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thistangledbrain · 3 years

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I think I’m going to add Day 28 a day early, because I just finished it. This one took me 3 days to write...I had to keep putting it down. I think because meltdowns are our strongest reminders that we are NOT like other people, and that can be hard to accept sometimes, especially when we’re trying so hard to blend in or go along. Also, meltdowns are when we are in a raw, illogical space - which is highly unsavory, to put it mildly. We are vulnerable. Naked. Stuck. Entirely in fight or flight mode - or both. For as baffling and upsetting as you find it to be - trust me, we aren’t having a good time, either.

*takes a deep breath*

Ok, here goes.

Day 28

“Dealing with meltdowns”

Well, this one’s fun. (sarcasm)

I’m glad I got a few days ahead, because this one is hard to think about, so I keep putting it down and then coming back to it. I asked my youngest some questions, but he didn’t want to talk about it, either.

We hate meltdowns. It feels like the whole world is ending/everything is crashing down at once. I don’t CARE if what triggered it was “small” - all the repressed stuff we’ve been trying to squash comes crashing in like the fuckin Kool-Aid Man through a half open door.

But, I’ll start with how you can help.

First and foremost: DO NOT TOUCH!!! NO! BAD NEUROTYPICAL!! NO TOUCH!! (One exception: if we’re trying to blindly bolt from our environment. STOP US.)

I know this is completely counterintuitive to typical human nature, especially with young children. You want to scoop them up and cuddle them and make them feel safe. Sorry, but you just did the opposite of that - you freaked us out even more, and your need to touch and comfort is entirely yours, in that moment. Let us come to you if we want physical comfort - when we do need that, we can be like clingy little monkeys (and if an Autie child clings to you during a meltdown, you *honor* that shit & throw all the loving calm energy you can out there for them - do not say anything or try and talk them out of it - just let them cling to you and cry. Literally - JUST be there). I will say, AFTER the meltdown, we will possibly need some reassurance and kindness, if you can manage it. We will sometimes allow holding when we don’t feel good, with our absolute closest humans, but generally we really want you to just be there but not touch, until we’re ready. Lots of us don’t really want you to leave altogether, at least not for long - even if it seems like we do.

If you want to help, start with keeping your energy (your “vibe”) as calm, gentle, and peaceful as possible. Try not to get frantic or frustrated. If we’re at home or in a familiar space, do things that make our space feel better - drop the blinds/make it dark, place our weighted blanket over us/find our stuffy if we have one, light a candle or burn sage/waft a favorite calming scent, like lavender. If you say anything, use a soft, gentle voice - try not to talk too much...but if you sing, that can be very soothing. Sing very softly - I don’t know why, but soft singing and rocking (if you can stay on key...sorry but it’s grating when the tune is off!) can go a long way towards calming. Things like this can head a total meltdown off or stop it in its tracks, sometimes. Or get us out into an environment that makes us happy (like a nature trail)...but if we’re past a 4 (I’ll explain in a moment), we might not be willing to.

If we’re in a school setting, get us out from under those GOD DAMNED FLUORESCENT LIGHTS...YOU might not pick up on their eye-and-head hurting flicker, but we can. They suck even when we’re in a GOOD mood. See if you can get us into a darker room, or at least one without those &$@!;!! lights. Small things like bright lights, or sounds that usually only cause mild annoyance can become HUGE - for example, my dogs. In my best moments, the sound of them licking themselves will set my teeth on edge - if I’m trying to come out of a meltdown, those sounds - or almost any sounds, really, except white noise stuff - are infuriating. I hate to say that, but 🤷🏻‍♀️ it’s just true. All your sensory shit is dialed to 11 and someone broke the knob off - there is NO “just deal with” whatever, at that point. We aren’t dealing with SHIT right then, so removal to a quiet spot is pretty damn important.

Try to distract or divert us before we’re over a 4 on a 1-10 scale, though, and absolutely before we start looping (the suggestions so far are for when the meltdown is in/almost in full swing - and I’m only speaking for older auties and into adulthood, here, though most of this stuff helps littles, too).

Let me explain “escalation scale” and “looping” - with the help of my husband, who recognizes patterns of escalation as well (in us, and in dogs ☺️). “Looping” is his word. It means no matter what you say, we keep looping back to what’s got us upset/how much we hate ourselves right then/all the bad feelings/past hurts that are piling on to the current problem. You’ll pull us out of it for a second, but then we loop right back to it. Ideally, you want to intervene before we get to the looping, which is about a 7+ on the escalation scale. Once we’re at a 7 and above....we’re consumed by it, and it gets much harder to diffuse. Think of the 1-10 scale like this: 1 is calm, 10 is completely nuclear - above a 7, almost nothing will distract us, almost nothing will divert us except bodily removal from the situation/environment & then leaving us the fuck alone (maybe figuratively but not literally - it depends on your Autie) for a while until we exhaust ourselves one way or another. If you can intervene and remove/distract right around a level 4 - which is right when you start to notice someone is getting quite agitated, you’ve got a good chance of heading the meltdown off at the pass. But if we’re already looping - repeating phrases over and over, looping back to our most upsetting feelings no matter what you say or do, sometimes while rocking or banging, you’re way too late. Now we have to ride it out together...as safely as we can manage. Now you need to make things dark, private, and as calming as you can, if possible. Or just get us the fuck out of the situation that set us off. That helps, too...obviously. I’ll tee up a possible scenario: you’re at an amusement park with your Autie. WHOA stimulation, right? You’re all having a fab time, but suddenly your Autie starts to cry or get angry or otherwise exhibit “I am SUPER OVERWHELMED” energy. 🤷🏻‍♀️ It’s just a lot to process, even when all the things are pretty fun. So, find a quiet place in a park like area to chill. Grab food from a stand - or go back out to your car and sit and eat a packed lunch or have some snacks. Don’t make a big fucking deal about it, either. Just “oh okay, I think now’s a good time for a quiet break”. Keep in mind all autistics are living in a sensory rich environment, and it can get mega overwhelming sometimes. It’s not always bad shit that sets us off.

I’ve mentioned in prior posts how it can feel like someone else is driving the car (controlling the emotions), while we sit in the back seat and scream and hit and try to get them to stop the fucking car and let us out...it’s in these moments that I TOTALLY understand how doctors got autism and schizophrenia mixed up, in years past. At least, that ripping in half is what my youngest son and I feel. YOU’RE frustrated with us right then? BRUH. WE are so fucking pissed and frustrated and upset that we can’t stop the car, too. You’re not helping if we know you are frustrated, either - that’s why I mention keeping your “vibe” as level and gentle and “no biggie” as possible.

I have some tips for head bangers and stuff, that I won’t include in this post but I’m happy to tell you what I’ve done/what can work.

Basically? “Dealing with” meltdowns is just....TRY SHIT. If you’re an Autie trying to manage your own, play around with what helps you calm down. It could be a brisk walk away from anything human, time under your weighted blanket, time in a dark warm shower or tub (idk about you, but in this house - water soothes nearly anything, most of the time), holding your pet, screaming all the cuss words you know into the void lol ....and the same methods might not work all the time (I was “feeling unsubstantiated feelings” the other day, and got into the shower before they overwhelmed me - a usual go to - but this time, the water felt disgusting, being wet just made it all worse. It surprised even me, but you gotta roll with it & try something else). But try as hard as you can to do something that will soothe you. Or find a safe place to let it all out, without hurting yourself. Pro tip, though: do not add alcohol. It not only takes away all the barriers you’ve probably put up to keep from going completely off the deep end, but it also magnifies all the bad feelings. I am, however, a big fan now of smoking a little green. I started trying that about 3 years ago and oh my god where has this been my whole adult life. I can’t take antidepressants or even most anxiety meds...but I can smoke. I use carefully chosen calming and pain relieving indica strains - sativa can sometimes make me feel more anxious. (YMMV)

If you’re the Emotional Support Human™️ of a melting down Autie, the same applies. Just try stuff. Trust me you will know if said Autie finds your efforts upsetting. It’s ok to want to talk to us about it afterwards, in a constructive way. Once we’ve calmed down, we know you’re trying to help. We’re raw and exhausted immediately after a meltdown though (meltdowns usually lead to shutdowns), so give us a little time, maybe. Or maybe not - maybe your Autie will be in a more communicative frame of mind, since it’s fresh. You won’t know unless you ask, maybe like “could we talk about this, or would you like some time to be quiet?” (Again - gentle tone and energy is important.)

Meltdowns are hard for me to write about because these days, they’re super rare, but when they happen, they’re ...well, brutal. Like really, really bad. I had one a few years ago that I think terrified my husband. We were in the car. I was getting so upset (screaming, beating my fists and probably thrashing a little) that he had to stop the car. Luckily we were in the boonies, but...not long after he stopped the car, I attempted to bolt. I felt trapped in between his efforts to soothe and the small confines of the car, and just wanted to bolt. Run. Far away. There was ZERO thought of personal safety at that point. His efforts to contain me were met with violence. I will be ashamed of that for the rest of my life - I don’t even have words for what an amazing human my husband is, and the LAST thing my non-melting-down brain wants, is to hurt him. But all I could think about was doing whatever needed to be done to escape this hell I was in. God. Just writing about it hurts, and I feel fresh shame. I’m telling you all this, so that you understand that *in that moment*, we are a cornered and overwhelmed animal, who wants to just bite bite bite or run away (fight/flight). The things we usually cling to - logic and reason - don’t exist right then. Nothing is logical - which actually adds to our upset.

There may be a time when your Autie feels like this too - and that’s one time where you DO need to intervene even if we don’t like it/hate it/get furious with you for it. If we are trying to hurt ourselves or run, do what you need to to not allow that. I truly believe this is how many young Autie kids get lost - we were upset and we just bolted blindly. We don’t react well to you stopping us....but it’s necessary.

There’s a moment in the Disney movie “Soul”, where 22 becomes a lost soul. Her little bright blue body is engulfed by swirling blackness, and inside that blackness is every bad or negative thing that’s ever been said to her. She starts looping - “I’m not good enough”, “I have no purpose”, over and over and over. This is what a meltdown feels like. In the movie, her mentor quietly hands her a small token reminder that starts to make the blackness melt away - it’s not the token that “society” thinks she should have, it’s a personal one. Shouting at her, blah blahblah talking, trying to reason with her makes her hiss and run away - but *quietly* handing her a tactile object that means something to her, brings her back to the present, and is what breaks the looping.

Here’s the clip of when he breaks through her meltdown. I hope it explains things in a way I’m struggling to. I’ll end with that...if the subtitles distract you, I apologize, I can’t find a “clean clip”.

https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=nmapZFDUkBk&t=41s

#asd #autism #autistic #acceptance #awareness #actuallyautistic

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elfnerdherder · 4 years

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Opus Dei: Chapter 5

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Chapter 5: Foil(s)

Two weeks later brought a quarter-long photography class, as well as a history class that didn't care so long as the final by the end of the semester was a passing grade. They kept him busy, helped him get his mind focused on the long work ahead, the structure and necessity of it. Jail had given his mind the time to wander, to roam within the confines of his cell. Now, the openness, the freedom of it was staggering, and he desperately needed to fill it. He had to stay busy. He needed distractions. His was a bait that took its time to cast and be bit.

