Hunter was sleeping on the couch behind her head, snuggled closely with his toy monkey named FP. Looking around, she stands.  

Jughead was watching Archie and Veronica closely, waiting for the signal. When Archie finally looked over at him, a slight nod was all he got before Archie stood.

“Ronnie?” Veronica looked up at her name, concern filling her perfect features. 

“Yes Archie?” She stood, sparing a glance at Betty, who just shook her head with lack of knowledge. “What is it?”

“Veronica. Ronnie. You’ve been by my side for longer than I can remember. You’re my biggest fan, and truest supporter, you’re one of the reasons I even continued with music when I wanted to quit.” Veronica was watching him, a charcoal tear trailing down her face. Archie reaches behind him, grasping something, then drops to one knee. “Veronica Lodge, will you marry me?”

“Holy shit!” Betty’s voice broke the silence, causing Jughead to chuckle. Veronica stood silent, tears streaming down her face, smudging her makeup. She had a hand over her mouth, nodding furiously. Archie shot an eyebrow up, confusion all over his face.

“Yes!” Veronica finally shouted, a choked laugh following. Archie smiled huge, standing up and enveloping her in his arms. “100 times yes, Archie. Oh my god.” Archie kissed her then, while Betty whistled, laughing at the two of them from her side of the room.

“Betty?”

Jughead’s voice broke through the noise, Betty turning on her heel, still smiling. Then she halts. Before her is Jughead, down on one knee and navy blue eyes burning bright. A hand comes up to her mouth, strangling the gasp that escapes her closing throat.

“Betts, I don’t have a fancy speech like Archie does, but I just have one question.” He pulls out a tiny box, opening his with a click. Inside is the most beautiful ring Betty’s ever seen, engraved on the side is a J, opposite of that is a B. Tears flow freely down Betty’s cheeks as she inhales sharply. “Elizabeth Cooper, will you marry me?”

“Oh my gosh.” Veronica’s voice rang out, a shrill sound in the silence that followed.

Betty doesn’t respond, just launches herself into his arms, tears flowing quickly as she wraps her arms around his neck. He wraps his arms around her torso easily, holding her tightly. She could hear his small sniffles, indication of his own crying.

She pulls back slightly, leaning back on her knees. “Yes.” His face lit up at the one word, leaning forward to capture her lips in a kiss so full of passion, it was a wonder the whole world didn’t shatter. Betty wrapped her arms around his neck, tangling her hands in his messy hair. His arms came around her waist, pulling her as close as possible. They stayed like that for eternity, or at least it felt like it to them.

Pulling away, out of breath and flushed, Betty leaned her forehead against Jughead’s, biting her lip.

“I love you, Elizabeth Cooper.” She opened her eyes, looking up at him through her lashes.

“Jughead Jones. I love you.”

Ep. 8 Of #TwinPeaks Is David Lynch's Purest Marriage Of Television And Video Art

Adam Lehrer ,  CONTRIBUTOR

It’s hard to describe how inestimable an impact David Lynch had over me when I first saw Mulholland Drive as a 14-year-old. Something I’ve been discussing with fellow artist friends of mine is the fact that the art that changed our lives the most and still carries the most weight over our own sensibilities is the art that we were exposed to very young, maybe even too young to fully understand what it is exactly that you’re viewing. I developed a taste for disturbing aesthetics at a very young age; when I was about five or six-years-old, my cinephile father would have “movie nights with dad” when my mom would go out with her girlfriends, and he would let my brother and I watch watch Ridley Scott’s Alien, James Cameron’s Terminator, and/or Paul Verhoeven’s Robocop when I still should have been reading children’s books (and boy am I thankful for that).

That early exposure to art, whether it be John Carpenter films, or Brian DePalma films, or Bret Easton Ellis novels, or my favorite music (Wu Tang, Lou Reed, or Marilyn Manson), is still the art that I think about and gravitate back towards even after decades of being exposed to just about everything contemporary art, cinema, literature, poetry, and popular music has to offer. But watching Lynch’s Mulholland Drive for the first time feels like a monumental point of epiphany in my life. A point where I thought to myself, “Maybe I want to create stuff when I grow up.” I had no idea what Mulholland Drive’s fractured plot meant, but its images left me confounded, and fascinated. I loved the dreamy, hallucinatory Los Angeles Neo-noir stylizations of its setting. I had never felt more terrified than when I first glimpsed that monster lurking behind the Winkie’s diner.

That film made me blissfully aware that cinema and art could be a simultaneously erotic, horrific, and thrilling experience. I knew how powerful art could be,  but Mulholland Drive gave me my first taste of the sublime. Since then, I’ve been a David Lynch fanatic. I’ve watched all of his earlier films, binge watched Twin Peaks over and over (finding myself asking new questions each time), wrote college essays on Eraserhead and David Foster Wallace’s article that documented Lynch’s process on the set of Lost Highway, have searched out all his early forays into video art, have found merits in his more oft-overlooked output in advertising (his 2009 commercial for Dior is Lynch at his funniest), and have read countless analyses on the man himself and his cinematic language.

