#this is a direct attack on me and my frail mental health | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

itskattkm · 10 months

Text

New York New Rules Pt. 4

Warnings: Violence, Trauma, Fluff, maybe Smut, mental health, blood

Summary: Y/N meets the survivors of the last events in Woodsborrow and gets on Ghostface's list. But there is also a darkness in Y/N wich path is she going to choose

Female Y/N x Tara Carpenter

Sorry for bad writing. I'm using a translator and hope you guys can enjoy it. Also, this is going to be a slow burn

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,

I'm 11 minutes away and I have missed you all day

I'm 11 minutes away, so why aren't you here?

I think I missed you callin' on the other line

I'm just thinkin' all these thoughts up in my mind

Talkin' love but I can't even read the signs

I would sell my soul for a bit more time

You stain all on my body like you're red wine

You're the fuckin' acid to my alkaline

Stupid. Frail. Perplexed. Fearful. Offensive. Sharp and Hurt

„Y/N you rather feel nothing again" I said to myself as I stared at the ceiling of my room. I've probably been lying here for 15 minutes because 11 minutes ran at least three times in a row. In fact, this was one of my favorite songs. But why actually? I know that I have a feeling for the darkness. But why were pain and suffering so self-evident for me? No matter which movie I watched or which series. My darling was always the villain.

There are really people who just hate them because they have the title of villain. But why are they trying not to understand? What about Katherinen Pierce from the Vampire Diaries? This woman suffered and that only because she wanted to be loved and loved? She lost her family. Her child and was hunted for centuries. The man she loved hated her and didn't believe that the love between them was real. Maleficent... rejected and hunted because she was different? Kylo Ren, Star Wars... who let a big wait on his shoulders... not to forget that Luke wanted to kill him. Wanda Maximof... one of my favorites. What was wrong with creating your own world in which you could be happy? Especially if you had lost everything you had left.

Was I the evil one? Did I want to be the bad one? Sometimes I'm not sure but the feeling I felt when Tara looked at me and asked where I was during the attack... I won't forget this so quickly because at that moment I felt like one of the bad guys. But I also felt misunderstood.

Did Tara hate me? How did Tara think about me in general? Since I've been friends with Mindy, I've met her maybe five times. And we didn't talk much to each other. Most of the time our conversations were about the university. I tried to get closer to her. However, I always had the feeling that I was always failing with her. One second I thought I had full self-confidence but then a look into Tara's eyes and my brain shuts down. I had really never felt something like that before. Especially not towards a woman.

I always stayed away from relationships or physical contacts. As soon as it went in this direction, I always pulled back and hid in my bubble. However, there were days when I would have liked to go to the next bar with my dirty thoughts and have been looking for someone for a hot night.

But as I had analyzed myself so far and with the help of Dr. Stone, I knew what my problem was.

The music in my headphones stopped. I looked at my cell phone and saw that my alarm clock that I had set after talking to Sam was now active.

Should I? Shouldn't I?

"Fuck it," I said to myself and made my way to the Blackmoore. I would prove to them all that I am not Ghostface and if they do not meet me then I will also permanently delete these people from my life.

Slowly I played with the ring on my finger. It wasn't special. I didn't like fancy jewelry either. But this ring carried good memories with it and that's why I always wore it with me. When I saw the carpenters and their friends in front of the Blackmoore, I hesitated slightly. Everyone was sitting on the benches of the university and Mindy seemed to be holding a monologue. She was the only one standing in front of them and gestured around like crazy with her hands.

"Why am I doing this to myself?" I asked myself desperately and approached the group. Drier than I thought, I said "hi" when I entered the inner circle and drew all attention to me. There was a free place next to Quinn, so I sat down with her just as she opened her mouth but Tara was faster and said "you came?" I avoided her gaze and looked coolly at Mindy who looked at me with pinched eyes " Y/N Perfect timing..."

Mindy went to explain the rules and that we were in a franchise. I really famous myself to listen to her, but the voice in my head was too loud.

Don't look at Tara. You must never look her in the eyes again. Is she looking at you? Are the others watching you? Do the others know what happened at the police station? Do they know about my state of health? Did they thought I was Ghostface?

"Am I gonna die a virgin?"

Wait a minute? My full attention was back. I looked at Ethan and then at Mindy.

"Weird overshare but that brings us to our current suspects. Ethan! A shy dorky guy who no one suspects because he's so shy and dorky"

So I wasn't the only suspect? I felt a slight feeling of relief.

" Quinn! The sexy sluty roommate"

Quinn looked at Mindy slightly irritated

"Sex positive but thanks?"

"How did you come to live with Sam and Tara?" She asked but Sam answers "we put an anonymous ad online"

And Tara replied "and her dad is a cop"

Mindy took a step towards Tara and said in an aggressive tone "and that makes it more likely that she is the killer because having a cop that is a great cover! Do you not remember how this movies work Tara?!"

Now Mindy gave everything. That reminded me too well of the many discussions we had about movies. Then Mindy even suspected her own girlfriend. Like wow… this whole thing was really serious.

"Never Trust the Love interest..." she said coolly and her look was serious. Suddenly there was a tension in the group. That sounded pretty deep... I mean in the first stab film it was also the love interest, among other things.

"Y/N!" Mindy called and smiled at me dirty. I sighed, pinched my eyes briefly and looked away from the group but Mindy came one step closer to me. "my dear friend Y/N... you are also new to our group," she began.

Did she say group? What did she mean by that? Was I part of the group?

"As your best friend, I know that you are going to therapy"

Oh no Mindy, please don't. Not again. Not again. Why me? Why?

"But you never told me why you are going to therapy... would you share the reason with us?" I avoided her eyes and looked nervously at the floor. My heart was beating so fast that I felt the pulse pounding in my ears. Again I played with the ring in my finger "Mindy she doesn't have to tell us anything..." said Tara after a short silent, low-key.

Surprised, I looked at her and our eyes met.

Relief. Relief? RELIEF!!! The first word that went through my head. Did Tara just defend me? Why had she done that? And there she was again. This gentle darkness, and the little white lights, like a light at the end of the tunnel that rested me to tell me here you are safe.

Stop it. I tore my eyes off her and stared at my ring. "okay then tell us at least where you were during the attack..." I looked at Mindy "home... and you are welcome to ask Maria when I entered the building and when I left it last. As I know her, she can even tell you the exact time" Mindy nodded in agreement to me, she knew Maria "okay. Good alibi. Nevertheless, you are suspicious. You don't like to socialize and maintain the good girl, reading books and sitting at home image"

Confused, I looked at Anika, was that something good or bad?

Anika said "that's not fair, if then we are all suspects, including you"

Mindy agreed with her and said to Sam "especially Sam" confused I looked to Sam, I had the feeling of not knowing something and because of the looks of the others I could see that I was right.

After that, I turned on the conversations of the others and tried to look at everyone unobtrusively. I started with Quinn. Quinn's emotions were neutral in order not to be completely present. Anika seemed very calm and attentive. Sam seemed tense. Chad hmmm I don't have to worry about him, he was fully focused on taking notes. I wanted to skip Tara and see Ethan directly, but our eyes met. Had she been watching me? After not even a second, I broke off the look of contact again by looking at my ring. Suddenly Quinn got up, then Anika moved to Mindy. The group disbanded.

"We have to stay together, that's the only way we are safe and can rule out who the killer is," said Mindy, "you could all come to us" said Sam and now also stood up.

Did she mean me with everyone, too? How exactly did they think of all this here now?

Confused, I asked her as if I hadn't even been present at Mindys Monologue "I don't… wait, I don't look through. What's the plan now?"