The news let the death slip under the current of more engaging stories that had a neat bow to tie on the end of them. Will resisted looking up the murder that'd coupled potently with Beverly's thesis and led to his release. What notes had the Chesapeake Ripper trailed along there?

He reasoned one painting was enough. One photo. He didn't look up the first murder.

Insomnia led to studying Jael and Sisera in the darkness of his groaning home. If it was Hannibal--the longer he looked, the more sure of it he was-- it was a fitting sort of painting to have been the victim's last to paint before death. Will should have asked Jack for a picture of it, if nothing else. Had the Ripper placed it there, or had Sebastian truly been painting such a classical recreation? How had he chosen him? What had made him choose the poor man?

School would help with the insomnia. If he kept his hours busy, he would be too tired to stay awake.

It was in that very first class that he met Francis Dolarhyde, and that was only because Will had gotten lost and slipped in right in the middle of roll call, late but undeterred. Francis Dolarhyde sat alone, although he wasn't bothered when Will sat beside him at the table farthest back from the board. Will pulled out his notebook and his homework, raising his hand less than a minute later when his name was called. Dolarhyde's broad shoulders and muscled build took up nearly half of the table, but they'd just have to manage.

"You have a...nice dog," Francis observed, nodding to Will's photograph. It was an introductory aspect to the class: Tell Us About You.

"Thanks." He glanced over to Francis' photograph of a painting, something that'd been purposefully set up on an easel in the middle of the forest. A photo of a painting; the artistic type. "Do you like that painting, or do you like the aesthetic?"

Francis Dolarhyde had a square jaw and short, buzzed brunette hair. He turned to look at his photograph, and the scarring at his lip gave his smile an altogether crooked appearance.He was easily the biggest guy in class, the jock that all the girls wrote home about. "My favorite painting. The Great Red Dragon and the Woman Clothed With the Sun," he said carefully. His voice caught on the hiss of the 's'.

"Your favorite painting?"

He nodded.

"This has been my favorite painting as of late," Will shared, and for reasons he couldn't quite explain he pulled out his phone and showed his table-mate Jael and Sisera.

Maybe it was the fact that it was an absolute stranger, or maybe it was the fact that his painting seemed just as raw beneath the surface of the oil. He had a lot of alone time at the house. Just Will and Winston. Going to school would force him to be sociable. The dragon lay poised just beneath the maiden, prepared to devour her. Jael lay poised just above Sisera, ready to impale him.

Francis gave the painting a long, searching look, and he seemed to see the same. "I wonder if she'd bear his screams the way she bears the dust from the labor of carving her will into stone," he commented, and he looked to Will with a briefly flickering expression of interest. "He lay like marble."

"I think she'd bear them well enough," Will said, and he looked at her. "I don' think this is the first time she's done this."

"Nor the last?"

Will thought of Alana curling up in Hannibal's bed, cozy, and nodded gravely.

"Do you know why he would have been foolish enough to put his head beneath her hammer?"

"He trusted her enough and fell asleep," Will said. "That was his undoing."

"The moral, then, is don't make his mistake," Francis said, and too late Will realized it was a dryly- uttered joke.

"Wish I'd gotten that advice a long time ago," he said with a smile.

Francis Dolarhyde laughed, a soft huff, and it was decided they could work together for the quarter.

Two weeks also took him on a date with Molly Foster, whose returned call was so upbeat and pleasant despite his awkward voicemail that he hadn't had the heart to begin to explain why maybe she shouldn't go on a date with him. Would the Chesapeake Ripper target her, should he get too close? Would he kill her in a fit of rage the way he had Charlie?

He found the nicest restaurant he could expect closeby, and so they enjoyed endless cheesy biscuits at Red Lobster. She didn't know him; he reasoned she wouldn't want to stray too far away from home.There was a killer about, or didn't she know?

"That's great that you're going to school. I barely finished, but I'm waiting for something to take off. I hear DC's a good place to look, so that's why I moved here." She had an honest, girl-next-door look that made the conversation flow despite the fact he couldn't quite meet her eyes more than twice throughout the main course.

Nerves had, in truth, gotten the best of him. It was the first honest, genuine date he'd ever been on, after all.

"Photography isn't my thing, but it was the only quarterly class they could offer on such short notice. I just wanted to get started. The history professor said that as long as the final had a passing grade, he'd allow it." He focused on her lovely blouse, floral beneath a cozy cardigan. The orange restaurant lights made her skin golden. "What did you study?"

"Business analysis...no, no I know, boring," she laughed, seeing his expression. It made him look up and meet her eyes, warm and inviting. "That's why I'm taking my time. I want to analyze the right business."

"You're careful in choosing," Will said then, looking to her lips, "as an analyst."

"I am," she agreed, and she stared unabashedly back.

Then he walked her to her car, and she stood blinking up at him, the lights burning from the lamp posts illuminating her face in a fuzzy, warm orange. "I had fun tonight, Will Graham."

"I did too, Molly Foster," he mimicked her inflection lightly, and he managed to look away from the collar of her cardigan to meet her eyes. He smiled slightly, although he couldn't keep her gaze.

"I'd want to go on a second date, if you wanted to take me on it."

His mouth turned to cotton, and his smile grew, guilt doing its best to curtail the pleasure that threatened to overtake his voice. "I'd like to take you on a second date."

She gave him a kiss on the cheek, and he waited until she drove off until he turned and went back to his truck. He stood by it for a time, thinking, then kicked the tire angrily and drove away.

He felt guilty, but after the second date, there was a third. The Chesapeake Ripper did not add a third body to his pile, and Molly enjoyed a walk through the national park to witness the sunset over the Wolf Trap trees. He wondered if she'd looked him up yet. He wondered if Hannibal had looked her up yet. He wondered if it was really all that smart to try and enter into a relationship when your bait was set for a different kind of fish that bit harder and left marks.

By the fourth date, he finally had to say something. Molly made it easy to keep busy, from occasional phone calls to daily texts but now their dates had accumulated too quickly. Too many dates. People didn't go on dates like that unless they meant something by it.

"I'll call you," she said warmly, and they were parting at her car after a rousing round of bowling where she'd soundly beaten him. The neon lights of the bowling alley sign cast her in a cotton candy pink.

"Molly," he began, and she paused from leaning in to give him a soft, chaste kiss on the cheek. She'd done it the last three times, and he'd liked it enough he often touched fingers to the place hours later, puzzled over it. Hannibal had never done that to him. He had toyed with asking Alana for comparison. "I really enjoyed tonight."

Her smile remained, but her eyes belied whatever it was she was seeing on his face. "Why are you saying that like you didn't enjoy tonight?

"I...I don't know if I can take you on another date."

Her blue eyes were purple in the pink light. They blinked slowly, wide and doe-like in the neon. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't quite look at her, eyes off towards the dark spaces where the Chesapeake Ripper could always be lurking, watching. He wondered if he'd get another card on his kitchen table. "I..I like you."

"Okay," she said, suddenly uncertain.

"I've just got a lot of...baggage." He nodded. That was one way of putting it. "Things I don't want you to have to get involved in."

"We all have baggage, Will," Molly replied, and something in her tone made him look back to her, her eyes glassy and her mouth quirked into a half-smile that wasn't at all amused. "Life is about people making connections with other people and learning to deal with their tragic back-stories and baggage."

He wondered what baggage she was afraid of showing him, if it was a bad boyfriend or a bad case of body parts under the floorboards. "Mine could endanger your life," he said seriously; then had the misfortune of seeing the exact moment that she questioned his sanity, the moment she realized maybe she shouldn't want to go on another date with him.

How must that sound to a sane person, Hannibal would have said. These people with their mundane lives. You sound unhinged and delusional, Will.

"I...don't know what to say to that," she admitted, and her nose wrinkled. "It sounds like...a gimmick? Yeah, a gimmick." Her head bobbed, much like it had when the poor kid at JT's Bait Shop couldn't understand the concept of a two dollar bill. "If you don't want to continue dating, you can just say so. I won't get mad. I appreciate honesty, though."

"Did you look me up when you first met me?" he asked bluntly. Maybe a little too harsh? He managed to stare at the edge of her denim jacket, purposefully baggy and rumpled.

She paused for a long time, and he couldn't quite look to her face to see why. "...No. Did you look me up?"

"No," he replied quickly. "I respect people's privacy."

"Liar," Jared Freeman jeered behind her. "You don't respect Hannibal Lecter's privacy."

"I guess I was going to until I saw you make the look on your face that you're making right now," she said, and her voice softened. She pitied whatever it was she was seeing in him. Fear? Maybe. Maybe a bit of self-disgust. Maybe some resignation in the lines by his mouth. "Made me think maybe you didn't feel comfortable with the idea of it."

"Statistically speaking, that means you could have gone on a date with a rapist," he pointed out, although he couldn't say why. He didn't want to frighten her, for God's sake. Did he have to be so nervous? He'd survived a psychopath twice over, and yet the idea of seeing the look on her face made his knees weak?

"I have mace," she assured him. "And you didn't give me that impression. Kinda...more like you were running from something."

"Someone," he said, much softer. He sighed, something more resigned than angry. "It's okay to look me up, but I'd ask you reserve judgement until you also ask me whatever questions you have. I'll try and be as honest as I can...I promise I'm not what they thought I was."

"Okay, Will Graham," she said, and she swooped up and pressed a firm, warm kiss on his open mouth. He inhaled it, and his breath caught. "Like I said, I'll call you."

"Okay," he replied, much too late. She was already getting into her car and starting it, the darkness of the cab casting her in shadows.

He had assignments due, otherwise he would have puzzled over that kiss for most of the night. As it was, he passed his fingers over it and thought of how he'd once drunkenly kissed Alana Bloom so boldly, with nothing to lose and a mind melting from the fire. He felt charmed, but then again; he'd been charmed by Hannibal, too. He took photos of Winston walking through the tall grass that had burst from an early morning rain with a camera he'd snagged from the nearby Wal-Mart. Photography wasn't his thing, but he was going to try. If he could pass these, they'd allow him to enter a full-time status for the summer program.

Then, the second letter came.

My Dear Will Graham,

When I saw your release from prison, I thought: Dare I? Of course I do. I would not have risked corresponding with you while you were incarcerated, in case it was used against you. I who have looked up to your work, who has ascended from it on a level that I know you would understand.

That is what it is you do, is it not? Understand?

I believe we have much in common, you and I. They're calling you innocent now, but they will only do their best to find other ways of locking you up again. You can't have taken her lungs so clean and they not try to find means again of caging you.

I have something to show you. I think you'd appreciate it; maybe see what it is I aim to ascend to and Become. Until then, I remain your,

-Avid Fan

This one Will found laying propped against his screen door. It felt like pills souring in his stomach to read it, and he sat out on the porch steps for a long time, thinking. Just in front of him, he imagined Jared Freeman pacing back and forth, back and forth.

"Call someone," he suggested, and his gaze darted about. "Can't trust the cops, but that Crawford guy..."

"Don't call Molly Foster," Garrett Jacob Hobbs advised. Will agreed.

He needed to call her at some point to now definitely cut things off. If the Chesapeake Ripper was calling himself an Avid Fan now, that was one alias too many to make sure he'd be able to keep her safe, should Hannibal decide to lash out. Had he witnessed their kiss? Had he crept, lurking and careful in the bushes and witnessed that there was someone else in the world that thought Will capable of receiving affection?