So, when you read what I’m about to say, know that I do so with much hesitance, consideration, and ponderousness: the eighth episode of Twin Peaks: The Return is the piece of filmmaking that Lynch has been building towards for his entire career. It is a singular cinematic and artistic achievement, and the purest distillation of the multitude of ideas and concepts that live and breathe in the Lynchian universe. I believe that years from now we will be looking upon this single episode as one of, if not the single most, defining artistic achievements of Lynch’s unimpeachable career. Bare with me.

Aesthetically, episode 8 would leave a powerful impression on even the most half-hazard of David Lynch converts. A hallucinatory, nightmarishly kaleidoscopic consortium of images of blood, flames, fluids, and demonic figures spews towards the viewer while Krystof Pendrecki’s tortuously atmospheric soundscapes underline the episode’s inescapable atmosphere of existential dread. Episode 8 is an hour long work of experimental video art, no doubt. But if you have been paying attention to this season of Twin Peaks and you know enough about the mythology of the show and know even more about Lynch’s artistic interests and visual touchstones, then you know that this episode was no mere act of meaningless artistic overindulgence. In fact, this was Lynch telling the origin story that set the entire series of Twin Peaks into place.

This was the origin story of BOB, the demonic force that forced Leland Palmer to rape his daughter for years and eventually murder her in Twin Peaks’ initial 1990s run. BOB, we learn in episode 8, was forged from the the United States' earliest forays into nuclear bomb testing.  BOB was already the perfect metaphor for mankind’s capacity for cruelty, depravity and evil, and becomes an even more powerful metaphor now that we know his nuclear genesis. Any Lynchian fanatic will rave to you how delicious this notion is. What David Lynch has done, and in many ways has always been trying to do, is to create a piece of pure atmospheric video art that also works as a classic piece of narrative storytelling. In this episode, Lynch has perfectly located a zone in which vague and aesthetically menacing imagery also serve as clear and precise storytelling and, like the best cinema and storytelling, illustrates a metaphor for modern human existence. While Eraserhead, Mulholland Drive and Inland Empire, Lost Highway and Blue Velvet utilize video art aesthetics, they are also pieces of storytelling with easily identifiable stories if you look for them (well, maybe not Inland Empire). Episode 8 of the return of Twin Peaks is a mostly dialog-less piece of distorted, haunting images. It is art. But it also still tells a story. The story of a television series no less! This is all the more impressive in that television as a storytelling medium is the most reliant on expository dialog and over-crammed storyboarding.

David Lynch pays heed to the form while mainly utilizing the language of pure image. Who needs a script, and who needs dialog, when you can see that delectably menacing, fascinating and torturous world of Twin Peaks from inside the actual head of David Lynch? Episode 8 was the truest portal to the imagination of Lynch that has yet been put to screen.

I’m sure there are more casual David Lynch fans that are growing impatient with the restrained, at times glacial pace of this new season of Twin Peaks. I however have understood what he’s been doing this whole time. He hasn’t just been making a television season, he has been commenting on the current importance of television in our culture. Television has replaced cinema at the heart of cultural conversation for many reasons. Partly, this has been a result of the groundbreaking work that has been done in television over the last two decades: Twin Peaks, The Sopranos, Mad Men, The Wire, and more recently, The Leftovers have all expanded the possibilities of what people believe can be done with the form. There are also financial concerns: as major film studios continue to spend their whole wads on sure thing blockbuster action and superhero films, auteur filmmakers have had harder times getting their films properly funded. Cable and streaming television services like HBO or Amazon however have the means to give filmmakers the funds they need to realize a vision, and indie filmmakers have resultantly flocked towards the small screen.

Television’s prevalence has had connotations both positive and negative on culture. The negative, in my opinion, stems from its causing people to no longer be able to get lost in a pure, imagistic cinematic experience. Even the best shows are still mainly concerned with story and dialog, whereas cinema is about mood, atmosphere, and aesthetics. When Twin Peaks premiered in 1990, Lynch and co-creator Mark Frost (a television veteran) were very much interested in marrying the Lynchian world with the conventional tropes of television: serial drama, mystery, and even soap opera. Throughout its first season, it worked beautifully. Both Lynch aficionado cinephiles and mainstream television viewers alike were captivated, and the series was one of the year’s top-rated. But after the second season revealed Laura Palmer’s killer to be her demonic entity-inhabited father Leland far too early during its run, Lynch’s boredom with the constraints of television grew apparent. The show starts to feel like a standard nineties television show, albeit one with a quirky plot and wildly eccentric characters. Lynch mostly dropped primary showrunner duties to focus on his film Wild at Heart only to come back for Twin Peaks’ stunner of a series finale, when the show’s protagonist FBI Agent Dale Cooper travels to the mystical red velvet draped alternate universe of the Black Lodge, and eventually becomes trapped inside that Lynchian hellscape while his body is replaced with a doppelgänger inhabited by the demonic entity Killer BOB and set out into the world.