Chad replied when he got up "we're going to Sam and Tara... stay together... and try not to be killed" he didn't give me more information when he left. Chad, were you serious? Confused, I looked after the others when they were almost gone.

And then I suddenly noticed a person next to me. Before I could turn around, there was a hand on my right forearm. And then I was back in the tunnel... tried to get to the light. "Come to us tonight and we can tell you everything," Tara whispered to me, slowing down my nervous pulse. I could listen to her for hours when she talked to me like that. It was so reassuring. Warm. Pleasant. Right.

Her eyes fell on Sam when she nodded in agreement with Tara "maybe you can bring another pizza right away," she said and slightly raised the corners of her mouth. Tara pressed my arm slightly and looked at me at with bright eyes "by the way thank you for the pizza... after this hangover I needed it".

What was that feeling at once? Joy or nervousness? I had to smile unconsciously and nodded "special wishes?"

Tara snapped her finger and began to list different toppings and looked at Sam to see if she agreed with her "The main thing Jalapeños... registered" I said and stood up. "You have our address?" Sam asked again and I nodded in agreement. She raised the corners of her mouth again before putting her hands in her jacket and set off. Tara followed her.

Before my brain realized what my body was doing, I grabbed Tara's hand and hoped she would turn to me again

"Why did you help me earlier?"

And again this pure placid and sweetness to recognize in her face "what happened in the police station was just fucked up" we both had to laugh about her word choice and Tara's dimpels came to light.

Damn, how could Tara be so beautiful?

Okay, pull yourself together Y/N! How was that again with Tara? Never looking into the eyes again? Now I just wanted to sink into them and that even though I could never keep eye contact. Simp

"And I wouldn't want that either... if I imagined that someone would have done that to Sam..." she looked back briefly to the her. Sam stood a few meters away from us and waited for Tara "and see that as a leap of faith Y/L/N... don't spoil it" dryly I laughed and shook my head "I wouldn't even have a good motive" she squeezed my hand briefly.

Did we hold our hands all the time? How could I miss that? I mean... with this face you forget everything, she gave me a grin with sharp eyes and whispered "but there's always a motive" and then she disappeared.

#actress #fanfiction #jenna ortega #ghostface #melissa barrera #samantha carpenter #scream #tara carpenter #vada cavell #wednesday #tara carpenter x you #tara carpenter x reader #jenna ortega x reader

87 notes · View notes

wickedgamesoyaoya · 3 years

Note

Jan :) Fluff with 11) for Atsumu 🥺 written format is cool .It would be nice if y/n would say the dialogue, please don't include anything about mental health issues.

:) Thank you -☄️

Do not fall in love with Miya Atsumu. You cannot fall in love with Miya Atsumu. No, you should not fall in love with Miya Atsumu. The warnings attached to the blonde MSBY setter were sewn into your memory, and at the start, the stitches were impenetrable. He was merely your roommate, someone you shared housing with – a friend at best.

You would not fall in love with Miya Atsumu.

Not when he smiles at you with a warmth that swells your heart. Not when he shows up at your workplace spontaneously with your favourite takeout in hand. Certainly not when he drapes a blanket over you when you accidentally fall asleep on the couch again.

But how can you not fall in love – when those stitches you were desperately clinging to, were slowly coming undone.

Before you did not bat an eyelash when he would stumble into the apartment after a night out with his friends. But last week, you caught a whiff of an unknown scent on his jacket and your chest was instantly seized by the ribbons of heartache. It should have not hurt – but it did. So, the following day, you found yourself on a dating app, swiping through numerous faces, hoping one will replace the smiling setter stuck in your head.

You need to reinforce the thread by any means possible, and so you begin by instilling space. Six days later, your path had only crossed with his twice – two accidental meetings. Once, at midnight when you were 100% positive, he was asleep. You were midway into your bowl of cereal when he emerged from his bedroom with his blonde strands pointing out in various directions. His fingers sought to tame the mop of hair as he softly asked if he could join you. Refusing him proved fruitless, and you ended up talking for an hour, before excusing yourself. If you weren’t mumbling curses under your breath at your “moment of weakness”, you would have heard his parting words – I miss you.

The second meeting occurred when you were on your way out of the apartment to complete a chore. Just as you entered the hallway, you came face to face with the one you were aiming to avoid. In effort to keep the conversation short, you quickly explained that you had to leave. But before you could reach the safety of the elevator, he reminded you to be safe, and the concern weaved into his words only amplified the emptiness you were wrestling with, depriving you of your resolve to maintain the distance.

The plan was to surprise him with a tasty treat, one that you had specially ordered from his favourite bakery. When you received the notification to meet the carrier downstairs, you slipped into a comfortable outfit then fetched your keys. However, before you could exit the apartment, Atsumu caught your wrist. An inquisitive expression crossed your features as you turned around to face your roommate.

“‘Tsumu?”

“I don’t want ya to go.” The explanation was exhaled with an absence of confidence, instead the words were infused with a disguised passion he was failing to suppress. “I don’t want ya to go on your date.” A small pout formed on his mouth, and if only you had his permission, you would have kissed it away. “I saw yer calendar…”

Your calendar? Squinting at the taller male, you tried to process and pinpoint what exactly he was misinterpreting.

“We are not on the same page right now, are we?” Shaking your head, your eyes fixed on his weakening grip. Under other circumstances the contact would have bloomed the buds of hope residing inside of your garden of adoration. But right now, your curiosity had overwhelmed your desires. “I’m pretty sure I wrote dates, not date.”

“Yer goin’ on multiple!?” A concoction of emotions danced in his widened eyes as his mouth slightly fell open.

“‘Tsumu. Come with me.” Exhaling out a gentle titter, you gently weaved your fingers through his. You should not be holding his hand – but the threads are frail and seconds from breaking now.

“Are we goin’ outside?” The blood rushing to his cheeks coloured his skin, as a hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.

“No, just wait.”

He followed close behind you, as you led him through the hallway. Once you entered the confines of the elevator, you stood side by side, soundlessly. It was extremely difficult not to notice how perfectly his hand fit with yours, or how the pads of his fingers lightly caressed your skin. Neither of you sought to eliminate the silence, not until you reached the lobby.

“Oh. Hello, are you Miss L/N?” The uniformed male read out the name printed on the package, then waited for confirmation. Beside you, the MSBY setter had his eyebrows furrowed, but some of his panic had faltered.

“Yeah. Hi.” A half smile was presented towards the postal worker, who handed you the source of the misunderstanding.

“Perfect. Here are the chocolate covered dates you ordered.”

Once the male disclosed the contents of the box, you allowed your y/e/c irises to drift in the blonde’s direction. With the reality of the situation clicking into place, relief led Atsumu to release his partially scrunched-up features.

“I was gonna have a heart attack.” Atsumu smacked a palm against his forehead, prompting your eyebrows to curve in amusement.

“I bought these for you, since you mentioned you liked the ones you had at Bokuto’s party. I wasn’t going on a date. Not that it should matter.” You strived to remain calm, feigning indifference. But his hand was still linked with yours, and you were practically suffocating from the flowers of hope sprouting inside of your lungs.

“What do ya mean? I… don’t want ya goin’ out with someone else!” Disbelief struck him visually but there were also slivers of insecurity in his eyes. “I was scared that I did something to ya, since you’ve been avoidin’ me. Then I saw yer calendar…”

“This may have not been a real date, but I will see someone eventually you know.” No longer able to maintain eye contact, you averted your attention to the box within your grasp.

Eventually was the key word – would you ever love someone more than you love him?

“Yeah. Yer gonna be seeing me.” The scoff accompanying his words showcased his genuine bewilderment. Yet you pushed on anyway.

“‘Tsumu. We’re just roommates.”