Problem was, it didn't feel like the Chesapeake Ripper baiting him, all cruel words hidden behind kind veneers of pleasant professionalism. It felt different, foreign. Rather than mocking, biting, the way the Chesapeake Ripper surely would be after finally allowing Will to be released, the words felt...awed. The person that wrote this thought that Will circumvented the law. They thought he was a killer.

They wanted to show him something, too.

It took a long time for him to realize the tapping noise in the static of his thoughts was his fingers on the deck, but that didn't stop it. They tapped, his heart stuttered, and Will Graham wondered just who in the hell he was supposed to tell about this, or if he'd been crying wolf for so long that no one could bother to care.

Will took a walk and found himself sitting with Peter Bernadone, just outside of the barn where he nursed birds back to health and set them free when possible. He spoke lovingly of a parakeet that had an attachment to him, one whose wing wouldn't unfold quite right. It eased at the ragged bite of the morning to think of things once broken made new. Peter was kind, and he desperately needed to think on kind things.

"I'm glad you came," Peter said, and they shared root beers Will had picked up on the way. He wasn't sure what it was he was hoping to find, sitting there beside him. He couldn't burden someone like Peter with something so horrific as the things he knew, the way he often woke up feeling the ghosts creeping just down the hall from where he once slept.

Was this Hannibal? Or was this someone new? If it was Hannibal, just what did that mean for him? Just what did he want to show to Will, and what was Will going to do to stop it?

If it wasn't Hannibal, just how in the hell was he going to detangle himself from it before he woke up with another killer strangling him to death? God, he was getting tired of drowning on the blood of so many innocent.

"Thanks for making time to talk," Will replied, and they sat on the bales and watched the horses.

"A-are you okay?" Peter asked, and he peered over at Will gravely. "You look...awful sorrowful about somethin'." He was keener than he seemed. Being around animals, he saw the small expressions most didn't notice.

"Have you ever had a secret that you tried to share, but no one would believe you?" Will asked. "Something that was really important, but no one thought you were telling the truth?"

Peter stilled, and the finches in the cage at their feet entertained the air around them before he found the words he was looking for, jaw working furiously. "I...yeah, I know about that."

"You do?" Will asked, surprised.

"I b-been thinkin' about tellin' people the truth...maybe they believe me, maybe not, but I gotta say somethin'. You said something, I heard. You told the truth, even when no one believed you."

Will couldn't meet his gaze, embarrassed. Everyone knew who the infamous Will Graham was, even Peter. He couldn't go anywhere without someone knowing his fucking name.

"I feel like right now I have to keep it a secret to get what I want in the end," said Will, and he swung his legs, kicking the hay bale beneath them. He timed the swings with his heartbeat.

"What do you want in the end?"

"Justice." Kind of.

Peter nodded. "That's not so bad. You...should do what gets justice."

Will nodded resolutely. He still wasn't sure what to do about the letter. Not for the first time, the sound of Jack Crawford filled his mind, angry and haggard: What if wasn't Hannibal Lecter? What if the Chesapeake Ripper is someone they didn't know or understand in any capacity, and Will was taunting an innocent man as well as a killer?

"You should too," he said. He wasn't sure if he should ask what it was Peter felt that no one would believe. It felt private, grave. "I don't regret it. Maybe I'd have done it a little different, but I'd have still done it."

"Oh, I...I will." Peter's brow furrowed, and he looked down to the finches and cooed to them, gentle. "I think if...i-if we don't stand up for somethin', no one will."

The time between a morning shift and a mid-afternoon class was staggeringly short. Will managed a bag of dollar burgers from McDonalds, and he'd gotten two of them shoved down his throat before he was driven to a stop by the large crowd of people that buffeted the sidewalks beside the dorms.

"So fucking scary, oh my god..."

"--couldn't believe they got in there, how'd they--"

"You know they keep the back door open, sick fuck probably strolled right in..."

"I need to call my dad."

"Back up, back up!" This from a police officer that was busy sectioning off part of the walkway towards the dorms. "I understand that some of you live here, but you'll need to give us a minute, please."

"What's going on?" Will asked, only for the cop to brush by him with the police tape in hand. He didn't spare Will a second glance, and there was something ironic to it, that at eighteen he'd had more access to that sort of information than he does now.

"Someone got killed," a student next to him replied, eyes across the quad. "In the Tower Dorms."

"What?"

"Yeah," they said with a nod. There was a thumb print on their left glasses lens, likely adjusted during a particularly rousing round of note-taking. "Someone says the mirrors in the bathroom are broken, and it's bad."

Will first thought of Hannibal, and how maybe he'd pushed the Chesapeake Ripper a little too far. But then he thought of the letter in his pocket, how it hadn't sounded so much arrogant as it was admiring, and a strange cold seemed to settle into his feet and make it hard to walk away.

"Who did they kill?" he asked, hoarse.

"Dunno yet, but it was the first floor and..." they grimaced, their thin lips puzzling over whatever was on their mind. "She was naked," they finally added.

"FBI," Will observed, and he chewed on his bottom lip. If Jack Crawford was there, he was going to be most decidedly not.

"You think a serial killer?" a young woman asked the student next to him. "FBI doesn't just show up to a homicide."

"I think whatever it is, it's bad enough the FBI showed up," the kid next to him said, somber. "Guys probably just strolled in and said they'd take it from here."

And that felt like Will's queue to leave. He waited for the space behind him to shift just slightly, and he made a break for it, slipping along the side leading away from the crime scene. If it was a serial killer, it was Jack Crawford's department. If it was psychological, it was Jack Crawford's department.

If it had anything to do with the note in Will's pocket, it was Jack Crawford's department.

"Jason just texted and said it was the girl that was in the room next to his friend Hayley," a girl said, thumbs frantically working prose across the keyboard.

"Oh my god, she knew her?"

"What if he's not done?"

Will skirted around them and tucked his hands into his pockets, tense.

"We don't even know what he did. How could we know if he's done?"

He'd just rounded the corner to safety when he had the misfortune of walking right into the very man he was trying to avoid.

"Will," Jack greeted, falsely cheerful.

"Jack," Will said warily, taking a step back. He was half a breath away from running. Prey was flight, fight, or freeze, and Will wasn't going to fight a battle like this.

"Will! We were just talking about you," his photography teacher exclaimed. She was a pleasant, upbeat woman with a habit of gesturing wildly when caught up in the middle of her lectures. Her passion was photography of animals, as she'd confided in Will on the first day. Today, that was deflated in the wake of the ripple of rumor, the sudden sense that all was not well and good within the walls of learning. There were stress lines near her forehead and eyes.

"Why?" he asked, looking at Jack Crawford.

"Well--because--" she fumbled at that, and she looked to Jack beside her.

Jack had been waiting for his moment. "Because unfortunately, Will, you are a person of interest considering the nature of your own history."

Unfortunately, like Jack didn't love the opening this was going to give him to wheedle back into Will's life and make himself at home. One unpleasant house visit wasn't enough. The letter burned in his pocket. "Murders aren't common on campus until I show up," he said to his teacher.

"Now, really what we want is to establish a base of support," Ms. Newman explained quickly. Her eyes cut to Jack, then back. They were red despite her brave face. "You being here has nothing to do with what's just happened, but because of your past Agent Crawford wanted to make sure that you're in a safe place mentally and physically."

"Oh I'm as safe as he wants me to be," Will assured her.

Jack's eyes narrowed. Will hadn't specified which 'he'. "Will you come with me?"

Will did a congenial u-turn and waited expectantly. "Do I have a choice?"

"You always have a choice! Agent Crawford, really I must--"

"Ms. Newman, it looks like one of your students needs you," Jack redirected, and Will looked up at the sky that threatened to be a positively beautiful day.

"You've always had a choice," Jack said, after Ms. Newman was well enough on her way to support Will from a distance.

"Sure didn't feel that way, Agent Crawford," said Will, not unkind. Not quite kind, either. The sky was the sort of blue one could get lost in.

He was glad the crowd prevented any further discussion, and they worked their way to the now thoroughly strung-up police tape. Will got to enjoy being the spectacle of walking under the rope with an FBI agent after just talking about it with someone in the crowd, and there was a tight feeling in his chest that had nothing to do with the note in his pocket or the thought of Hannibal's next move.

"I thought you were done being his dog," Jared said, and he circled Jack as they walked across the dewy grass and cut dark swathes of ribbon towards the crime scene.

"It's not really the Chesapeake Ripper's style, but it is right on campus," Jack said. Will's chest constricted in response. "I don't know if you want to know about the victim, or--"

"I don't want to know about the victim," he said, voice tinny. "I don't even want to be here right now."

Something about that kept Jack from answering, and they walked into the maw of the dorm hall with trepidation and steps that echoed too loud on the marble tile.

The room is 213, and Will stared at it for a long time. It's a dorm room on the first floor, and it occurred to him after about first five seconds of staring that it's an odd number for a first floor. Not 113, 213. That stuck, even after the door opened. It hit the wall, and 213 seemed to hit a little harder, and he thought of the first time he'd ever felt someone's hands wrapped tight around his throat, squeezing.

"Will?"

Will blinked, and he followed Jack into the dorm room, sweat collecting on the back of his neck.

#LiaS scribbles #opus dei #hannibal fanfic #hannigram #slowburn hannigram #hannibal x will graham #revenge!fic #grey!will

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letsdiscoverkitty · 5 years

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23.05.19//

I am sorry for being so distant lately; my review last week obviously brought up a lot of mixed feelings and difficulties, and I’ve found myself in a bit of a daze since, not really knowing where I am with anything. We have also had a lot going on with ourfamily friend who is very unwell, she has been in and out of hospital a lot this past week which left us with three springer spaniels to try to organise/look after/walk/feed/medicate etc. Thankfully she was discharged yesterday and is feeling much better somum and I can finally breathe a bit of a sigh of relief.

It feels like I haven’t been able to put my feet on the ground since last Thursday. I have barely been able to process what was discussed/work out where I am with things/what might be best for me/where I am going…I saw my EDP on Monday and she was totally useless (as usual); the session definitely reminded me that I cannot rely on services to give me any answers/make me suddenly want to get better - it has to come from me and it will always have to. The more I fight against it, the harder I am making things for myself. It is not that I don’t “want” to change/get better, because deep down I do. It has been the fear of change that has been so strong that has been stopping me and I have been treading down the well-oiled groove of doing everything I can to ignore reality and put off change.

Yesterday, however, I finally had some headspace to try to ‘think’/write/at least try to connect with myself a little. And I think I may have come to a place of, idk how to explain it, but I am beginning to acknowledge that regardless of what I/anorexia might want, something is going to change soon, whether it be here at home or in hospital. Right now it is current still in my power to guide my path but I don’t have much leeway/room for maneuver. Time is ticking by and my assessment at the priory is now three weeksaway.

I can either choose to continue to float/avoid reality as I have been for months on end, or I can use these next three weeks to give myself a bit of a chance and see what happens if I do start to make changes.

The thing that is helping me to slowly begin to get my head around this is that I am trying to see it as an “experiment”. A period of time to do the things that I have been planning/thinking about for so long and actually see what happens (which yes means action). I have decided that I will still go to the assessment in three weeks time regardless and see what they have to say/offer etc. as it would be silly to rule out options with how things currently are.