In the Black Lodge, Laura Palmer tells Cooper that she’ll see him in 25 years, and that's exactly where Twin Peaks: the Return starts off. It was apparent from the premiere episode of this new season of Twin Peaks that Lynch is benefitting from a new TV landscape in which Showtimes has awarded him full creative control over his product, and he’s directing all 16 episodes of this new season. Also, it’s quite obvious that the technological advancements over the last two decades have enabled Lynch to fulfill the fullest extent of his vision. Twin Peaks: The Return is a much purer marriage between narrative driven television melodrama and Lynch’s hallucinatory experimental video cinematic language. That first episode barely spends any time in Twin Peaks, but spends plenty of time with Cooper in The Lodge. There are some truly unforgettable images in that first episode: a demonic entity appears out of thin air in a cylindrical orb and viciously attacks a young couple having sex, a woman’s corpse is found on a hotel bed with most of her head missing, and who can forget Matthew Lilard, perhaps the newest victim to be inhabited by Killer BOB, in a jail cell accused of murder while Lynch moves the camera from cell to cell until we see the horrifying silhouette of BOB himself in high contrast red and black ghoulishly smiling? But at the same time, Lynch is able to move the plot forward in ways that should be familiar to all television viewers; through procedure, dialog, and plot device. Lynch is still working within the confines of television, but has peppered the narrative scenes with unforgettable imagery. It’s been almost as if he’s been subtly preparing us, the viewers, to not just respond to what we normally respond to in television: story, story, and story and dialog, dialog, and dialog. And to slowly reacquaint us with the thrilling experience that can be derived from watching a set of shocking, beautiful, erotic and terrifying images move along in a sequence on a screen.

And episode 8 of this new series is the pinnacle of this new body of work, and very possibly of Lynch’s career at large. The episode begins similarly enough, with evil Cooper escaping from jail only for his escape driver to attempt to murder him out in the woods. And that is when Lynch kicks it into overdrive. As evil Cooper’s body is bleeding out, a group of dirtied and horrific men called 'The Woodsmen' start picking over his body and smearing themselves in his blood, with Killer BOB himself appearing and apparently resuscitating Cooper’s lifeless body. And then, Lynch proceeds to tell BOB’s, and quite possibly Laura’s, origin stories through a 45-minute nightmarish experimental video art piece. The NY Times has called this episode “David Lynch emptying out his subconscious unabated.” That is totally accurate, and there has never been and most likely never will be an episode of television like this ever again. This episode was video art, but it was also still television, and it also served as a piece of and critique of cinematic and television languages. Allow me to explain.

Episode 8 functions in a way similar to that of the video art of Janie Geiser. Without any knowledge of the world of Twin Peaks or the themes of the Lynchian universe, one could admire this piece similarly to how they would admire the experimental video art of Janie Geiser, and in particular Episode 8 recalls Geiser’s film The Fourth Watch in which the artist superimposed horror film stills within the setting of an antique doll house. Episode 8 uses that same nightmare logic, but empowers it with the budget of a major Cable series. There are also similarities to scenes in Jonathan Glazer’s brilliant Under the Skin when the alien portrayed by Scarlet Johannson devours her male prey in a grotesque nether realm. And perhaps its greatest antecedent is Kubrick’s Big Bang sequence in 2001: A Spade Oydyssey, and in many ways Episode 8 is the hellish inverse of that epic sequence. Like the Big Bang, episode 8 tells an origin story of a world created by an explosion, but instead of a galactic explosion, Killer BOB and his world of evil were born of a nuclear explosion. Brilliantly, Lynch believes that Killer BOB was birthed by man made horrors, going back to something FBA Agent Albert Rosenfield said in the original series about BOB being a “manifestation of the evil men do.” Indeed, in Episode 8 Lynch brings us inside an atomic mushroom cloud set off during the first nuclear bomb test explosion in White Sands, New Mexico in 1945. As the camera enters the chaos and giving view to one horrid abstraction of flames and matter after another, we eventually see a humanoid creature floating in the distance. The humanoid eventually shoots tiny particles of matter out of a phallic attachment. One of those particles carries the face of none other than Killer BOB. The imagery is clear in its meaning: once humans created technology that could kill of its own planet, a new kind of evil had emerged into the world. Killer BOB is that evil imagined as a singular demonic entity.