“No, we’re not. If we were only roommates, I wouldn’t be thinkin’ about ya every second of the day. I wouldn’t be wantin’ to be kissin’ your lips. And I know ya feel the same way too. No one has ever stayed with me for this long, and this.” A small gesture was administered towards the box of dates. “Ya wouldn’t go out of your way for someone unless they were more than a roommate.”

Instinctively your gaze returned to his, and immediately you scanned his face for any indication of deceit.

Was this really happening?

“…I’m not supposed to fall in love with you.” You pathetically admitted, which only drew out a chuckle from him.

“Yeah, well ya already did.”

Within seconds his mouth descended onto yours, while his freehand supported your neck. The kiss applied to your lips was far from gentle, a mere consequence of having suppressed his feelings for numerous months. He kept you pressed against him for a minute, not minding those who walked by. You would have been thoroughly embarrassed if you weren’t drowning in joy.

So yes. You fell in love with Miya Atsumu, but turns out, he fell in love with you too.

A/N: I am sorry this took 5ever!! I hope you liked this! <3 I wrote it slightly differently from my other stuff, but I’d like to think its okay-ish ahah

General taglist: @haikyuufairy @newfriendjen @lvoejimin @moonlightaangel @gyozaaaaa @byun-nies @thevillagehiddenintheinternet @amberalisa @graykageyama @yourstarvic @chaichai-the-weeb @chibishae34 @haikyuusimp91 @volleybloop @rajablast @idiot-juice-enthusiast @melonmayhere @cuddlesslut @athenarosaline @memes-and-money @coconut-dreamz @elianetsantana @tsumume @tsukkismamagucci @the-golden-jhope @camcam1617 @ivsahi @prettyforpapiiwa @swoonhui @neobakas @elephantloser @dreamstormings @rintarawr @anejuuuuoy @thatthangwasthangin

#haikyuu imagines #haikyuu atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu scenarios #atsumu miya #atsumu x you #atsumu x y/n #atsumu fluff

121 notes · View notes

weelittleweasley · 3 years

Text

Amnesia (p2) | Draco x Reader

If you have not read part one, you can find it here!!

Prompt: After proper diagnosis and treatment, your Healer informs you that your amnesia has effected your most recent memories. These memories include your life as a upperclassman at Hogwarts, your knowledge and skills, and arguable the most important thing to you: your relationship with Draco. When Draco hears of your condition, he is overwhelmed and scared to say the least. You two are now strangers. What happens in Part Two of this multipart series?

Warnings: memory loss, nightmares, PTSD, anxiety, mentions of death

Word Count: 6.3k

A/N: This part is a slow burn, but just trust me. Shit will hit the fan soon.

This story is not about romanticizing mental health issues. These are serious conditions and this story is not meant to romanticize or fantasize these topics. It’s used as a vessel to convey a different story. That being said, please take care of yourself and sending everyone lots of love. Thank you for coming back for part two :)

Flashbacks told in italics!

Draco watched you from the window that saw into your hospital room, his nerves and terror eating away inside of him. How was he supposed to keep calm when the love of his life almost died days ago and now does not remember a single detail of their relationship? He ran his hands through his matted platinum blonde hair before covering his face and letting out a sigh that was full of mixed emotions. He was going to fall apart in seconds if it were for your Healer passing by, so he could ask him questions about your recovery.

“So her memory is gone?” he frantically asks, pleading that the answer is no. That would just mean so much time and love and energy that you both had put into this relationship was being washed down the drain.

The Healer places a firm, yet reassuring hand on Draco’s shoulder. “Not gone,” he speaks as Draco lets out a breath he was holding. “Temporarily lost you can say. Her memories can come back to her in random spurts or all at once. The brain is very complicated and everyone reacts differently. It could take anywhere from two days to two weeks for her to remember. There are rare cases, but it is possible, that it could be a few months for her to recover,” the Healer tells Draco as Draco swallows hard.

If it was going to take you months to remember your relationship with Draco, the boy would go mad. He needed you to remember who he was and what your relationship was like so you could both move on and live the life you had planned when you were students at Hogwarts weeks before. Draco dreamt of what it would be like when you two finally got away from the chaos. He pictured you two settling down somewhere remote, in a cottage somewhere in the countryside, maybe out of England. He pictured you having a lot of land, somewhere you could both enjoy nature and its scenic views. He imagined you with your beaming smile in one of your favorite sundresses, laying in the grass, reading a book whilst you laid your head in his lap. He would stroke your hair and watching you crinkle your nose as you laughed at something he said, him relishing in the regality of your beauty. He felt unworthy to look at something so rare and so beautifully genuine.

Draco snaps back into reality from his daydream and speaks, “Are you sure there isn’t a charm or spell of some sort that you could use to jog her memory? Do muggles have something that you could possibly use?” Draco was desperate for an answer, a sign, a solution, something.

The Healer just smiles lightly and shakes his head. “If there was, my boy, we would have used it,” he tells him. “I’m sorry you two are going through this. I can imagine it is hard for you, but just imagine how difficult it is for her. The best thing you can do for her right now is be there for her. When she remembers, I have no doubt that your relationship will be stronger than ever.”

-------

And so Draco was there for you. Even though visitor’s hours were over, Draco stayed in the waiting room in case anything happened. Not even your parents did this. Your parents went home and told you they would be back in the morning, confident that you were in good hands with the Healers. Draco could never be too sure. You could remember him overnight and desperately need him. You could remember something about Hogwarts and need answers, to which he would be right at your side. So in the waiting room he stayed, waiting in case you needed anything.

The ex-Slytherin prince was exhausted to say the least. He hadn’t slept since the battle, too afraid to close his eyes and see what his mind conjured. He feared he would see the eyes of his father, burning into him full of anger and disgust; his only child, his only son, betraying the family to run off with some girl. Draco feared he would see the eyes of the Dark Lord although he was dead, he feared he would find his way into Draco’s mind and into his dreams. Draco didn’t even want to think about if he saw his mother in his dreams. How he abandoned her, leaving her alone to her own devices. Worst of all, Draco knew that in his nightmares he would see you, getting hurt, pulled away from him as he clawed at his father to let him go. Draco knew he would see your limp body, bloody and frail as they carried you away to a medic. He couldn’t face his dreams; they were far too scarier than his reality.

Exhaustion pulsated throughout your body before your heavy eyelids fell, you immediately falling asleep with the help of the pain potion given to you. Today was overwhelming for you; too much has happened for your brain to process adequately. You were relieved to see your parents and Ron and Hermione, but now your diagnosis and this whole Draco situation just made things worse than you had expected. How could you just forget a whole relationship with someone that had lasted almost two years? It just didn’t seem or feel real.

You were peacefully asleep, but that’s when your dreams started for the night. Although your body was at peace, your mind raced. In your dreams, you saw flashes of fire, the screams of people echoing in the halls. Stones and rubble were all around you, bodies, dead and alive, all around. Panic entered your veins as you felt your heart sink. You’re running as fast as your legs can allow you. The taste of iron is in your mouth as you scream, your lungs burning and hot tears running down your face. You’re screaming for someone, but the words don’t come out. It’s just a scream. Chaos is growing around you as see people who you once knew die before you in the matter of seconds. Somehow you cannot control yourself in your dream as you try to run over to your friends in need, but your legs are planted. You have become stone. You see Ron from across the hall and you want to run to him, knowing that he’ll keep you safe. He’ll protect you from whatever was happening.

But before you can run to Ron, your body pulls you in the opposite direction. You want to call out for Ron, but his name doesn’t come out. Instead, your screaming something else, but you can’t make out what. Before you can even register where you are going, you look above you and see a large boulder, making its way down to crash down on you.