I am not going to lie, even just typing this utterly terrifies me, but to be totally honest with you everything terrifies me at the moment. I am actually quite scared about my own health and the extent to which I have fallen. It is terrifying. And the pain that I am putting my parents through right now is unbearable; I can’t even explain it :(

This is all very new/raw but I know I can’t use that as an excuse to wait and put things off because that is yet another tactic that anorexia has been using against me. The truth is that there is always going to be another reason/excuse to put things off and wait and continue to float in this abyss; anorexia loves it here. It is thriving. And it will always try to shift the goal posts in its favour to keep me trapped and unwell. Sadly there will never come a time when I finally feel “100% ready” or able to process/acknowledge/accept everything - life just doesn’t work like that. But I do hold a bit of control right now to try to steer my sails in the direction that I hope to go in.

Okay, ramble over!

I wanted to share a few pictures from the past week or two along with this update to help draw a line…

PICTURE SET:

This morning I managed to practice some self care and let myself use a hair mask in the shower, which made my hair feel a little more loved (It has sadly been falling out A LOT more recently, even mum has been commenting on how much thinner it is getting. sigh).

Picture three is Twig, who has been spending a lot more time with me this past week, idk if it is because he can sense that I am not been myself but it has been nice to have him by my side.

The fourth is of the three dogs the other evening when I was over putting them to bed.

Then the final two are some creative bits: I made a passionfruit and orange curd layer cake with an italian meringue buttercream for my mum’s secretary at work as it is her birthday today and who is a lovely friend to us.

Lastly, I FINALLY finished the flamingo that I was making for N, which I started before we ended therapy and she has now received him and texted me that she was over the moon with him :’)

Congratulations if you made it to the end of this post, sorry for going on a bit.

Thank you to all those who have messaged me and sent their love/support my way recently, I honestly don’t know what I would do without you guys, you are all so wonderful and help me to feel a little less alone in this. I hope that you are all taking care ofyourselves as well; please remember that YOU matter and need to be your number one priority right now. As a dear friend recently said to me: you can’t keep trying to fill other people’s cups from your own when you have left it empty. Just a little food for thought.

#personal #Me #recovery #review #Ramble #Word dump #I'm sorry for being so rubbish recently #Thank you for all your support #Love you all

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notbecauseofvictories · 5 years

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There never was a more holy age than ours, and never a less. Annie Dillard.

"No, really," the man at the bar says with second-hand pride. He gestures to the younger man beside him, who ducks his head, smiles. I have been quietly nursing the same beer for half an hour, listening to them talk to one another. They only occasionally remember that they have an audience, even more rarely that it's me. "He's a photographer, an artist. The kind that doesn't have a day job."

It's a Thursday night and the median age in the bar is somewhere in the late forties. The photographer and I make up the entire lower half of the bell-curve.

"Must be nice," interjects a third voice, from further down the bar. He's been largely quiet, his face turned away so he can watch the Phillies lose. "I'd like to be an artist."

The first man, the older man, laughs. "C'mon, we'd all like to be artists," he says with perfect sureness, as though this is a fact, immutable as gravity or the rising of the sun.

He works for the state, he told me; Department of Transportation. He works on "the turnpike." (I have only been in Philadelphia a week and a half, I don't know what he means, but I nod like I understand.) He gets good benefits, that's the thing. Otherwise he'd be an artist.

"What sort of artist?" I ask, an inconvenient reminder that I am still here, listening. Luckily, they seem to forget it again quickly; they're too busy arguing whether carpentry counts as art, and then the bartender asks if travel writing is art or journalism, is journalism an art? What is art, anyway?

I get their professions in bits and pieces: construction, plumber. An unlikely accountant, given the number of tattoos. A bartender, a host at a chain restaurant. An almost-attorney, not even through her second week.

In the end, we all agree: we would rather be artists.

It's instructive, moving to Philadelphia when all that waits for you there is an empty apartment and a borrowed air mattress. The bare walls force you out into the world, or at least to the nearest coffee shop with an internet connection. You spend a lot of time nursing lukewarm lattes, and googling "philly events + this weekend."

I don't remember how I found out about the Wagner Free Institute of Science. (There were a lot of recursively nested links, I clicked on all of them.) The museum itself was too far for a jaunt after work, but they were offering a free six-week class at a nearby library branch. The history of cartography: how maps evolved from second- or third-hand accounts of sundials to the real-time GPS math-sphere we know today.

It's been a few years since my last history of science class, but I have fond memories of wide-ranging, bitter arguments. The scientific method seems immutable until you realize that it was invented before modern mathematics, and produced reliable results that are laughable within the modern paradigm. An atom looks like a circle and x-y graphs are perfectly readable until you stop and consider that alchemists considered their dense, symbolic depictions legible too. The human knowledge-making endeavor is always specific to a time and place, and they shape one another.

(I love law's pragmatism, but there will always be a part of me longing for a two-hour argument about epistemology and whether we can ever really know anything.)

I decided to attend the class, thinking that it would be entertaining even if it was just me and the professor in a library conference room.

When I first walked into the conference room, I thought for a minute maybe I'd gone to the wrong library branch. There were too many people: some fifty-odd bodies, retirees and young professionals, a handful of college students. One young man in scrubs. Rows of uncomfortable metal chairs, and almost all of them were full. Shortly after I arrived, people had to be dispatched to go find more.

By the time the class started, people were leaning against the walls. I'm not sure who was more surprised, the professor or all of us.

It was one of the retirees who raised his hand first, as the professor talked about an Egyptian map of the underworld found on the bottom of a sarcophagus. "How do you know it's a map?" he asked. All I could see was his cheek, not-quite clean shaven. "How do we know it isn't art?"

Almost before he was finished speaking, three other hands went up.

By the end of the period, the professor had to gloss over Ptolemy in the last five minutes. There wasn't time for more, what with all the questions.

I am always a little startled when large numbers of people turn up to listen to opera.

There are a dizzying number of articles and thinkpieces about its imminent death. The pleas for donations get more and more feverish every year, even as the season is shrinking. All amid lamentations that it's a niche interest with a dwindling audience—opera is for old men and the pretentious, Harold Bloom et al. If you like singing there's musical theater and if you like drama there's the soaps; we as a culture have outgrown the need for valkyries, madwomen, and other assorted fat ladies singing.

Hence my surprise when, every year, Chicago's Lyric Opera fills Millennium Park to overflowing for their preview of the upcoming season. Families with children and dogs crowd up against retirees with bottles of wine and paper plates of fine cheese; everyone applauds. It's hard to imagine the death knell of opera on those nights, when couples bend their heads together and small children run through the crowd to the strains of "Mein lieber Hippolyte."

It's even harder to imagine when a broadcast—not even a live performance!—of "We Shall Not Be Moved" fills the mall of Independence National Historical Park.

Maybe it's the subject matter. A modern opera about racism and inequality, set in the shadows of the West Philadelphia MOVE bombings, is powerful and challenging content for an opera. "We Shall Not Be Moved" sold out during its initial run-through; in the shadow of Independence Hall, its questions about America's promise and the nature of the law took on a bitterly ironic quality. It's also a decidedly Philadelphia story, the rawness and relevancy only compounded when the National Park Supervisor introduced it by insisting her department has "a very good relationship with the Philadelphia police" alongside their commitment to supporting free speech.

Or maybe modern opera is more enticing—you have to love opera already to care about Lucia di Lammermor as the epitome of bel canto. You don't have to know anything to be intrigued by an opera about black children in Philadelphia. This is the artistic era we live in, Founding Fathers reference Biggie on Broadway, inner city kids perform chamber opera. For all I know, people turned up just to hear "girls want to get with it/North Philly slayer, player" sung in a sonorous bass-baritone.

But I think the truth is simpler: people still want to see opera, they've never stopped. They want to sit and listen to music, whisper to one another and watch. I was just behind a family of five: mother, father, and three boys, all at that age when they are mostly limbs and nervous energy. One—the oldest, a teenager, as evidenced by how hard he was trying to ignore the rest of his family—was defiantly trying to sleep, one arm thrown over his eyes. He moved only to shift to a new position, and once to pet a dog that wandered through the crowd.

An expensive ticket would have been wasted on him. But the event was free so he was there, sitting beside his brother and pretending, with all the bravura of adolescence, to be somewhere else. The light from the projector cast the rest of his family in silhouette: four faces, turned up to the screen. I wondered if all four of them would been there, if the tickets were sixty, ninety dollars each; if any of them would have come.

I'm distracted by a child, barely older than six, wandering through the audience. She stops suddenly, looking around and calling for her mother. The audience thrums like a plucked string to the sound, even in the half-dark you can see people's mouths shaping, lost, shaping, help. It only takes a few minutes for the child's brother to dart through the crowd and take her hand, whisk her away and back to their blanket. The audience settles again.

In a folding chair just a little ways away, an old woman is absently conducting, as though the musicians on screen could see her—one-two-one-two, just her hand for a baton.

#foul fetid fuming foggy filthy philadelphia #long post for ts #sarah's ongoing love letter to humanity #this is a thing I made

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yaz-the-spaz · 5 years

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First Line Challenge

I was tagged in this forever ago (like in april yikes) by the wonderful @storyanonguy i’m so sorry i’m just now getting to this womp womp i’m a trash human being lol but anyways...

RULES: List the first lines of the last ten stories you published. Look to see if there are any patterns that you notice yourself, and see if anyone else notices any! Then tag some friends.

[putting this under a read more cause i couldn’t decide where was a good place to end for a lot of them and this got way long]

Twelve Fic Outtakes/Deleted Scenes: “You know the reason I bought you so many hoodies of your own is so you can stop stealing mine,” Liam says with a teasing smile when he walks into their bedroom to find Zayn sprawled out on the floor in the space between the door and the bed in one of Liam's own too-big hoodies.

call it passive or aggressive: When Liam comes home it’s to complete darkness and his first thought is one of relief because if Zayn went to sleep early then it means he blessedly didn’t see what happened at the Jingle Ball. What Roman made him say.

The Threequel: Zayn feels the rumble of the uneven pavement underneath him as he cruises through the dark city streets, squished in the backseat of a truck, his hands bound with duct tape that he could rip through like tissue paper if he wanted. Two guards flank him, huge hulking men that by the looks of it are more show than anything. They may be big but from what he’d seen of them when they “caught” him, they’re slow and don’t seem to have too much going on upstairs, to say nothing of their actual fighting skill which is probably mediocre at best, nowhere near a match for him even on his worst day.

Even better, they’re blissfully unaware that they’re being followed. Don’t even seem to notice the van that’s been following two cars behind them for the last eight miles or so that Zayn can see plain as day in the rearview mirror. It’s hard to keep himself from smirking, even with the barrel of a nine-millimeter pointed menacingly against his side to him still and quiet. He could tear right through the tape and empty the clip of not only that gun but also the one clipped to the belt of the guy on his other side before either of his “chaperones” even knew what happened, knock both them and the driver out and take the wheel if he wanted. But he doesn’t. That’s not part of the plan.