But enough about the content, or the plot of the episode. There have already been plenty of recaps documenting its various thrilling enigmas: The Giant seemingly manifesting Laura’s spirit as a mutant bug that crawled into a young girl’s mouth via her bedroom window, or the horrific drifter walking around asking people for a light before he crushed their skulls with his bare hands and delivered a terrifying and poetic sermon over a radio airwave, or the impromptu Nine Inch Nails performance that preceded the madness. What is more important to note is the fact that there is a strong case to be made arguing that this episode was the pinnacle of all that David Lynch has ever tried to achieve. Lynch has always been a kind of pop artist. He comes from a background in abstract painting and sculpture, but he also has a deep and profound love for cinema that eventually influenced him to sit in a director’s chair. All kinds of cinema, from the kind of abstract cinematic geniuses you’d expect like Werner Herzog and Federico Fellini, to rigorously formalist filmmakers like Billy Wilder. From Eraserhead on, Lynch has tried to marry the formal conventions of cinema (plot, narrative, tension, juxtaposition, conclusion, etc..) with abstract and surrealist contemporary art. Twin Peaks was initially birthed of his interest in marrying conventional TV tropes, like soap opera and mystery, with that sense of terror art that he got famous for. But nevertheless, the constrictions of TV in the early nineties exhausted, and eventually bored, Lynch and he moved on. But now, he has been able to bend the conventions of television at will in this new season of Twin Peaks, and episode 8 was when he blew them up entirely. This hour of TV finds him drawing on all of his cinematic language and themes, from the surrealist ethos of his subconscious dream logic to origins of evil to the concept of dual identity (as this episode alludes too, Bob and Laura might be each other’s opposites, two side of one coin, if you will), while still working as a plot building episode within a contained, albeit sprawling, television narrative. There is no doubt that this episode will make the broad and at times confusing plot of the new season of Twin Peaks come into focus as it continues.

It was also the most mind-blowing cinematic experience I’ve had in years. And I watch everything. By successfully pulling off this episode, Lynch has also reminded viewers of the overwhelming potency that cinema and moving images can have that other mediums just don’t come close to. There is a lot of great stuff on TV right now, and one could even argue that something like Damon Lindelof’s The Leftovers had some jaw-dropping moments of pure cinema. But after watching Episode 8 of Twin Peaks: The Return, even the best shows feel like hour long scenes of conversation between people without much cinematic impact (on his podcast, American Psycho author and famed cinephile Bret Easton Ellis argues that television can’t do what cinema does visually because the writer is the one in charge, not the director, but that’s for another think-piece). Episode 8 is a reminder of the power of cinema, art and images. But it also still works as plot device for the over-arching narrative of the show. More than ever before, Lynch has pulled off a piece of work that indulges his wildest artistic dreams while still paying heed to the kind of formalism that television production necessitates. I don’t know about you, but when Twin Peaks: The Return returns for its second round of its 18 episode run this Saturday, I can’t wait to see what Lynch does next. We are witnessing something that will be written about by art historians as much as it will be by academics of pop culture. This is thrilling.

Link (TP)

So, only a few days ago I finally finished my final year in college. What is an achievement for anyone, was a particularly big deal to me, as not only did I nearly quit countless times, but I barely even thought I’d be alive at this point.

I do feel that my college experience was especially tumultuous, but maybe I am just being self-centered with that mindset. However, the past few days and weeks I have found myself reflecting on the past four years, and to that I felt that the best way to process each individual year would be to write about it.

Before college even began, I experienced one of the most, if not the most, traumatic thing in my life which was watching dad die. Not something I will get into now, if ever, but it’s not something I wish on anyone to see.

That really had a major impact on me and especially on my mental health, which I am still trying to process, nearly four years later. It was a turning point in my life. And in the midst of that, I was finishing the Leaving Cert, waiting on results and desperately not wanting to go to college in September.

As the weeks flew by, I struggled to leave my house without having some sort of a breakdown or panic attack. It was a very dark point in my life, and I really struggled with coping.

From there, I began college, which was by far as easy task for anyone. But bare in mind, I was having panic attacks on a very regular basis, and held back tears for a lot of that first year. I was also incredibly shy, but in saying all that, I did enjoy making our terrible little productions and learning all these new skills.

To help me get by, I began taking anti-depressants, and was seeing my doctor on a regular enough basis. I went to a therapist, I was seeing a psychiatrist on occassion. All of this was to help me get back on my feet. Which to a point, I did, but if we’re being honest, I am still trying to this day to be 100% okay again.

First year of college, I was vulnerable. I was shy. And I was afraid. Even just to send a message in our groupchat was taxing for me. My heart would race and I’d start overthinking every character of the message.

When I think back to that first year, I see a lot of grey. I was unhappy. But I persevered.

My smiling angel.

Towards the end of the year, I somehow managed to convince my mam that we should get a dog. Both of us needed something to brighten our darkness, and I still thoroughly believe it was our greatest decision.

When Emmers entered our life, she was anxious and afraid too. She had a trauma and had gone through a lot in her past year, much like us. It was and still is an absolute treasure to me to see her develop from being so scared and nervous, to becoming this genuine ray of light who licks away the tears when I cry. Or who cuddles into me to cheer me up. Who just wants someone to look after her, play with her, and show her that there’s not just bad out in the world.