And that’s when you scream. The sound is rippling through your body as you sit up straight in your bed, eyes darting open. You stop screaming when you realize it was all a dream, a nightmare rather. Why did it all feel real? The pain in your head is creeping back up as your brain throbs as you catch your breath. Your heart is beating through your chest as sweat slowly drips down your temples. Hot and cold flashes ripple through your body as you clinch onto the white hospital sheets for dear life. Frantically, you look around the room to see if anyone was around you to come to your rescue. Were your parents still here? Ron? Anyone?

In that instant, the door flings open and there was the boy you were supposed to be in love with, his blonde hair pushed in front of his face, a panicked look in his eyes.

When Draco heard the scream, he knew it was you in an instant. He could recognize your voice easily, whether it was in joy or in pain. Draco knew you better than he knew himself. His heart sunk to his stomach at your cry and he leaped to his feet. The worst thoughts came to his mind, thinking that something awful had happened to you. Did someone come into your room and try to attack you? Was he not dead? Was it his father?

Before he could answer any of these questions, he had practically knocked the door down just to see you sitting up straight in bed, your face covered in panic, horror, and sadness. The sight was gut wrenching. Draco wanted to run to your side, pepper your face in kisses, stroke your hair with his fingers, and tell you that he was right beside you and going nowhere; he would be there to protect you. But instead of doing so, in fear of frightening you more in your vulnerable moment, he just makes his presence known.

“Are you alright?” he asks, gently and slowly, still half standing in the doorway, half in the room in case you asked him to leave.

You take a look at the boy in front of you and wondered why he was still here in the first place. It was the middle of the night; not even your parents were here. Why did a boy you barely knew decide to stay here overnight? You don’t entertain the thought any further. “Bad dream,” you simply tell him, rubbing your eyes.

Draco understood, there was no need to ask you any further questions. He knew that you needed time and space. The last thing he wanted to do was overwhelm you further.

Out of curiosity, you ask him, “What are you still doing here? It’s late.”

Draco sighs, “Uh, I just wanted to make sure that you were alright. That if you needed anything someone would be here for you. Besides, I don’t have anywhere to go...” he trails off the last sentence sadly. He ran away from his mother, there was no home for Draco right now. He was alone. And without you? He was more alone than ever before.

You both look at each other for a few moments, breathing the moment in through your nose and out of your mouths. You took the time to really take a good look at Draco. He looked exhausted; heavy bags under his eyes that pulled all the way down to the tops of his cheekbones. His hair flopped lazily in front of his face. As sad as he looked, there was something almost angelic about him in this moment. The medic lights that flickered over his head dully almost made a halo above his head as he stared upon you with the most loving, sad expression you have ever seen. You could see how a previous version of yourself fell in love. He was undeniably handsome and there was something that was absolutely magnetic about him. You wanted to be around him for some reason.

Draco interrupts your thoughts, “I’ll be just outside if you need me.”

He tries to slither out of the door before you stop him, not even register what you are saying until the words fall out of your mouth.

“Stay with me,” you call to him, rather than asking him like you would have preferred.

He stops dead in his tracks and turns to you, a confused expression on his face. Did you remember him? Was this your way of telling him?

You inhale, “I just don’t want to be alone.” It was true, you didn’t want to be alone again with you and your nightmares in fear it would attack again when you closed your eyes. “My dreams are scary,” you confess. “They seem real.”

In that moment Draco knew that the dreams you were having weren’t really dreams; they were flashbacks. He had them too when he closed his eyes. Draco knew exactly what you saw and there was no need to explain. He was just happy that you asked him to stay with you. “Of course,” he gives you a small smile, preventing a larger one from appearing on his tired face.

Draco slowly closes the door behind him before making his way to the chair near your bedside. He sits in the chair slowly and offers you a small smile. You return one to him with a small sigh. You wanted to go to sleep, but also were afraid of what you would see again. Would you dream of the same thing again? Or something worse? Would this happen all the time?

You watch the ceiling for a few moments before speaking to Draco, “I’m afraid of closing my eyes.” You turn to him to watch his reaction and he gives you a sympathetic look.

“I am, too,” he confesses. “I see old memories that replay in my head. Horrible things. Things I did, things I bore witness to, things I tried to stop...” he looks at you sadly. It was like you both understood where the other came from. There was an unspeakable understanding that just reassured the other that they were not alone. Although you don’t remember much of Malfoy besides the limited encounters with him, you can’t help but feel bad for him. He had obviously been fighting something and you wished that it would leave him alone. “Did you want to talk about what you saw?” he asked you. You shook your head and he gave you a smile. “That’s alright. You should try and fall asleep at least. You are in recovery from a nasty injury, let’s not forget that,” he teases as you smile. He loved your smile.

You lay back a little further in your bed relaxing. “Malfoy?” you ask as Draco’s ears perk up to his name being dropped from your lips. “Were we in love?” you ask, surprising him and yourself. But if you were going to remember the boy, you had to know if you loved him.

Draco thought to himself, Were we in love? As much as I breathe. But he doesn’t say that. “We were,” he smiles lightly at the memory when you would look at him with love glistening in your eyes, brushing his hair with your fingers as he would pull you in close by your hips, placing a gentle kiss to your forehead, then your nose, then your lips. The boy loved you with every fiber in his being. “Madly,” he adds with a laugh.

As he says that, your curiosity peaks. You two must have had a beautiful relationship if he claimed you were madly in love. That was not a light statement. Without further consideration, you ask him, “Can you tell me the story? Of how we fell in love?” Draco’s eyes widen when he looks at you. “It’ll help jog my memory...I also just want to know,” you tease, making him laugh. His laugh made goosebumps appear on your forearms.

Where to start, Draco thinks. He could tell you about the story of the moment he knew that he wanted to make you his, your first date, when he asked you to be his girlfriend, the moment he told you that he loved you for the first time. There were so many good memories that he had of the two of you, it was hard to choose just one. “How about this,” he proposes, “I’ll start wherever you don’t remember. With each day, I’ll tell you a new story.”

His proposition made you smile. It seemed promising. “How do I know I’ll see you every day for a new story?” you ask, raising your brows.

Your expression made Draco smile. That teasing little smile that played on your lips was one he was so fond of. “I’ll make sure of it. That’s a promise,” he tells you. “Pinky promise.” He sticks out his left pinky finger as you loop yours with his, squeezing it. Instinctively, you kiss your thumb and Draco does the same. Your eyes widen, shocked that he did the same thing as you. You would kiss your thumb after a pinky promise ever since you were a child with your mum. As if he read your thoughts, Draco said, “I remember a lot of things, (Y/N). We also used to do that a lot.”

His words bring a smile to your face as you let go and giggle at the boy in the chair. “Alright, let me think,” you state. You scan your memory for what you remember of Draco. You remember meeting him that first night you arrived to Hogwarts when he made fun of you of being friends with Ron, you remember him teasing you in your charms class because you came to class with bedhead, running late, you remember sitting next to him at the Triwizard Tournament and stomping on his foot when he said he wished the dragon got Harry, you remember when Umbridge busted you and your friends for learning defensive magic and Draco being the first person you saw when you exited the room of requirement. “The last thing I remember was when Umbridge busted Harry and all of us for learning defensive magic behind her back. You were there and you made a comment at me. I remember being mad about it and you stood a smirked at me,” you push his arm.

Draco laughs, “Sounds about right.” You roll your eyes, turning your body gently to face Draco before he began the story. Draco had to stop himself from getting distracted at the way you looked at him, excitement in your eyes as he started his story. Your wispy pieces of hair floated over your head like a fuzzy halo, his heart fluttered at the sight. Merlin, I love you, he thought to himself. “Alright, let’s see,” he starts.