Beautiful Monster: Liam’s up getting ready for an early morning run when he hears it. A muffled noise like something slamming shut. It’s the third time in a row he’s heard it but the first time he’s actually awake enough not to dismiss it as just a stray animal messing about in the bins or an early-rising neighbor shutting their front door too hard or something. Because now that he’s fully alert he’s certain that that was definitely the sound of a car door slamming shut. Specifically his car. Or rather, van. He’d distinctly heard what sounded suspiciously like the soft swoosh of the side door sliding open and shut. Which is crazy because he’s certain that it’s locked and there’s literally nothing in there that’s worth stealing unless this particular thief likes rolls of pink fiberglass insulation, buckets of cement and caulk, or industrial pipes.

Two Point 0: I am strong. I am powerful. I am in control.

I am strong. I am powerful. I am in control.

This is what Zayn thinks this to himself as he looks at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. Repeats it in his head three times, like he always does on days like this. It’s his mantra. A new thing he’s been trying at Harry’s suggestion along with meditation. It’s not something he does everyday. Just on days when he’s not feeling quite as high as usual, not quite so comfortable in his own skin. When the lows start to get to him and he finds it a little harder to push the bad memories back to the recesses of his mind because the nightmares may come less often now but they still come.

Highs and lows. That’s how he categorizes his days now.

be my accomplice to my crime (partners in crime): Liam can feel the butterflies swirling in his stomach as they get closer and closer to town and he’s no less nervous than he was an hour ago or a day ago or a week ago.

It’s been two and half years since Liam left and Zayn’s done his best to avoid having to come back for as long as he could for Liam’s sake, turning down deal after deal, but this one had been too big to pass up. He’d tried. God knows he’d tried. Even gone so far as to try and hide it from Liam so he wouldn’t find out. But Liam had found the telegram early one morning while clearing out both their pants pockets just before leaving for the dry cleaner’s down the street from the hotel they’d been staying at. Zayn had still been asleep as usual, stretched out on the hotel bed in his boxers, sheets tangled around his legs and Liam had dropped back down to the edge of the mattress staring at the paper in his hands and wondering how many more Zayn had thrown away before this one.

Eyes the Size of Baby Worlds: Liam’s dreaming about The Guy again.

The one whose name he still doesn’t know but who always manages to get assigned the package deliveries for Liam’s building.

Liam catches him sometimes, riding up on his bike. When he’s home, that is. Waits at the window like a lovesick puppy on days he knows he’s getting a delivery and watches The Guy zip through traffic like it’s nothing, hair flying in the breeze cause he never wears a helmet (even though Liam’s pretty sure the bike messenger service The Guy works for requires him to wear one for safety reasons, but God does he look so much hotter and cooler without it even if it is unsafe).

dRuNk/Like I Would/Let Me/Dusk Till Dawn: Zayn feels like Liam’s invaded his senses. Like all he eats, sleeps, and breathes anymore is Liam. Liam Liam Liam. He’d never known it was possible to feel so intoxicated by someone before but that’s how it feels whenever he’s in Liam’s orbit. Like he’s shifted into another plane of existence where the only thing in focus is Liam, the only thing he can smell, see, hear, taste, touch, is Liam, everything else blurring to the background like white noise.

Late summer nights stumbling into hotel rooms together, eyes red and words slurring together, hands and lips mapping out each other’s skin till they’re breathless with want and all the things they’re too afraid to say in the light of day.

you get off on me, it’s like cheating: Sometimes he does this. When he’s alone. Only when he’s alone. When Zayn’s away and he’s got no interviews or performances or recording sessions to go to—nothing to fill up the time—he does this. Only sometimes.

The speakers are loud, turned up to full volume to drown everything else out. All of the dogs are outside, probably barking up a storm, but he can’t hear it over the music. Over the sound of Zayn’s voice wafting over him in soft, mellow tones.

He slips out of his clothes slowly, laying back on the bed in nothing but his pants, eyes closed, lets the sound of Zayn’s voice take over. It’s so loud it feels almost tangible, like it’s all around him, like Zayn’s all around him.

He can almost imagine Zayn’s there with him, singing the words in his ear—a place that is so pure, so dirty and raw—smirking against Liam’s jaw like he knows exactly what this is doing to Liam, how much it gets to him, how he can practically feel the vibrato under his skin, thrumming inside him. His body feels like a livewire, buzzing with electricity, buzzing with Zayn—Zayn inside him, over him, all around him.

when did reality become tv: The crowd boos when Zayn comes around the side entrance and makes his way toward the empty couch next to James. Zayn flips the crowd off as he walks past, glaring at them all sourly as they jeer at him, shoves one of the overeager cameramen away from him with a hand to his lens. It only ends up riling the crowd up even more, makes their boos even louder but he doesn’t really care. He’s mainly only here for the money anyway.

...Didn’t really notice any patterns myself but to anyone reading this (if anyone actually even bothers reading this monstrosity lol) let me know if you notice any!

Tagging @ohthathurt @oh-no-its-elle @lirry @empty-altars...probably most ppl have already done this since it’s so old so feel free to ignore (or join in if you want even if you weren’t tagged)

#tumblr tag #tag game #my fics #ao3 #ziam #ziam fics

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decodervon · 4 years

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Mean.

mean. it was mean and meant to provoke. it all hurts.

being honest isn’t a shield against being upset. that night with Kayla, I was honest and i knew it would upset you. do you remember how you treated me after i told you? i knew you would be mad. disappointed. sad. angry. i knew you’d feel those things and more and i still asked for more. i let you treat me however you wanted to treat me, because i knew what i did was wrong. ive kicked myself a MILLION times for that act and let you get in as many kicks as you wanted. just because you are honest, does not mean anyone has to be lenient in how they feel. thats a loss you have to accept and admit. its a permanent black mark on your record, and that’s just what it is. you can feel upset about having it pointed out, but its what. happened. hearing you almost OD on drugs is scary, and makes me mad, and disappointed, and angry. I KNOW you feel that way yourself, but you’ve gotten to feel that and process that already. this is still news to me. i’ve put so much time and care into you that i’m allowed to be angry. you don’t get to be angry about ME being angry about a dumb mistake you made. thats the sound of me CARING about you living and dying. a blackout is one step below hospitalization. thats SCARY to hear. what if i told you i did so many drugs i blacked out?? or how I was so drunk I dropped my bike on myself and then dropped it a second consecutive time till a stranger had to help me? see? its honest, and I fully expect you to be mad, scared. and disappointed in me. part of accepting responsibility for your shortcomings and failures is accepting that they ARE failures and if someone points them out or is disappointed in them, you have to accept that and make peace with it. if someone hates me or distrusts me for the mistakes I make... they have a right to. I have a right to be upset. your parents and the people who care about you have a right to be upset. you have a right to be upset when they do things that hurt themselves. please dont be so angry at me for caring about your well being.

i.. dont like manipulating people. it's like being good at kicking dogs. it's a way my intellect can be used to deceive people into actions they wouldnt normally. I dont morally like doing it. like I did manipulate megan to give me information.. I just asked. I wanted to know how you were. I am desperate for information about you because I'm still... addicted. I'm slowly reprogramming myself but it hurts. it hurts to know I spent so long suffering just to have to swallow that it's over. and moving on with our respective people hurts and proves that. there was a time where I was manipulating you and it was horrible. it makes me feel like that time I pressured you into sex. it feels gross and empty and I really dont want to resort to it if I can. my mom does it habitually because of whatever her trauma was growing up.. but I dont share her same wonton opinion of its use. I justified using it because I thought you were seeing someone behind my back... and I was right. that's what always killed me about that time. I was suspicious, i was controlling, and manipulative and I ended up being... correct to have tried to do so. it kills me when I go over it. but it's also true that none of that stuff helped. being suspicious made me distrustful. being controlling made it harder to believe you. and manipulation made me feel like nothing you said or did was authentic. there were BIG consequences to those actions, regardless of the situation. and none of them helped. maybe suspicion because that led me to finally outing you, but yeah. I promise, I dont want to go back to any of that. I am not trying to goad you out of any information and am happy to pay for it with information that you might want. its honorable and I dont have to feel so awful after.

I touched upon some of the feelings I felt about the tryst.. its.. I feel really complicated. I'm.. starved for physical affection. enough to throw money at randos for nudes (not a very proud moment for me [and while sex work is real work, I've usually done well enough to not have to patronize]) and would probably go way out of my way and spend myself too much for it. i... did have something physical with someone that was very brief but I don't want to get into it. I felt weird. it felt wrong and I wish it couldve been you. doesnt matter. what matters is I would spend myself much more than I should for some physical affection, especially if the person knew me and all my weird kinks. i.. wanted that from you for so long. not just the last few years. the whole relationship I wanted you to want me. i never felt like you really did. sometimes you did. moments. places. seconds. but i hungered for you. all the time. the second I decided I was in (roughly three months in) I never looked at you a different way. it didnt matter what your hair looked like, or if you had makeup, or if you weighed more or less... none of that mattered. I decided I was in and you were this.. bond I craved. I never knew how to get you to... want me sexually from a standing still point. I poured all of that desire into going down on you. into a mastery of manipulating you sexually until I could get you to cum as fast as a guy. I wanted you so bad. I wanted that.. reaffirmation of being sexually desirable. i wanted to feel attractive because that's the only way i ever FELT sexy. i wanted to be objectified by you because it made me feel good about myself. having this super hot girl treat me like my body was super hot? its was like drinking out of the holy grail of self-esteem. words are... ultimately meaningless to me. it's like. I have a certain experience and mastery where I understand that words are just... nothing. they're only the cardboard cut out of Meaning and the actions behind them, are what make them stand. you could tell me I'm Hot for 100 years and I'll shrug it off everytime. but to me, you dont fuck someone you dont find attractive. not if you have the choice.

to me you were always this stonewall. you knew the world wanted your body. no matter what you thought about it. you built up this stone face that I could never see past. I never thought my actions were good enough. it's why I always asked. why I always needed to check that I was sexually adequate enough. I felt like I was at arms reach. its felt like you were this quiet master. watching, waiting; judging. I wanted you to be vulnerable and weird and gross around me. I bring up one of my favorite all time sexual experiences with you as the time you came home drunk and had the loudest, grossest dirty talk session with me as we fucked and i loved it (for being super hot as well) because you were so... raw. you didnt care if I was into it or not. you didnt care what you said or how I responded. you just let loose and it was so honest and pure. it was the best sex because i actually felt close to you. I didn't have to ask if you liked it. didnt have to wonder for one second. I knew you got what you needed and in doing so, gave me what I needed. most of the time...sex felt like I was bothering you. like you just wanted to get it over with.

and the tryst is.. its. you spend so long feeling sexually unwanted and then these last years.. I don't really rank into your priority system. I haven't for a long time. It goes: Work>Burlesque>Family>Friends/Self-care>Cats>Me. I've had to compete against everything else in your life to just.. get a chance to see you. I'm publically banned from your house because of a relationship that came LONG before it, but we both know it's total bullshit since you still end up sneaking me in when it works into your schedule. I really wanted to show you that I wasnt just a mad, angry fucking asshole anymore. That I did have the capacity to trust. that I had more patience. but I had to fight against everything go even get a chance and you were barely willing to even see me. I just..