I’ll never forget that day that we naively walked into Dog’s Trust’s rehoming centre in Finglas, and didn’t realise that our lives were about to be changed for the better.

As well as as Emmers, I also managed to meet some people who changed my life around aswell. Namely, Amelia and Andrew. Some of the sweetest people I have ever had the pleasure of knowing, and are still my amazingly close friends of this day. So just a lil thank you to them for being so kind and wonderful!

The second year without Dad turned out to be ever more challenging, as I’ve learnt that the first is when your trying to come to terms with what has happened, and the second is when you realise that they’re actually gone. On top of this, my aunt also died and we were pretty damn close. So that hit me very hard.

I hated every second of college. It was as though I had gone backwards ten steps. I was back to not coping at all. Panic attacks, breakdowns, they had all become so part of the routine that I even found my own little spot in the college to cry and be alone. It was the one place I felt I was able to collect my thoughts and breathe again.

That year was definitely the darkest in my life. I felt thoroughly alone. I was anxious, depressed and suicidal. I still don’t understand how I managed to finish college that year. I was ready to drop out so many times. Thankfully, I had an understanding lecturer who was there for me, listened to me and encouraged me to stay.

Of course, I had good days too. I was lucky enough to travel to Amsterdam with my friend, Grace, as well as Brussels with Mam. Grace is the most enjoyable company, its so easy to feel relaxed around her. And then for me and mam, I think we just really need these little breakaways to enjoy eachothers company without the stress or memories around home. Looking back, I think I just needed some excuse to get away from college.

But in saying all that, I do also think a lot of my ‘happiness’ at the time was more so masking than anything else. While first year was grey, second year was pure blackness.

Unfortunately, I ended up to the point where Pieta House was involved. But, they were nothing short of amazing. My therapist there was outstanding and patient and kind. I still have his words ring through my mind when I find myself struggling again. I will never be able to thank him enough for all that he did for me.

Cliffs of Moher

The summer before third year was pretty wild in all fairness. Some of my family came over from Spain, which is probably when I’m at my most content. We went around Ireland, showing them, Glendalough, the Cliff’s of Moher, Galway, Dublin, and everywhere in between.

This summer there was a crazy heatwave and so thankfully for them we were able to show them how beautiful Ireland can be when it’s not covered in rain.

Inbetween travelling the country with them, I was also working four jobs. The local cinema, a promotions company, an online travel company, and as a ghost writer. All of this was to ensure I had enough money to travel for a month across Europe, through Interrail.

Unfortunately, another death of a close family member occurred, but I was determined to not be set backwards again.

We left to go travelling on the 29th of July, and I returned one month later on the 29th of August. What an experience! By far, this was one of the highlights of the past four years. We started in Paris, then went to Amsterdam, Berlin, Prague, Karków, Budapest, Split, and afterwards, I flew to Barcelona to spend a week with the family. It was just amazing. Something I will never forget, and that’s for sure.

By the time I was back in Ireland, third year of college had just rolled around. Although I had struggled so much the year prior, after enough deliberating, I decided to take this new year by the horns and move to the college’s town.

This was a pretty major feat seeing as at least when I was struggling the year prior, I was always able to at least go home and see Emmers. This year however, I was jumping straight into this enviroment. It was scary, especially for me to have so much extra time alone with my thoughts. But ultimately, I feel like it was the right decision.

For the first while, I was even living right around the corner from Amelia, which was amazing! She was a great support system to have so closeby, and I still cherish the evenings spent drinking wine and playing with her beautiful dog until all hours.

On set with Neil and our new friend for our third year music video!

In regards to my own course, I really tried to socialise as much as possible. Third year really sealed my friendship with Neil, who is one of the kindest souls. He was, and still is, my closest friend.

As tough going as I found it, I really did try to socialise as best as I could. And looking back, I do think I did a decent enough job at it. No matter how much I was dying on the inside, I always pushed myself to be more outgoing and personable. I think, in a retrospect, I would have to say that I am quite proud of myself, for persevering.

It was also in third year that I managed to truly reconnect with my best friend from our school days, Caoimhe. That was a comforting experience to bring back the familiarity and ease of our relationship along with the inside jokes that stem back to being fourteen years old again in some class that we didn’t care about, just wanting to have a laugh.

Third year was definitely different the the other two years as I really just wanted to finally experience college and not struggle. And to do that I pretty much decided to ignore my problems, which is probably (definitely!) not healthy, but one way or another, it seemed to work. I even stopped taking my anti-depressants towards the end of the year.

[Sidenote: never do what I did and just stop taking them. I ended up with the world spinning and a constant nausea for weeks as I didn’t wean myself off them. And from what I’ve learnt, they were lucky side effects, apparently it can be a lot worse.]

By the end of third year, I finally felt more at peace. For the first time in a long while.

For the summer before forth year, I mainly worked, but also made sure to spend as much time with my friends as possible.