After being busted by Umbridge, you were under high surveillance. Not much to do for fun around Hogwarts anymore. No more gatherings after a certain time, no common room study sessions, the library closed after a particular hour, and not to mention boys and girls had to be separated by 8 feet. How was anyone supposed to have fun outside of academia anymore? Even Hermione belly ached about how bored she was.

You should have expected your secret meetings to have been busted. When you heard that Umbridge had rodeoed a select few students to be on a watch patrol, you knew that their leader, Draco Malfoy, would go to the ends of the Earth if it meant busting Harry Potter. You wondered if the boy really found joy in being a dickhead to people. Although the conversations you had with Draco were limited, you could tell that some of it was a show that he put on for his other Slytherin friends. It’s like they expected him to be an arse before they even met him. Regardless, the point was that Draco was always blunt and rude around you and his company was not your preferred company.

In the library, there you were, sat at a small table during your off period, scribbling some answers down to some last minute Potions homework that you knew if you didn’t get done, Snape would have your head on a silver plate. As you scribble down your answers in a frantic fury, you don’t even notice Malfoy enter the library, his sightline going straight to you. He smiled when he saw you sitting at the table, immersed in your work, hands pulling at your own hair gently. You were a sight for sore eyes. Draco always took notice of you at Hogwarts, he just never made a move because you never left the damned Gryffindor common room.

You didn’t even notice Draco in front of you until he hovered above you, startling you. “Merlin, Malfoy,” you jump. “What do you want? And stay eight feet away, you git. I don’t need to get into more trouble with Umbridge. You have already done enough damage,” you sneer at him.

Draco thought it was adorable when you were cross. “I came to ask you out,” he simply states. He doesn’t explain himself further. He just sits beside you at the table in the library, a smug grin on his face like you said yes to his proposition.

“What makes you think that I would want to go out with someone like you,” venom drips from your cherry flavored lips as Draco smirks. Your words did nothing to him. Oh, how that would change very quickly. “You’ve been nothing but cruel to me and my friends and now, all of a sudden you want to ask me on a date? You’re out of your bloody mind.” You continue to finish your Potions homework before Draco plucks the textbook from underneath you.

Before you can protest to his actions, he speaks, “Someone like me? And what would that be? Handsome, charming, intelligent, and funny? Sounds like a real bore,” he jokes. Merlin, he had a big head. “Not to mention, this hasn’t come all of a sudden. I’ve had my eyes on you for a while, (Y/L/N). I just haven’t mustered up the courage to ask you out properly. So here I am,” he leans on his elbow on the table, a shit eating grin on his face that you would love to smack off. “I need an answer, darling. Or else Professor Snape’s homework will just have to wait...”

You roll your eyes, “The answer you’re looking for is not the one you desire. Besides, even if I said yes, what would we even do? It’s not like we have any freedom here. We’re under constant watch.”

Draco laughs at your naiveté. “I thought you were brighter than this, (Y/L/N). I have my tricks. You can get away with a lot when you’re a Malfoy,” he pushes a strand of hair out of your face as he said this, you slapping it away as he does so. “Play nice,” he teases. “Your homework is on the line.”

Anger bubbled in your stomach, but for some reason his argument seemed to be compelling. What did he have planned? “What exactly are you thinking of doing, Malfoy?” you lean in, teasing him further as he smiles, thinking he’s won. Instead, you just pluck your textbook back from his hands, smiling as you do so. You beat him at his own game. This just made the boy more enthralled with you.

“Ah, that’s for me to know and you to find out, darling,” he speaks. “So, I take it you’re interested?” he asks, wiggling his brows.

You really hated to admit that you were interested in his offer, curiosity getting the best of you, as it usually did. You huff, brush your hair to one side. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” you admit, a smile pulling at the corner of your mouth. This was so unlike you.

Draco let a chuckle escape from his lips. “Brilliant. 7pm. Stay in the Gryffindor common room. I’ll come to you. I’ll see you then, kitten,” he purrs, leaving just as quickly as he came.

As Draco wraps up the story, you stare in disbelief. “There was no way I fell for that line,” you tell him, sitting up from your position in your hospital bed. “I really said yes to that cheese ball line?”

“How could you not?” he retorts. “I’m suave,” he jokes, making you laugh as you threw your head back. The sight of you laughing was enough to melt every single one of Draco’s fears. The way your nose crinkled as you laugh, your eyes squeezed shut, melodious laughter falling from your parted lips. “You’re beautiful when you laugh,” he tells you, unable to hold back his thoughts. That was Draco’s weakness. He could never lie to you. He always told you what he was thinking. It was his best quality and yet his downfall.

His compliment makes you blush and look away from him. You weren’t uncomfortable from the comment, but you were just taken aback. Draco was someone who you barely remembered, yet you had such visceral reactions when you were with him. He brought you confusion and comfort that was oddly satisfying. You decide to change the subject. “So tell me about our first date. What did you end up doing that was so spectacular that make me stay?” you ask through a large yawn.

Draco smiles as you cover your mouth, you were obviously exhausted. “I said one story a day, you sneak,” he smiles at you. “Besides, I don’t think you would be awake for the most of it. You look exhausted. I think you should get some rest,” he rises from the chair. He was right. You were even more exhausted than you were before. You pull the covers back over your body, cuddling into the thin sheets. Draco watches as you get settled in your bed, gently smiling at how you pulled the sheet all the way up to your chin like you always did before bed. He remembers how you would always sneak into his bed at Hogwarts; you always preferred his silk sheets to your cotton ones. “Sweet dreams, (Y/N).”

The platinum blonde boy walks to the door before a thought intrudes your mind. What was the harm in speaking it? “Draco?” you call his name cautiously. He turns around to face you, eyebrows raised. You slowly pull the sheets open. “Do you wanna sleep next to me?” you ask slowly, treading lightly. You gave him the offer mostly because you felt bad about him having to sleep in a hospital waiting room until morning. Those chairs were wildly uncomfortable and no one should be forced to sleep there by themselves. But there was part of you that wanted Draco with you. There was an aura about him that reminded you of home. The way he could make you smile with just a dumb sentence was comforting. He felt familiar; like you could remember some pieces of him. Maybe if he stayed with you tonight, all the memories would come back. Maybe his touch would awaken something in you.

At the offer, Draco wanted to scream yes and climb into bed with you, snuggled next to your side, breathing in your all too familiar scent. But he didn’t want to overwhelm you. He had to tread lightly, make sure that you were comfortable. “Are you sure?” he asks, genuinely wanting to know if that was alright. “I can just stay in the waiting room, it really is no problem.”

You shake your head. “I’m positive...I want you to stay with me,” you tell him. “I could be rushing it or I could be crazy, but I think that maybe you staying with me might be helpful...for my memory.”

How could Draco argue with that logic? He smiled and closed the door, trying to hide his excitement. He took off his patent leather shoes and peeling off his blazer, getting himself comfortable before climbing next to you in bed. The hospital bed was arguable just as uncomfortable as the waiting room chairs in Draco’s opinion, but you in bed with him made it all better. Draco slid one arm carefully around your shoulder as to not disturb any painful areas. Although the gesture should have been romantic or comforting, it just felt awkward.

You both just laid there for a moment, awkwardly laying before you give in to his touch, resting your head on his chest. Within an instant, the two of you let out a breath that you were holding in, melting into each other’s touch. This position of you resting on his chest, hearing his heartbeat made something inside you click. It did feel familiar. Something about it was familiar.

The two of you don’t speak any words to each other. You both lay there, waiting for the other to say something. But no one says anything. What is there to be said? You allow yourself to slowly fall asleep to the slow drum of Draco’s heartbeat in your ear through his chest as Draco follows only after you are sound asleep. He knew that he could sleep once you were.