I'm not trying to point a finger. that's not what this is about. it's about realistic expectations and being logical. a tryst is a fun, secret idea. maybe I'll write a piece about it. I'm not saying you wouldnt put in work, but just like you dont trust me on certain things.. I dont trust you to either pencil me in or erase a plan and spontaneously appear. that has nothing to do with damages and more about character. you're someone who plans things. you like following a path. its comfortable for you. you can control it. I have always been the opposite. I am "I'll be there when I get there" and always got a secret place to show someone. I was the neighborhood kid on his bike looking for a hideout. control is.. an illusion. we are our truest selves when chaos hits. when all the plans fall apart. I like the concept of bailing on anything to go do something bad.

you're healing. I'm healing. I don't expect you to roll the dice on me and that's nothing if not just pragmatic. it gets me excited because /i/ would do something like that. like it's a hot idea to think about climbing up to your balcony for secret sex. would I ever do it? no. it's a huge violation of privacy and i already promised I would never intrude on your safe spaces. that is a gesture /i/ would like. not you. I've had so many times I've wanted you to just... show up somewhere for me. I remember ice skating alone on valentines day. I cry when I write that. you were with friends and we werent in a great way. but I showed up and I hoped you would and I got a "I would of but it's too late, I'm with my friends already" I couldve been with my biological father and still bailed for ice skating with you. and so I mean. I'm not saying you wouldnt do the the work or that I dont trust you. I'm saying the definition of Insanity is repeating the same thing over and over and expecting a different outcome. you're getting what you want out of someone else and I have nothing left to give. I'm sure you dont cum as hard for him, but give it time and direction and im sure that changes. everything I had or did is replaceable. repeatable. forgettable.

and both our relationships are fledgling. I know you care about him, but you're damaged like me. I know that its gratitude. it's like someone giving you a massage. you're thankful, but a connection that does not make. I'm not saying my situation is better, infact, its possibly worse. I'm involved with someone I've had a decade long crush on. who's choosing to mess with men again specifically due in part to ME. the idea of either one of us getting into something even partial meaningful is laughable and HIGHLY dangerous to those people who are involved. I'm taking things intentionally slow because I dont want this person to be a rebound. sex, affection, anything. I need to process before I dedicate myself to anyone. but you're having a much more casual and adult relationship. will it turn into something REAL? who can say. but regardless, it is a rebound. just like I was. and I had to fight tooth and nail through the first year due to your friends influencing you, you still fucking around with your ex (lol that's me now) and your general uneasiness to want to be official in an attempt to a real, honest relationship.

idk. maybe I'm reading into the fact that you dont care if "mystery man gets hurt". I am envious of your casual and open thing. I wish for the same, but the Universe apparently needed me to know that my longtime ultra crush was interested in me and.. I.. I couldn't turn it down. i need it after everything. i was almost driven crazy. the only thing that's missing is the physical part and im.. trying to keep it like that. I dont know why. I should take a page out of your book and just.. do it. you have that now. probably wasnt more than a couple of dates before, if that. I have this meaning and purpose associated with sex... and that's hard when you were in love with someone who felt differently. I wanted to be the one to take care of you. even if we werent doing well. just break it down to its physical components and go to town and just.. part ways after. no strings. but that's not something we could ever believe the other could do with one another. and it hurts.. a lot to know you're physically with someone else.

a lot.

0 notes

pastlegacies · 4 years

Text

I Have Seen the Tops of Clouds v1 by Quinn Norton

I have seen the tops of clouds

This is something I wrote from 2004, back in the days of nocaps. I place it here for archival reasons.

every so often it's four in the morning, and i accidentally had some caffeine, and i haven't been able to sleep, and the house is quiet, and the paranoia hits. i see a world of danger outside and feel my own flaw from within. i feel encroached by darkness. in a way, it's harder now than ever even if the depression is easier to handle. because now i have ada, and even when i sooth the fears for myself i am still cocooned in fears for her. years ago, lying on a bed in sunnyvale gilbert made me answer the tough question when one is pleading for unborn children. why? why have a child? my pre frontal cortex was conscripted by more ancient chambers of my brain. "come up with a reason," they said, "one of your constructed reasons. we don't care. we know what we're here to do, it's you that gets all confused. give him a damn reason, and make it good." so my front brain tried to compress a single sentient view of the universe and a life of cognitions into a reason to have a child. a good reason to satisfy all my brain, or at least a good enough reason to get the old chambers what they wanted from my mate. i was not doing well in my career. i was not a year out of a black depression. my body was terribly troublesome, and nothing promised me an easy time having children. i came from a bloody awful species and i was ashamed of what we were passing to the next generation. i was still angry at my parents for the raw deal they handed me, and unsure how anyone could go about doing better. and i was caught- i had to tell gilbert why i wanted a child and by extension i had to tell him why he wanted a child too. i had to tell him why he should be trying to beget a child on a woman who had showed him, at times, no joy at all.

"children," i told him, "are the ultimate act of hope."

this is my parenting philosophy. what i like about it is that it promises so little. children are not our future, they do not fulfill us, there is no right way to raise them. there are no assurances that things won't go terribly wrong. but when you have a child you aren't feeling hope, you are engaging in a hope so strongly is pushes the rest of your life.

that makes the paranoid nights harder than they used to be. i feel the whole outside welling up in unknown darkness, all the threats it carries- accidental nano-prions, or strange infectious diseases, or the old fashioned never ending wars that just chew their way though swathes of people. all grown-up monsters for my grown-up mind. these nights i am terrified and taunted by death. when i go out without ada i imagine someone forcing their way into my home and slaughtering my family. i see danger in our food, our air, i test the water. i think about car accidents a lot. i know it could all be gone, any day now. all my joy could be wrapped in hot metal, burning, it could be dying in agony, it could just go away. but i cope- the welling anxiety i keep in check, usually just reminding myself that there isn't anything i can do anyway. then come late nights like this one, no sleep, just a future in which i can only predict death for sure. i can collapse into the fear, and now with the physical manifestation of hope at my side, i feel all the more vulnerable- she is so fragile, so perfect.

i have a secret weapon for these times. i don't use it too often, so that it doesn't lose its power. i learned it on airplanes, which are strange and thrilling and full of fear and boredom. when i am very frightened, i look out the window on airplanes and say very quietly

i have seen the tops of clouds.

and i have. in all the history of man, i am one of the few that has seen the tops of clouds. so many would have died to do so, some did. i would have, but it's not required, so instead i have seen them many times. i have seen my planet from space, and looked at galaxies too numerous to count. galaxies! i know the shape of an atom. i know mysteries that great philosophers would have died for, just to have them whispered in their dying ears. i learned some in school, and others i can get off the internet as i want them. i live in the middle of wonders, truths and concepts and magics easily worth a lifetime to look at and or learn, and i am still alive. it is good that i am alive, that we are. even if we kill ourselves off with gray goo, it is good that we have lived. it is good that we have done what we have done, and that we have grown. and the only thing we can say for sure is that we will die, but we will die having gone so far above our primordial ponds and monkey trees that we saw the tops of clouds.

that takes away the fear for me. not all of it, but enough so that i can go back upstairs now, and cuddle my daughter, and dream dreams of what we'll do next, engaging in hope, adding to the sum of human good with my own moments. acknowledging the boring and unpleasant truths along the way.

i can predict one other thing now: if i live to see tomorrow, i'll be dog-tired.

https://quinnnorton.com/revived/clouds.html

(Emphasis mine)

0 notes

the-firebird69 · 4 years

Text

Pyramids

I take your advice and fire up the Shapes on a regular basis i heard the interest they said keep doing it until we meet opposition. And we understand the dangers but these are so intolerable it's gross.

Hitting now, firing all main reactors. Juicing waiting, hitting. We let it run, higher it goes up, firing, and down charging, hitting, firing up secondary reactors, huge billows of steam Rise tons of moisture. Do much it will help yiu breath. Firing up all main reactors globally. Massive crowds assemble outside its range, show fear, rush in not out, heard you no, it's exhilaration they feel gives them a boost, usually happens to them, it's hard to resist. Like being really horny

And he does resist similar all day and night. Tons of times.

The entire crowd follows, curious and content it's safe feel exhilarated, run in. Fire weapons at it it bounces off or is destroyed we hear doit again. They fire bigones the same way hit more then. Try harder maybe higher??

They get knocked out... It hits here, all around here.

We fire the short haul crew gay jackass macs disguised as blacks.

Continue coming we continue killing, what idiots race in like idiots to tell us

....... So your dead.

They fire up to max hit they fall, huge gashes in some as raw metal was right next to them. Giant things stuck in them they were working on.... Antenae stuck right through them

Massive coronary from following bja diet, huge pieces of fecal matter in thier shorts usually discolored or halfdigested. Mega gas in thier decomposing bodies from sugar and bad as hard water grows bacteria.

Massive wounds fromstomachs exploding afyer being dead for only minutes.

Animals have been found eating them but as if sick and continuing. We haul them in clean them up and give them job's. Usually quite sick. Cats and dogs survive better than these old imbiciles.

Giant piles of crap on the floor as corky forgot to pay rent or too cheap to buy a plunger.

It's sick these are very sick too, far too many diseases to be near him not to mention on top of him as they threaten, having beer w them got them all riled up, tons found the time to drink. Huge piles of fecal matter by the road where lots had to stop 3-4" High, 10-12" around empties them all out.

We find it atrocious. All fags here gross comments all day and it's non productive just repeats.

No more ppl please. No more. Mine.

Thor

We hear you and demand ours come forwards and explain why

Olympus

They say it's death and can't help it. We research it some of it is mostly they use it as cover or a motif or like abusing him and are oblivious.

Arrianne

A class a answer

Thor

They think it works, have been what they think they call"using it" to take over... Threats on me to hit thier father in turn those threats used for wwiii or other. They say it's concealment and moreso a constant threat, feel the threats will leed to a wmd detonating of thier own and war would begin. The constant threats used to signal threats on ours as they use a tight analogy to my body to my ppl. Issue actual orders with it as they may try to tommorow if Trump's impeachment is handed to the Senate this validating it, trial or not it is then a valid impeachment by the house house being analagous to this house and where ours live, documents drafted, units sent

Volunteers now accepting for this task from hunting issuers and enforcers to house ours to seeking persons who hire ppl to

Trillions and more roll in. This one and freeing ours are open ended and voluntary conscription into our formal ranks.. now accepting for the above. We track allours volunteering now send them greetings and instructions and announce instructions now

Tons of threats for the orders purpose and all blatantly obvious. It's like being in the jungle surrounded by sick chimps. Do this and this only. Try to overcome they leave it on even if it's petty stuff they shouldn't do

Yimmer yammer all day to harrass have me Yammer I hit them here with it and nearby

Lately I couldn't bear it death on them not fast enough for me to eat properly enough as they addictively try to incarcerate me as a way of ammassing power for a few and to send orders.. usually both always resulted in thier failure in the past

None of them acknowledge the failures occured none have recolection of living in any of the places he was in, most make it up.

Tons of errant calls and idiot statements to threaten me and try to hospitalize or imprison and now both to kidnap me to DC for a rigged trial probably using Trump as he hates us for our role in his life Mac had us do.