Of course, to keep things on theme, there was yet another death in the family, which, once again, hit me hard. This time it was my close uncle, who not only looked a lot like dad, but also died of a similar illness just the week before his anniversary. And as it was Spain, in the midst of summer, I wasn’t able to get a flight to say goodbye. That hurt.

Thankfully I was surrounded by wonderful friends. Andrew who came over and brought me flowers the day it happened, and just chilled and watched crap with me while I was sad. Then, Amelia, who went to the effort of getting me a plain balloon and marker and bringing out to somewhere quiet, to let me write one last message to my uncle. Bare in mind, it was even her birthday! I was blessed.

I’m not sure if it was his death or what, but very shortly after it was as though a switch was flicked in my brain and I developed chronic insomnia. What made it even weirder, was the fact that up to this point, I was an incredibly sleepy person, who could have literally slept anywhere, anytime.

This had a major impact on my mental health. Absolutely no sleep for days and weeks on end was rough. I was back to crying and not being able to cope. My doctor ended up prescibing me anti-depressants again, but I couldn’t bring myself to take them. I refused to need them.

I felt particularly bad for Amelia who I ended up going away with at the time. Although it was a wonderful holiday, the lack of sleep meant I was short on energy, and was also tossing and turning throughout the nights, more than likely keeping her up, although she would deny it.

Similarly, I went to Spain at the end of August, and definitely kept my poor cousin up every other night.

Even though I had a lovely end to third year, I found myself stressing about the return to final year. I had moved into a new flat, that I liked quite a bit, and decided to give it a go. My motivation was that if I really wasn’t happy, I would just leave college, once and for all.

While those thoughts were floating through my mind, my grandad also wound up quite sick, and it was pretty not good there for a while. He was eventually put into a home, with the anticipation that he would be made comfortable, and that not much else could be done for him.

Grandad & I around November

BUT my strong lol grandad, made such a recovery! He was put into the home around late September/ early October, and he is still going! He is currently better than ever, being super well looked after in an amazing nursing home.

Now, as far as a year in education goes, it was fairly disasterous. A lecturer that we were supposed to have for two modules was on maternity leave, and her replacement cancelled the first few lectures we were supposed to have, before finally quitting. We never even met her. It was as though this was an omen for what was to come. Every week, we would all hope for a full week, but, ultimately, we were always let down. The first three months ended up having more cancelled classes than actual classes.

By the time we ended up having the lecturer replaced, and finally full weeks of classes, it was just about Christmas.

We broke away for the New Year, with the anticipation of a much improved new semester awaiting us.

As for Christmas break, my friends from school and I decided we were in desperate need of a group holiday, and so we planned a trip to Edinburgh for a few days. This was the loveliest little holiday! Hot chocolate, great food and nearly all of us got a new peircing! (Which, is a blog in itself!).

Now, although this was a wonderful memory, Christmas just gone also meant my best friend moving away, which was heartbreaking.

The group of us organised a surprise meal and drinks for Amelia before she left. But its definitely strange not having her so close by anymore.

When we finally got around to going back to college, it went surprisingly well at first. No cancelled classes, assignments weren’t crazy. All was good.

Until, of course, Covid-19 turned into a pandemic and the world pretty much shut down. But, of course, we all know about that.

As I currently stand, I am surprisingly sad to have finished college, especially in such extraordinary circumstances. I’m also excited to begin this new, hopefully brighter, chapter in my life.

Forth year was most definitely a blink and you miss it kind of experience. It was memorable though. I finally felt as though I was content.

Over the past few years, I have made lasting friendships with spectacular people, however I’ve lost friends some along the way, some are probably for the best, but others I miss dearly.

It’s been quite a journey. As I said at the beginning, I shocked I’m even here. It’s been remarkable.

Memorable for sure.

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College Days So, only a few days ago I finally finished my final year in college. What is an achievement for anyone, was a particularly big deal to me, as not only did I nearly quit countless times, but I barely even thought I'd be alive at this point.