-----

As you drift back off into sleep, another dream kicks back in. This one not nearly as horrifying as the last. In fact, it was quite endearing. You aren’t at Hogwarts. You’re somewhere else. Someone’s home. It’s not yours, that’s for sure. The house was smaller, but had a large winding staircase. It isn’t until you hear multiple voices in your head that you instantly recognize where you are. It was undeniably the Burrow. Weasley’s. A smile forms on your face when you recognize your surroundings.

In this dream of a memory, it’s Christmas time. Molly Weasley in the kitchen, cooking, something delicious smelling of sage and rosemary. Fred and George are in the backyard, building what looks like a fort of some kind, their efforts failing miserably when Ginny runs into the fort, causing it to fall down. A giggle escapes your lips.

You walk further around the house and recognize it more and more with every step. The Weasley home felt like a second home to you. So much so that Molly knew how to cook your eggs and knew the difference between yours and Ginny’s uniforms and Arthur had put a coat hanger in the side hall for you when you were over. You were here almost as often as your own childhood home. Your parents travelled a lot for work and you spent Christmas at Burrow maybe two or three times. This year was undeniably when you were in year four with Ron. You know it to be so because of Ron’s horrid haircut that you teased him about that whole year.

As if one cue, Ron appears and pulls you to the other room and suddenly you are on the couch, a mug of hot chocolate in your hands. Ron is telling you about a prank that George had planted in Percy’s room for when he came home. You have the feeling of undeniable joy in your chest and your cheeks hurt from smiling. Have you ever had this feeling before? The two of you were laughing at the other and expressing your joy and excitement for the holiday, focusing on the company of the other. You loved spending Christmas with the Weasleys because you knew that you would have more time to bond with Ron. Ron was your first friend at Hogwarts and he was the one who introduced you to Hermione and Harry. Ron was the one to push you to go after what you wanted. Ron was your best friend and other half. Undeniably.

In this dream, Ron looks at you in your eyes with a cheeky grin on his face and says, “I am so glad you’re here for Christmas. It makes things so much better.” He pulls you into a tight hug and kisses your forehead. “I love you.”

Before you can process the words, you speak out, “I love you more, Weasley.”

Your eyes shoot open and you slowly sit up. You were all kinds of confused. Ron Weasley? He was your best friend, sure, but the feeling you got during the dream was not one that a best friend should have. Your face was flushed, cheeks a bright shade of red. Were you blushing? Your heart beat was racing and your mouth was dry. The image of Ron smiling at you, his arm around your shoulder sticks out in your mind. Him saying I love you plays on repeat like a broken record. What was happening? This went against everything you knew and what people told you you were supposed to feel? Ron wasn’t your boyfriend; Draco was.

Draco.

You look next to you to see Draco still peacefully asleep, lips parting that allowed light snores to escape. His arm was still draped around your figure which you once found comforting, but now you found alarming. Careful not to wake him up, you peel his arm from around you and onto his lap. His touch now was now foreign. How did this all take a 360 within a few hours?

Casting the thoughts out of your brain, you turn over to the other side of the small bed, back to Draco, trying to fall back asleep, hoping that Draco didn’t notice the change of position. You let your heavy eyelids bring you to sleep, but unbeknownst to you, Draco does notice that you are no longer peacefully asleep on his chest. But he doesn’t say anything. Disappointed, he just takes note of it and closes his eyes, but he can’t fall asleep.

-------

The morning light streams in just as quickly as it left and gently wakes you up. The light hurts your head and makes you wince in pain, softly clutching your head. You sit up slowly and rub your eyes with the heel of your free hand, trying to rid the sleep from your eyes. As you let your eyes focus again, you see Draco is sitting in the chair beside your bed like he was like night, trying his shoes. “Morning, sleepyhead,” he smiles at you. You let out a groggy morning. “The Healer left you another pain potion for this morning. He said to take it as soon as you wake up and then you are good to be discharged and go home,” Draco reports.

The thought of going home made you excited, but nervous. Home was always nice and being your parents at a time like this was definitely something you needed. However, your childhood home didn’t feel like much of a home after your time at Hogwarts, especially since your parents were always traveling and were rarely home even on holidays. If anything, home meant going back to Hogwarts or alternatively going back to the Burrow with the Weasleys...

Shaking your head, you return yourself to the current conversation. “Sounds great,” you smile and take the pain potion from off the nightstand, drinking from the small vile, contorting your face in disgust after, the fowl taste lingering on your tongue. Draco laughs as you do so. “I hate the taste,” you blush, wiping your mouth. “Are my parents here to pick me up?” you ask Draco.

“I’m not sure,” he says. “I can check with the Healer and see if your parents called or not. If not, I can always take you home. I have no problem seeing that you get back safely,” he offers with a gentle smile as you nod. “Great,” he breathes out. “Let me check for you.”

Draco moves to the door and opens it up only to reveal Ron Weasley standing there, fresh eyed and with a small smile on his face that fades when his eyes land on Draco’s. “Weasley,” Draco greets. “I was just going to grab the Healer. (Y/N)’s been discharged.”

Ron shakes his head, “I know. I’m here to pick her up.” Ron glances to you and smiles before sending you a wink. Your heart stops in your chest and your eyes widen. Something that was a friendly gesture between you and Ron now has new meaning after last night’s dream/memory. What was going on?

Interrupting your thoughts, Draco looks to Ron and says, “You’re picking up, (Y/N)? Where are her parents?”

“Is there a problem with me picking (Y/N) up? I’m her best mate after all. Plus, her parents asked me if I could whilst they dealt with preparing her room and treatments for her arrival home,” Ron pushes past Draco and straight to you. “Morning, darling. I have fresh clothes for you and your mum is making breakfast for you back at your house. Ready?”

You look back and forth between Ron and Draco and the tension between the two is palpable. You thought that Draco and Harry had problems? This was another level. “Um, yeah, I guess so,” you reply to Ron while looking at Draco who shakes his head, understanding completely. Your parents had sent Ron for you. You didn’t need Draco. Draco just gives you a small smile before walking to the door. “Wait, Draco,” you call for him like you did last night. “I’ll see you again, right? You owe me a story,” you gently smile.

Draco lets a pink hue reach his cheeks. “You’ll see me again, darling. I promise,” he tells you. “I’m not going anywhere,” he says, this directed toward Ron this time. “Until then, love,” he winks at you before walking out of the room and down the hospital corridor.

Of course, Draco wished he could be the one taking you home from the hospital. He wanted to be with you every step of the way on your recovery. Draco wanted to hold your hand and guide you through every bump in the road. But if this is what you wanted, he had to respect that. He would have his time. He was sure of it. You would come around.

Meanwhile, you changed in the bathroom into the fresh clothes Ron had brought with him. The soft cotton of your clothes made you sigh in relief, it was so much better than that itchy hospital gown. You emerge from the bathroom, straightening out your hoodie before breathing out, “Let’s go home.”

“Brilliant,” Ron beams, guiding you out of the room, his hand on the small of your back. The action makes you gasp a little bit, but you eventually relax and calm yourself down. It’s a friendly thing, (Y/N). Merlin.

The two of you exit in the hospital, leaving behind all of your fears and worries, ready to face whatever obstacle with a newfound confidence. As you climb into the car, Ron starts it and drives away from the hospital, the radio playing whatever muggle music the channel had to offer. The car ride is mostly quiet except for a few exchanges, but that’s when you notice Ron isn’t taking you back to your childhood home. Rather, you are going somewhere else.

“Ronald Weasley,” you furrow your brows. “This isn’t the way home to my parent’s house...where are you taking me?”

Ron doesn’t hide the cheeky grin from his face. “We’re going home alright,” he laughs. “Just my house.”

The Burrow. Merlin, help you.