And connecting me a youngster with evil characters and top brass to be threatened coerced etc for an unending amount of time

Physical abuse daiky walking me excessively trying to incurr disease death threats for stress bad food wrong food cutting off things or trying too ie turkey, reducing caloric intake after working out reducing oxygen often serious bug bites lots of times. Warts infesting me all as threats for things we

NEVER DO

We never comply never provide. Never

The threats are to deconstruct your rhealm. Reduce your forces and standard of living and power to start wwiii.

But

Mostly I am abused severly at times, daily. And my income is always threatened such a teensy fraction of what I'm owed, standard I kiving low very low atmosphere very hostile Joe is half orc is violent has a gun is sickly angry due to his poor treatment, Preston I'll from plastic poisoning and on blue is angry large and his person has killed millions by hand over the past few years. Others here abused tortured HV hair triggers are called guns threaten me.

No war only me getting out down constantly turned away stolen from a bit and I sit doing nothing but my work you lose to but I'm threatened with

A ball injury imnever happy with killing quadrillians if you s for as you never let me up and simply don't do any of the killing now just bother me too not allow yours to live in any capacity to recover with

And you deteriorate now quickly your mental status is very poor angry suicidal and you go out shooting ppl as monsters to vent. We allow it as we sponsor it.

But my personal time is bill, I'm numb or in painno emotion usually definitely not allowed to feel good mb a second here and there on purpose held off me.

Push me taunt to get a reactionthreats to do stuff i always counterman or detonate destroy including your here escape vehicles, nukes wmd DOOMSDAY and anything you can war using including comm just to get you louses off me so I can eat or shower so hearing stupid crap for hours.

You need to stop coming here thinking threats on me bear fruit or stay ing fmdoung it. Your leadership turned into cats and eaten as cakes. Mostly nuke your own stuff and are incinerated doing so.

What I'm saying is in English and easy to read comprehend and verify, yeh, you s do all this, deconstruct as Mac planned fight for DOOMSDAY for one idiot, but, in your threatening I'm forced to have your escape methods erased, your wmd and somuch more and you still can't figure it out

Are you stupid s??.

Zues

It gets broken we put u in the middle as we did with the Ukraine.

Mac

Without heat no fire without fire no smoke without potential for massive fire no firemen. Dork

Zues

I finally figured it iut you say a few hotspots sufficed then Ukraine then infight then we stalked blaming no war on yiu tards do it religiously, a gig. But for real yes they do. Ours use real stuff. Not just wackung the same idiots at the ymtoop.

True too we come dn onhimit hurts

Mac2

So you see. Problem being too late. No ody of mine wants to live like me and I'm very valuable most don't want to live like me if they are really smart most. It's so fantastically assinine I'm amazed any s is alive, vulgar. Ohh we don't need to pay you a dime, cuz ull do it regardless.... How so, any human being treated as such might not but I'm familiar emwith your sophomoric method. Stockhlm and a couple other cheese sticks

What you HV smdone has caused half or more of yiur s to die the majority of mine I those areas cleared safe now, away from you.

And yet you persist, ignorant to most math and other. Foma basic human standpoint most would plot to burn pc to the ground just due to the call letters I'm a very intolerant person and meaner than ghwb but other govts will pay me not spit on me. Do Macs fuck off. Die be proud you started a war between our kinds be knowledgeable that your losing, cry out yell like corky, demand and lose.

Keep being a loser I mean don't you see?? You gotta do what your doing now have to it helps me and mine.

We plow through your ranks in the Midwest closing city agmfter city, crushed the north, it began falling grabbed the south it weakened, blasted the north the Midwest caves now we almost have it all cleared zapping in progress, the north teeters he says take weakin the Midwest, we did, oh yeh the upper Midwest, we shall, then work a patch work, thanks Macs helpful and refreshing

Thor

Zues mostly my story above

0 notes

soclosewiz · 5 years

Text

Proper Nowhere

El Salto was the place where everything changed for me on my first trip south of the American border. One year ago I traveled here expecting the unexpected, but I never could have guessed how much it would change my life. Before that trip, I had been living my life in a very predictable way: work during the week, climb during the weekends, and plan semi-annual trips with a few close friends. After a particularly successful vacation to the Red River Gorge in November of 2016, I came back to Seattle knowing I needed to get away again as soon as possible. Somehow that led to me planning a trip to Mexico with two people I barely knew that December.

That trip changed me forever. Even a year later it’s no exaggeration to say I fell in love. Every day, in every moment, I was consciously aware that I had somehow unlocked a level of happiness I had never felt before. It lit a fire inside me for not just climbing itself, but travelling, meeting new people, experiencing new things, and all that the dirtbag lifestyle encompasses. I could feel that my life was about to change, as long as I was willing to let it; something that doesn’t come easy to me, yet I felt like I’d subconsciously been waiting for it for a long time. I eased into it over some long and influential spring travels until I was ready to fully move into my car and let the road lead wherever it did at the end of summer.

Deciding where to go on my travels came easy for a while, until suddenly it wasn’t. Cold weather and the winter holidays loomed on the horizon, and I was faced with a decision: to return to Mexico, or to attempt to find psyche in places where I either had no partners, or no desire to climb in the States. All along I knew there was only one answer, but I felt a strange reluctance to return to the place where it all started. I was afraid of what I would find upon returning to a place that had changed my life in such a big way—what if it wasn’t the same? What if it was? Christmas came and went and I still couldn’t commit to going farther south than Arizona, until finally one day I learned all my partners had cleaned out the gear we had stashed at the crag and were leaving within 48 hours to a place I knew I didn’t belong. It was time to face the music.

On December 26th as I walked out the door of the Chipotle in Sedona to knock a few hours off the drive, I got a message from a friend overseas asking if I would be in El Paso the next day and if I could help out his stranded friend. I had my doubts about picking up a hitchhiker, especially when I learned it was actually two of them plus a dog. Nonetheless I discarded my inhibitions and allowed the pair to curl up on my bed as I ferried them across the entire state of Texas. I got them through two border patrol checkpoints and a whole lot of what we called “Proper Nowhere” until we parted ways in Laredo. I thought it fitting, that my return to Mexico would start with an experience so far outside my usual status quo. I took it as a good omen of things to come, because Mexico was always about learning how much better life can be outside my comfort zone.

Waiting for me in Mexico was a diverse blend of the usual suspects from last year, plus many of the people with whom I’d been climbing over the last few months. Both groups were people who had gone from complete strangers to like family in just the few weeks I’d known them. I guess that’s what happens when you spend almost all of your time with people, camping, eating, climbing, relaxing, even working—friendships get fast tracked. I had come to El Salto for two main reasons: to party with these friends, and to try and send a specific route: El Infierno de Dante.

I had tried the route before and walked away uninspired: long runouts at the cruxes make it hard to work the moves when you are just beginning the process and the route is at your (my) limit, plus something about it just didn’t light that fire in me to make me want to really sink my teeth in. At the same time it’s hard for me to ever really let a route go, and it had been sitting in the back of my mind for the last twelve months as reminder of a time that I had given up. Unlike other climbs of the upper 5.13/lower 5.14 range I’d done, this one I knew was within my ability if I embraced the projecting process and approached it with commitment and patience.

I find in my climbing that I go back and forth between two different phases—mainly what I consider to be project mode and vacation mode. In vacation mode I am out climbing purely for the love of the sport and all it entails. Failure or success, at the end of the day I’m still having a big dinner with my friends, drinking beer, and focusing on enjoying every moment of this beautiful life. In project mode I am an athlete, disciplined and focused, willingly sacrificing all indulgences in pursuit of whatever climb has become my latest obsession. The tricky thing about these two modes is that they both make me feel really good in very different ways, and I often wonder if I’m focusing on the right thing. When I’m relaxing, I miss feeling strong and in shape, having big successes in my climbing and feeling confident about myself. When I’m dedicated and honed in on an objective, I wonder if my sacrifices are worth missing the fun nights of drinking, staying up late, and eating excessive amounts of chocolate.

Perhaps the fiddliest part of the split-climbing-personality conundrum is that I can’t just choose to flip the switch between the two modes on a whim. Vacation mode is easy, but entering project mode requires a goal, and it has to be one that really inspires me. There’s a certain feeling I’ve found about my proudest sends during the process that made me really truly care, and it doesn’t come around all that often. I may decide to work a certain route, but at the end of the day if I don’t want it bad enough that I fall asleep thinking about it, doodle its name in the margins of a notebook, and feel my face light up whenever someone asks how it’s going, the relationship is doomed to fail.

The last spark I’d chased before Mexico was Rude Boys (which was perhaps a bit forced), and before that City Park. I’d done a few low 5.13s here and there, but nothing had really struck me on that level in many months. I did want to go out there and see just what I was made of, test my limits and try and be my best self as a climber, but I had to wait for the calling. Finally it came, and I was ready and eager to answer when it did. Day two in Mexico I quested up Dante’s Inferno and felt the stirrings of that feeling I had been so long without. I was inspired.

Dante’s Inferno is perhaps the most well-known hard climb in El Salto, which adds a certain aura of history that always draws me to a climb. It consists of 40 meters of resistance climbing, passing through two very sustained cruxes to the mid-way anchor, and then one last sting in the tail a few bolts from the top. The moves are hard, not getting too pumped is even harder, but simply keeping your mind engaged for that much climbing is perhaps the hardest part.

After a week or so of effort I slowly built up enough endurance to know I had a shot, yet I battled with bad skin that didn’t seem to recover on my rest days. After a long mid-day nap one day, I tied in with fingertips so raw it hurt to take my jacket off for one last fitness burn (aka an attempt with low hopes of success but done anyway for the training benefit). My friend Tanager had just told me that all of her best sends had been after a nap, and another friend who had just sent the route said he had done it with terrible skin as well, so I decided to go ‘a muerte’ even though it was my fifth attempt in two days and I was exhausted.

Screaming on every move, I managed to battle to the first anchors for the first time and partway to the second. By the time that I fell, I was so exhausted that I couldn’t even get through the final crux to work out beta for any redpoint attempts on the extension. It was success nevertheless, resulting in much celebration after a local adventure movie led to a wild dance party lasting late into the night.

One extremely hungover rest day and a mini break climbing on other routes later, I knew it was time to go back for the extension. The weather had gotten hot, and many people were losing psyche for Las Animas, the wall on which Dante’s is located. I had a few partners still interested, but as the morning stretched on they remained at camp, going about their day in leisurely style while I paced around in agitation. I watched minutes tick by as calculations ran through my mind—if we leave right now, there will still be time to warm up and have an attempt before the wall goes into the sun.

When it became clear that things were not happening, I left for the crag by myself, hoping to beg a belay off someone already there. Up until then it had been so crowded that you could barely weasel your way in line for a warmup, but suddenly there was no one at the wall when I arrived. I sat around for a while before deciding I was wasting my time, letting toxic thoughts flood my brain as I began hiking out in defeat.

Just then, two friends rounded the corner and called out a greeting and that they were there to belay and support. Having stopped by our camp that morning and heard of my tragic plight, they were happy to help. The sun was already creeping across the wall towards Dante’s, so I decided to forego a warmup and just go for it. I needed to work out that upper crux, so it wasn’t a send go anyway. It wasn’t a send go, except the higher I got the more it felt like maybe it could be. The rock was cool but not cold, I was fresh but not shaky, and moves that had felt desperate felt completely controlled. Before I knew it, I was staring down the upper crux with no choice but to wing it—no real beta, but I wasn’t that pumped and the sun still hadn’t made the route too hot to climb.