The New Soccer Train

Little one work is actually not as serious a concern as this was actually a centuries back, but that still impacts countless youngsters worldwide. Angel Hair for Kids is among A Youngster's Vocal Foundation's numerous programs serving financially disadvantaged Canadian little ones struggling with a disability or even illness. Even further, kids which are well-bonded as well as really loved through involved fathers, have the tendency to possess a lot less behavior complications, as well as are rather injected from alcoholic drinks and substance abuse. ( HealthDay)-- A sizable portion from parents whose kids have food allergies possess problems over the safety from their child at college, inning accordance with a research published on the web May 12 in BMC Pediatrics.|Parents are regularly dealing with limitations on their kids's tablets, mobile phones, pcs, as well as Televisions. 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If you are dealing with a STRANGE little one, feel free to discover at least another person which is actually likewise coping with a STRANGE youngster or even has endured it. Support as well as understanding are actually extremely hard to follow through. The principal cause is actually that ODD youngsters are actually masters from control and attraction.|Possessing a pet is a big responsibility due to the fact that you need to ensure this has everything that this needs to have, and also you must likewise possess time to enjoy with that. Nonetheless, it's nothing compared with this male that copes with concerning 300 cats! Desertion develops when a mommy physically, psychologically or emotionally removes herself from her children. The combined grow older degree classroom may be a benefit to both the older children and the much younger kids equally. B. 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Individuals which have actually experienced misuse, forget and other negative youth adventures (ACEs) like coping with residential brutality during their childhood years go to much greater danger of mental disorder throughout lifestyle.|There are actually opportunities when a loved ones experiences an accident that beverages the entire neighborhood. He also mentioned that moms and dads like Laura, that was anxious about her child's treatment, are commonly attended to calmly and also compassionately by clinical team. I do have my downs and ups, but these days, I skip my husband much more in comparison to any type of children I might possess possessed.|Being thought about an operator is certainly not something to brag about. The article writer this article is actually a school expert in OnlineSchoolAdmissions as well as supplies free consultancy to parents and also schools for very easy as well as prompt internet school admittances. Eventually if she feels that it was right that she be actually come back to her birth parents, at that point the DeBoers were indeed wrong to assert that it was in her benefit to stay with all of them.|As summer season winds down, parents as well as little ones are getting ready for the beginning from the year, but for little ones along with food items allergic reactions, heading to institution for the first time could feature substantial stress and anxiety as well as anxiousness. It still could be a teacher-student poor fit, but your kid could be either on the slow edge of normal or even experiencing a learning disability. Find Parent Resources Some of the best ways that innovation could assist your youngster is actually through helping you discover more regarding knowing.|If you are actually a guardian or even a moms and dad you need to know a handful of aspects of the Child Security Solutions as well as the responsibilities from CPS lawyers. As moms and dads, don't go for simple parenting given that you think that will harm your child's feelings. ( HealthDay)-- There are actually an amount of points you can possibly do to guarantee your youngsters possess a soft start to the new school year. Set up paternal, as you may should modify your child's last name via the Family Court. With an autistic youngster, going off the car to the property calls for mindful preparation, yet half the time, there are still tantrum, Coppenrath mentioned. Moms and dads could find that their youngster could be actually not able to sleep, taking a long time to go to sleep or waking many times in the course of the night. Some research studies have presented that United States moms and dads spend under 12 mins everyday connecting with their kids. One such unpleasant surprise over the last few years has actually been the phenomenon of moms and dads and also guardians that overfeed their kids. My buddy informed me last opportunity she contact ICA to ask for this as well as the upcoming day an ICA police officer call her and told her that she can drop to gather the certified correct copy from each docs on next day liao. Most of these problems vanish as your kid grows older, however some way of living variables can easily aid improve your youngster's rough peeing patterns. Moms and dads must manage any kind of impacts that the divorce or even splitting up may carry their little one in a good way as they take place as well as aid their little one change even more conveniently to this hard life adjustment. For some youngsters along with autism, Anndietportal18.Info the supplement melatonin offers a natural way to enhance drowsiness, aiding all of them sleep as well as stay asleep in order that everyone in the property can get a great evening's rest. When a youngster sheds a relatived to death, that reduction can easily have a profound result that can also last a lifetime. Right here are actually 3 things you could perform to create that successful if you as well as your youngster's other parent test arbitration. He skips his children and possessing a domesticity along with all of them He sees them often but their is whole in his center given that he could certainly not find them every day. Seeing you go through will definitely communicate to the kid that reading is very important, enjoyable, and also that assists our team learn and also accomplish particular objectives. When children reside in their infant stage some might function tough and also respond in a damaging method to it's environment, but a mother has to prep herself properly to take care of such conditions. Every child possesses a right to experience really loved as well as to become nourished through both moms and dads. Feel free to describe your child care strategy or even recommended daycare planning, Feature the title and also address of the baby-sitter or even day care center. I've heard all your opinions concerning just how you believe that Betty Broderick ought to have to rot in prison for the rest from her lifespan etc. Little ones along with constant or severe congestion may find that hard to inhale through the nostrils, and could get in the behavior from breathing by means of the oral cavity, documents Medical Information Today. How really good from a moms and dad they are possesses little to accomplish along with whether or not they are still married to the kid's mommy.

Present Day

Mass incarceration is without a doubt, modern day slavery. Slavery, as mentioned in my previous post, was a means of exploiting labour, giving this population no rights and no freedoms. They kept black people from voting, holding any influence within society and being able to accumulate any wealth or property for themselves. These white settlers would separate families, break up marriages, take advantage of the woman and control just about every aspect of the black slave’s lives. Nowadays this domination and control is enforced and carried out through our criminal justice system. Being incarcerated is how our country has been able to once again strip the rights of black people, while functioning under our current laws.