249 notes · View notes

conditionaljewel · 5 years

Text

I have been experiencing a bit of a revelation as of late when it comes to my body, my well-being, and my existence.

Last week I made the discovery that I have put on a considerable amount of weight. At the beginning of last year, I used to weigh 160 pounds. When I weighed myself last week, I was up to 190. And for a minute I was a little disheartened and upset by it, because I was trying so very hard to maintain a lower weight and figure.

But then I took a long hard look at myself in the mirror, really started to examine myself, and touch my body in ways I hadn’t in a long time. In that period of reflection, I realized that my body looks a lot better now than it did before at my lower weight. I have curves, I have a figure. It’s something that I’ve wanted to be able to say for a long time, and I couldn’t before, because I looked ~too thin, too frail, too tiny.

Society has ingrained an image into our heads of whats acceptable and what’s not, whats hot and what’s not, what’s sexy and what isn’t, and I’ve kicked that to the fucking curb. It doesn’t matter if you’re big, tiny, thin, fat, tall, short, muscular, toned, disabled, abled, whatever, everyone has their own beauty and attractions and radiation, and we need to embrace that. Our differences are what make us unique.

Seeing my body now, thick thighs, a bigger tummy, curves all around, I’m feeling more confident because I am looking more feminine, more accentuated. I look more appropriately proportioned for my frame and stature, and I am finding more happiness in my body.

That happiness is leading me to trying to take more care of my physical being; moisturizing, grooming, exfoliating. Which in turn is helping to take care of my mental being, using that time to reflect and meditate, create a routine and continue to improve on it and myself.

I need that time to reflect and curate my mental health because I have been going through a rough time over the past few months. Between dealing with anxiety and panic attacks, depression, and physical illness, I have found myself unemployed for almost 2 full months, unable to find another job for whatever reason, falling behind on bills to the point where my car has been repossessed and is about to be resold at auction, and family issues out the ass.

And as though the universe was aware of my situation, it sent me a sign that things are going to be okay. A woman whom Ive seen around our complex struck up a conversation with me, and we chatted for over an hour across a few encounters yesterday evening, and by the end of it I had realized that I am in the right direction. She sensed an aura in me that is waiting to burn bright and break free of its restraints, and said that she’s glad to see me where I’m at in my life and has belief in me that I’ll get to where I’m going, while imparting wisdom and life lessons that will stick with me.

I’m going to embrace my stomach and my thighs, my chub and my flub. The obvious trans-pandering problems aside, I’m happy with my body and where I’m at, and have realized I can be in love with myself despite its other flaws. I’m going to keep on flaunting and showing off my goods, and this will continue to spin good energy and ultimately I’ll find myself in a better place than I am right now.

#personal #diary post #text post #weight gain #body dysphoria #trans problems #transgender #happy thick girls #depression #anxiety #life problems #positivity #body positivity #bopo #improvements

6 notes · View notes

ratherhavetheblues · 5 years

Text

INGMAR BERGMAN’S ‘THE MAGICIAN’: “It was war, and the enemy stalked…”

This is a film so dependent upon its sense for Bergman’s previous output, and even for Bergman’s subsequent work, that it sustains the adage, “Go full out, or forget about it entirely.” But adages can be wrong; and here we welcome one and all to a breathtaking tone poem, which we hope can benefit from a few suggestions.

On the face of it, The Magician (1958), features an intense protagonist, leading a crew so heterogeneous as to wonder how their objectives can succeed. They first come to us in the countryside, at a pause in their horse-driven coach. The vehicle is affixed with the sign, “Vogler’s Magic Health Theatre.” The black and white optics induce silhouette along a ridge, the virtual trademark of the film, The Seventh Seal (1957), where a couple, Jof and Marie ply the far-flung roads in a caravan advertising their circus musicale.Those two carnies manage to transcend the deadliness of the ridge (the seduction of death and its happy ending), by virtue of Jof’s blessing of his baby boy, to be a great acrobat and a juggler capable of an impossible trick.Although Jof and Marie made their breakaway in the 12th century, those traces of magic lean heavily upon Vogler, in Sweden, in the 19th century.Therefore, while far from playful banter disturbs the “Health Theatre,” the opportunity to see deeply into the nature of conflict never flags.

During that stopover, two of Vogler’s company, not for the first time, you can be sure, express that they hate what the other loves. A happy-go-lucky marketing and PR director of the caravan’s catchy affairs, namely, Tubal, devours a heavy lunch in the clover. Though earthy to quite a degree, he stunts his better self in order to harry a very old woman (Vogler’s grandmother, in fact) who, in his eyes and nose, reeks of offensive obsolescence.The old lady busies herself with finding herbs for her manufacture of the “health” area of the theatre, while frequently urging her grandson to fire a figure dangerously crude. Leaving aside, for the moment,Vogler and his assistant-showman, as the coach resumes, Tubal, sneers, “You and your mandrake and your severed fingers, and other mischief.” As if she were some kind of relative of the old and opinionated genius, in Bergman’s Smiles of a Summer Night (1955)—actress,Niama Wilstrand covering both roles—she fires back, “Spirits used to howl so loudly in this forest [as did the forest where Jof and Marie parted company with the mainstream] that no one dared enter after sundown. I remember it well…” The canny, though perhaps not fully savvy, one, thinks to prevail by reminding the oldster, and the other two, that he’s the only functional businessman in the coach. “How would Vogler’s Magic Health Theatre manage without Tubal, I ask you…”

Turning to the stylish and rather impressively silent other two, being obviously the stars of the show, their first coming to us is a very slight vignette of them surveying, on that same ridge, a sort of mine shaft with a ladder reaching out.In the course of elevating his sense of the salt of the earth, Tubal snaps out, “Who bailed you out in Copenhagen at night, and at risk to his life, after the Danish Tour went to hell?”Though the silent ones fail to shine in the coach, Vogler gives us some indication about his strong suit when the so-called health theatre comes upon a dying man in the lake-land. Granny alone had heard the latter’s cries, and Vogler alone had gone to meet more than irate cops. He gently addresses the alcoholic wreck in question, with, “Good day, sir…” The rescued man without hope replies, “My name is Johan Spegel [mirror].(We’ll have to figure out later if that designation is valid.Moreover, we must also await for the validity of the exchange of “bird catcher” in the moniker, Vogler.Could the boss-man be running on empty?) That the dying man, an actor, readily sees through the elaborate disguise Vogler deploys—panther-black hair and beard, and game-face, black, carriage-trade outlaw to all—somewhat crimps what style there might be. That the dying man soon reveals to Vogler, and to us, his cascading cynicism(detectable before any conversation), allows us to realize that the protagonist, instinctively not sharing the nihilism of the wreck, deploys a chivalry about those who have striven and fallen. (Those who have not striven would be something else. But along with this complication, one of many, there would be the remarkable matter of short cuts to a questionable striving. (A war, indeed; but a war with a bewildering range of theatres.)Pausing on the walk to the coach, the actor/ mirror overacts to the tune of, “I’ve always longed for a knife, a blade to lay bare my entrails, set my brain and heart free, free me from my substance… and cut away my tongue and my manhood. A blade that would carve out all my uncleanliness. Then this so-called spirit would rise up from this meaningless carcass…”

At the last moment of the actor’s screed (now installed in the caravan), he asks Manda, the other careful dresser, about what kind of reading a smart young performer would prefer.The answer, “ a novel about swindlers,” comes as somewhat of a surprise, from such a seemingly serene, almost doe-like centre of grace.Even more surprise results from Manda’s bitter outlook. “Deception is so prevalent that those who speak the truth are usually branded as the greatest liars…” That elicits, from the reckless negator, a spate of shoot-to-kill. “The author presumes there’s a great general thing called truth, somewhere out there. That theory is pure illusion.” That theory is also pure Tubal, the majoritarian, would-be top-dog in reveling that he’s sitting on a quorum to quell inklings that he doesn’t have what it takes.He sneers at the aristocratic reader (in fact, actress Ingrid Thulin, dressed in male styles), “So much for your reading, Mr. Aman.” Manda fires back, “Mr. Tubal shouldn’t speak with his mouth full…” [a mouth full of hate and raw meat]. That skirmish somewhat consolidates that the dandies have some kind of purchase, however lacking earthy force, upon an exigency prone to embarrassment, while occupying the orbit of, from one angle, the fancy-free untouchable dowager, in Smiles of a Summer Night.