I pulled into the final hard moves of the boulder problem, toeing down on glassy pebbles so carefully that I knew I’d never let a fall happen because of slipping. Suddenly it was all over and I called out to my friends in excitement that “It’s going down right now!” even though I still had a few bolts of easy climbing to the top. I knew wouldn’t fall there.

Afterwards as I traded my climbing shoes for a belay device to support another no-warmup send by a friend, I couldn’t help but stare at Dante’s and feel a strange sense of melancholy. I felt like I had only just started to get to know the climb and it was already over. I was beyond proud of how quickly I’d done it; five or six days of work to clip the chains on my second 5.14 is pretty exciting, but I wasn’t ready to let go of that powerful inspiration I had finally managed to track down. I had been mentally prepared for a brutal battle, in which I fell at the upper crux dozens of times, went home in tears day after day, and questioned the meaning of life as I fought highs and lows of self-doubt. You know, the usual projecting M.O.

Ever since last year, a part of me knew that Dante’s was one of those routes that I just had to come back for. Who can say why, but there are certain climbs that sit at the back of my mind, waiting for the day when I’m ready to lay it all on the line and go to war. Luckily I still have a few weeks here to see if the next inspiration lies somewhere between these limestone tufas and calcified stalactites, and if not, to simply bask in the warm Mexican sun eating Elotes and being grateful to not be freezing in the Seattle winter rain. I had my doubts about returning to Mexico, but in the end and as always, the Wash provides.

#soclosewiz #focusonyourability

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jifsy · 6 years

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Exploring Iloilo: Wandering the Western Visayas in the Philippines

Iloilo Dinagyang Warrior statue along the Iloilo Esplanade

After taking the ferry from Manila to Iloilo, I was now ready to start exploring Iloilo. The province of Iloilo is located in the Western Visayas in the Philippines, approximately 409 miles southeast of Manila. Including Iloilo City, Iloilo had a population in 2015 of just over 2.3 million residents.

While smaller than Manila, I found it to be more contemporary in many ways with modern buildings and architecture, businesses, and just an overall more modern feel. Come with me and see what I discovered while exploring Iloilo.

Jaro Cathedral

Inside Jaro Cathedral

As a huge fan of cathedrals, churches, and other places of worship, I knew I had to stop in at Jaro Cathedral in Iloilo. Originally built in 1864, Jaro Cathedral is one of the largest churches in all of the Philippines.

Our Lady of the Candles at Jaro Cathedral

Located on the second level at the front of Jaro Cathedral is a shrine featuring a statue of Our Lady of the Candles. To get to this level, you need to climb a set of stairs to the top. Once here, you’ll see the only Marian statue in the Philippines that’s been crowned by the pope himself.

TSG Tip: I didn’t know about the Marian order, but now I know so of course I want to go anywhere I can see my name.

Belfry across the street from Jaro Cathedral

What makes Jaro Cathedral a little unusual is that the belfry is located across the street from the church. After an earthquake destroyed the church in January of 1948, the church was rebuilt in its current location across the street in 1956.

Jaro Cathedral is a definite must see site while visiting Iloilo. Go in, light a candle, say a prayer, or just admire the church for its architectural beauty.

Jaro Cathedral Jaro, Iloilo City, 5000 Iloilo

Bearland Paradise Resort

Sometimes I just want to get away from it all, relax, and unwind and I certainly did when I visited Bearland Paradise Resort in Iloilo. Whether you go for a few days, an overnight, or just the day like I did, you are bound to have a good time. I must admit, I simply don’t connect polar bears with the Philippines as this country is just so hot.

The beach at Bearland Paradise Resort

For a mere 250 PHP (about $4.66 USD) per person, you can enjoy a day pass here with access to the pools and resort. While the beach isn’t exactly a swimmable beachfront, it still makes for a great view and pics.

Bearland Paradise Resort

On the day I visited, the breeze was strong and it was actually a little chilly. I went in the water once and sat back and relaxed with a cold pineapple juice. Nothing beats relaxing to the sound of crashing waves. If it was only a little warmer, I would’ve spent the day at the pool’s swim up bar. That or I might’ve enjoyed watching more people singing videoke.

Bearland Paradise Resort Brgy. Tanpael, Tigbauan, Iloilo, Philippines

Iloilo Central Market

Food cooking at the wet market

There’s no way I could continue exploring Iloilo without visiting a wet market. What exactly is a wet market? Whereas a dry market sells dry goods like clothing and electronics, a wet market sells fresh meat and produce and is usually an important business center in any town or city.

Oysters at the wet market

At the Iloilo Central Market, not only can you buy food to take home and prepare, but there’s also food that can be prepared for you on the spot, like oysters.

Oysters

Oysters at the wet market

For example, each bowl of oysters here cost all of 30 PHP or about $0.56 USD. Pay the man and he will hand you the raw oysters or he will cook them for you for the same price. After payment, he places the oyster in a bag and dunks them in a hot pot of seasoned water and within minutes, you have a fresh, hot, steaming bag of oysters ready to eat.

Oysters at the wet market

While in Bohol a few days later, I walked along Alona Beach and the same size bowl of oysters cost 300 PHP or about $5.59 USD. While that definitely seems like a steal of a price to any Westerner, knowing the Iloilo price made me realize that Iloilo is the place to go if you love seafood.

Meat

Grilling at the wet market

Not into seafood? How about some pork or hot dogs? In the Philippines I can guarantee you that someone, somewhere is grilling up some meat for you so you won’t ever go hungry. Now if you’re a vegan like I am, it might be a little more difficult for you, but that’s an entirely different story.

TSG Tip: There are many butchers and fishmongers here like in any wet market. However, I saw a stall with live chickens stacked one on top of the other. Apparently, people will buy their chickens live to take home and butcher at home. I considered freeing the chickens and telling them to run for their lives, but didn’t think they’d get very far.

Vegetables

Veggies at the wet market

The veggies were plentiful here and I loved how they had some chopped, prepared, and all ready to go.

Wet market

Veggies at the wet market

TSG Tip: The Filipino diet is primarily meat and rice with a little vegetable, if any at all. Unfortunately, I’ve discovered that the price of vegetables can be cost prohibitive for most families. The news is always reporting on the price of vegetables skyrocketing, which makes a healthy and balanced diet here, I would think, far more difficult than I would’ve ever expected.

Fish

I wish I could insert 'smell-o-vision' into this post so you could experience the overwhelming and all engulfing smell that I experienced. Click To Tweet

Dried fish at the wet market

I wish I could insert “smell-o-vision” into this post so you could experience the overwhelming and all engulfing smell that I experienced. Yes, dried fish, fish paste, shrimp paste, and the like at a wet market is some seriously strong smelling stuff. (How’s that for alliteration?)

Dried fish at the wet market

It’s the kind of smell that goes so far deep into your lungs and nose that you can’t possibly escape it. The only thing that’s harder for me to manage is the smell of dried fish fried in oil early in the morning. That will wake you up out of a sound sleep and have you running for the hills.

Shrimp paste at the wet market

Speaking of shrimp paste, it comes in different colors and amounts, but it’s definitely a popular item in the Philippines.

TSG Tip: You’ll see street vendors selling green mango slices with shrimp paste, which is apparently a very tasty snack.

Iloilo Central Market Rizal St, Iloilo City Proper, Iloilo City, 5000 Iloilo

Iloilo Nightlife

Garaje Food District in Iloilo

What do most people want when they go out for a drink? They want something to nibble on so they can continue to enjoy the night. These pop up food courts that also serve drinks are a genius way to offer both and are an alternative to the overdone and overcrowded nightclubs of the past. Come as you are, bring your friends, and enjoy the night. That’s what a good night out is all about.

Inside Garaje Food District

I took these pictures while passing through Iloilo. It was a quiet moment without the crowds I would encounter later that evening. When I returned with my friends, we were fortunate enough to score a few seats at a table and continue drinking.

TSG Tip: On any given night in the Philippines, someone will most likely be drinking Red Horse Beer, Emperador, or a Smirnoff Mule. I highly recommend not mixing these as the outcome will not be good. One of my friends arrived late and tried to make up for his late arrival by trying to catch up. He did ok until he started drinking Smirnoff Mule and then it all went terribly wrong after that. Now I understand why there are signs all over bars showing “vomit fines.” Yeah — it’s no fun at all when one of you can’t keep it down.

Wash basin in Garaje Food District

If you have to use the toilet, check out the funky wash basin at the Garaje Food District.

Garaje Food District Tabuc Suba, Jaro Iloilo City, Philippines

Tambayan

'Tambayan' means hangout and anyone will tell you that a tambayan is always more fun than a club. Click To Tweet

Another cool concept I’ve seen while exploring Iloilo is along the lines of the food district, but is all bars. Think parking lot turned open air bar district. No frills, just drinks, and fun. One of my friends, Ryan, owns the bar Checkpoint located within El Amigo Estambayan Food Park & Car Wash in San Rafael Mandurriao. Inside the food park you’ll find several outside tambayan bars from which to choose. Not only can you drink, you can also get your car washed at the same time. Now that’s what I call multi-tasking.

Checkpoint at El Amigo Estambayan Food Park & Car Wash Brgy. San Rafael 5000 Iloilo City, Philippines

TSG Tip: “Tambayan” means hangout and anyone will tell you that a tambayan is always more fun than a club. It’s like hanging out at your home or a friend’s house. Completely unpretentious, uncomplicated, and affordable.

Passi City

Pineapple public toilet in Passi City

Located about 90 minutes north of Iloilo City is Passi City to the north in the province of Iloilo. Known for its pineapple, rice, and sugar production, Passi’s slogan is “The Sweet City at the Heart of Panay.” As the pineapple capital in the province, it only seems fitting to have a huge pineapple public restroom, don’t you think?

Bananas at a banana plantation

While in Passi, I visited a sprawling banana plantation where I was able to seek refuge under the banana leaves from the intense sun. There’s nothing better than fresh bananas. Well, maybe fresh pineapples or mangoes, but they’re all so good.

TSG Tip: Filipinos are superstitious by nature and I saw an example of this as I entered the plantation. There was a large mound of dirt that I was told to walk around not to disturb. This was not created by the plantation owner or workers and had crept up all on its own. As I passed it, I was told to say the following, “tabi-tabi po,” which means “excuse me.” The reason for this is that they believe that there are some “elements” living there and we don’t want to disturb them.

My Thoughts on Iloilo

Overall, I really enjoyed my time in Iloilo and would definitely return again for a longer visit. Don’t forget to hit up Biscocho Haus, home to fresh candies and cookies from the region. Next up, I’m headed to Bohol for a few days for some more fun in the Philippines.

Have you visited Iloilo? Can you suggest other destinations in the Philippines that you found equally exciting? Leave your comments below. Discover some other great destinations and travel ideas here on the Travel Shop Girl website .

On my new SPONTANEOUS TRAVEL SCALE of 1-5, with 1 being super easy and spontaneous and 5 being you better plan far in advance, Iloilo scores a 1 for spontaneous travel. With an abundance of buses, ferries, and air service to this area, getting here and having fun is easy to accomplish at a super affordable price.

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