The case I decided to focus on to further explain this oppression in the modern day was Johnson versus California. In this case there was a prisoner in California, Garrison Johnson, who claimed that the California Department of Corrections, “used race to assign temporary cell mates for new prisoners” (Oyez). He argued that this violated the equal protection clause under the U.S Constitution. However, unfortunately the courts ruled against him and instead referenced the Turner versus Safley decision of 1987. In this case the courts ruled in favor of a relaxed standard instead of a strict scrutiny, when dealing with whether or not certain prison regulations are constitutional. Strict scrutiny is the toughest and most severe standard of judicial review that is used within the United States courts. The problem with this is that the courts aren’t enforcing these discriminatory practices. By not enforcing strict scrutiny, but rather upholding this relaxed standard they are setting up and allowing these biased policies to thrive within the criminal justice system. The appellate court tried to argue this corrections facility was just trying to prevent racial violence, yet in doing so creates a segregated and tense atmosphere that just continues to place these black convicts in this perpetuated cycle of discrimination and recidivism. There is a strong argument being made that our prison system is modern day slavery. Regarding race, police are known to target these minority groups and create an atmosphere of brutality towards mainly innocent people of colour.

Police officers are specifically targeting this group and leaving them vulnerable to the rest of society. A song that I found to reflect this negative towards police, was in fact “Fuck The Police” by N.W.A. This song basically puts the police department on trial using their voice as rappers to be the judge and oversee the crimes and issue the necessary judgement for their actions. I found this song to possess a very interesting perspective. Throughout our history, minorities have been given unfair trials, stacked against them, because of the criminal justice system. However, in this song it is time for people of colour to take their voice back and put the other side on trial for their hate crimes and discriminatory acts. Although the lyrics are very vulgar they definitely resonate a powerful message. They expose the unparalleled authority these officers think they have when they are in their uniform. One of the lines that stood out to me was, “You’d rather see me in the pen/ Than me and Lorenzo rollin’ in a Benzo” (N.W.A). This lyric stood out to me because it shows how society views black people. That they see them as members of low income neighborhoods unable to make a decent, legal living on their own.

I have personally heard many stories of people of colour telling me about their experience being stopped by a traffic car because they were driving a nice car that they just assumed was stolen or sketchy. I’m ecuadorian myself. My family immigrated  here and I was born a first generation on my dads side. I have experience  prejudice in my own life. Many people don’t know that I am hispanic. My mom is Irish and English and pale as they come; however, I relate heavily with my hispanic roots. Despite me not really looking as dark as the rest of my family I have still been stopped countless times to be asked about my race. I work in the Hamptons and there was one instance where some man talked down to me saying it was very nice to meet a mexican and that I was very pretty. I told him I was not mexican and he proceeded to try and set me up with his grandson. As I repeatedly told him no, he proceeded to try and bribe me saying his grandson drove a mercedes and would take me to a very nice place, as if I only cared about the money. Society looks down on minorities thinking they are dependant on the rest of the world to make it by, when we work for our money all the same. This is not a rare occurrence for many people facing societal prejudice and stereotypes. I’m lucky enough that I do not have to experience it myself as often; however, I have been present for this kind of treatment towards the rest of my family as well. As I dropped my brother off at a house party in college, my aunt merely stepped out of the car just to switch into the passenger seat, as one of the guys shouted racial slurs at her from across the driveway. This racist and white supremacist mindset is not just a thing of the past, but goes on everyday within our society.

The song also made light on drug crimes and how all officers assume that a black man will be selling or possessing narcotics. This relates heavily to the war on drugs where our government continuously and blatantly established legislation that directly targeted black people in their attempt to target drugs. One of the most obvious examples of this is the crack versus cocaine epidemic. When this law was first established it was stated that 100 grams of cocaine would result in a mandatory prison sentence, while only 10 grams of crack would result in this mandatory prison sentence. This legislation was portrayed in the media to be what the United States desperately needed to combat this drug problem; however, it significantly favored whites and left the black population vulnerable, targeted and severely mass incarcerated. Crack was the cheaper, powder form of cocaine, therefore it was more easily accessible and abused in low income neighborhoods. These communities were primarily people of colour because of discrimination and unequal opportunities that restricted them to less opportunities. These drug laws weren’t aimed to target a narcotics problem, but gave legal ability for police officers to arrest these minorities at crazy rates leading to mass incarceration and today’s modern day slavery.

When someone is convicted of a crime, they lose many of their rights. The major one that they lose is the right to vote. This is a clear correlation to the previously mentioned time periods. Within the slavery era, a slave having any rights at all was just simply unheard of; however, over time they got the right of citizen because they could no longer legally keep up this blatant, racist front Yet, in Jim Crow they didn’t like the amount of power they were potentially receiving so they executed voting disenfranchisement and found legal loopholes against actually following through on allowing African Americans to have these rights. Present day we haven’t changed. We have merely found more loopholes to continuously combat any legislation and rights given in favor of these people. Now we use the criminal justice system to take away their humanity. The social institution established to fairly implement justice within our society, is the same institution keeping us in our racist past.