What seemed at first to be a kind of eccentric road saga has developed into a war story. Tubal’s rounding out the argument, with smug recourse to the popular will—“I find this business about truth devilishly interesting. It’s a beautifully passion. My head sits on my neck… That’s an absolute truth, and I like such truths. You’re very amusing. I have no care for the past or the future. I’m a lily of the field”—constitutes a run-up to far more violence, just around the corner. As the actor dies, eliciting from Vogler a sadness, Tubal quips that the corpse is a nuisance for an affair of making a financial success of the business of imminently wowing the burghers of Stockholm.At this juncture, the coach is imperiously intercepted at a police roadblock, and the company of diverse players comes into another moment of truth. Having been forewarned by virtue of Tubal’s advanced announcement about a magic health theatre, the City’s health watchdog, Dr. Vergerus, along with a pliable police chief and wealthy deletant, Egerman (the name of the lawyer rounded up by Desiree, in Smiles of a Summer Night), stages an inquisition of crimes against holy science—a proponent of literal truth far more single-minded than Tubal.(The proto-Nazi husband/ medic pushing his poetic wife into a mental hospital, in Bergman’s Through a Glass Darkly[1961]iterates the helmsman’s disdain for careless dotage upon overrated and very dangerous idols.)

On being deposited outside of Egerman’s mansion, and left there for a long time(to digest that enemies rule) we come to realize that, whereas the rest of the crew maintain considerable composure, Vogler uses a cane, a pipe and a hunched position.Whereas, particularly, Manda’s face is poised, as if confronting those who don’t know how lucky they are to be in her elevated presence (her directing her eyes upon the detainers, in the wake of the first moment when the notables have their back to them and continue to snigger) and her entering the house having been regal, Vogler is a picture of stress, covering his face with one hand.Hearing from Tubal that Vogler is mute (mute-seeming, for the same effort of synthesis on the part of Elisabet, in Bergman’s, Persona[1966]), the inquest settles for Manda’s account, and it’s not only smooth but revelatory. Vergerus presents evidence that the bad-asses conduct “magic seances.” Looking at the technocrat straight in the eyes, she states, as if the mere thought could never cohere with someone as cool as she is, she tells the attacker, “We didn’t say that,” [the promotional hacks having rushed to childishness].The learned doctor then shifts to the scandalous notion that this rabble presumes to “heal the sick.” During her rather brazen denial of that, we see that Vogler is as unsatisfied as the prosecutor. Though petrified by the audit, that subject of lifting the frail hits, for the strange leader, a nerve, entirely absent in the spokesperson.(What troubling eddies of sensibility have come to stay, over and beyond facile provocation?)Vergerus, nothing if not a facile, but clearly murderous,provocateur, trots out the well-known zeal about the prisoner’s study for the reflections of one, Franz Mesmer (1734-1815), he, of the matter of, “animal magnetism” and “natural energy transference.”The earlier non-banter about “truth” thereby segues toward a more nuanced theatre of sensibility. (I’m reminded here of Tarantino’s The Hateful Eight[2015], to wit, “Nobody said it would be easy.”/ “Nobody said it would be this hard.”)Amidst the crazy bumper-car zone to come, we must be on the look-out, within the spin, for those dramatic ideas turning a bilious plunge into an invigorating discovery.

Not getting anywhere in face of Manda’s sang froid, the special prosecutor uses some hands-on toward Vogler to determine if this terrorist leader can prove that there is any substance to the claim of being bereft of speech—a proof to the contrary being tantamount, in the doctor’s view, of fraud all across the cosmos. (As this third degree becomes necessary, there is a rather remarkable out-of-the-blue by Tubal, shooting down the idea that the business could dabble in “supernatural powers.” Of course, his patented materialism would be a slam-dunk; but, as we close into the heart of the drama, we shall have to adjust to the practical guy being actually more viably uncanny, Mesmer-like, than Vogler and Manda.)The doctor, not accustomed to arguing against his bright lights, performs upon Vogler a scrutiny of his mouth.He shoves the badly-self-possessed but garishly-promoted stranger—having been touted by Tubal as, “a big name on the Continent” [not a welcome idea to a megalomaniac vigilante against non-scientists]—into a chair, grabs a lamp, and orders the target to hold it. Before making his analysis, he delights in reproving, “Why such furious looks? You have no reason to hate me. I only want to ascertain the truth. That should be your wish as well.” The glare in the defendant’s eyes is supplemented by the local big name’s grabbing his rival’s chin, thrusting open his mouth and jerking his subject’s head back. “Open your mouth. Stick out your tongue.” After that, the doctor pushes his mouth closed, and reports, “I find no reason for your muteness.”Hovering over the captive, the chief of health sneers while Vogler leans back, gasping, and then covers his face with his hand. Amidst this humiliation, he’s asked if he would perform inducing a “state.” Vogler nods “yes,” with some vigor; and thus a counter-attack begins to form, not without many difficulty.

In Bergman films we’ve covered over the past year, we’ve seen quite a few riveting instances of “states” or moods, pushing the envelope of “truth.” The Magician, however, would seem to take the cake, inasmuch as its alliances and enmities are forever changing, requiring a true magician to discern where it’s going.The lexicon of dueling—the doctor pressing his expose by means of, “I’m at your disposal”—would seem to be the makings of a climax of such. But Vergerus, after heaping upon Vogler smears like “weak souls” (as to him and his following) and toying with the idea, “You think I hate you. You are wrong. I’m interested in one thing only: you’re physiology, Mr. Vogler… I’d like to perform an autopsy on you, weigh your brain, open up your heart, study your nervous system… take out your eyes”—in supposing having shown immunity to Vogler’s presence—comes into significant fire by the host’s wife, who asks him, “Why are you lying?… We can see you’re lying. Something frightened you terribly, but you don’t dare say what…” This rejoinder having somewhat punctured the gratifications of the town’s big names, the Chief of Police decrees that next morning the less than accomplished outlaw must show what he’s got to give.

Dinner is served; but only for those in formal attire. The troupe is directed to the kitchen where the, servants dine, an exile which involves the tuxedos laughing uproariously. (The hostess, however, declares, “Isn’t it amusing to humiliate defenseless people?” The doctor thinks to put it all fine, on the basis of her husband and him in the midst of a bet about the pros and cons of spirituality, “inexplicable forces.”“By all logic we’d be suddenly forced to reckon with a god.”) We see our voyagers stomping angrily in the shadows of the lower depths. Vogler and Manda stride through the kitchen harboring visions of revenge. Tubal, however, has mastered his initial anger and proceeds to charm the women who cook and clean. The rude exponent of cheap truth now gives us an undemonstrative clinic of wit, grace and primordial juggling! Two young girls working there, Sara and Sanna, are the first to bask in Tubal’s magnanimity. Sara, a year or so older than her friend, advises, regarding the strangers, “Anyway, they have no money. You only need fear the rich.”The calling card for the mover and shaker of the peripatetic show addresses the girls with, “My name is simply Tubal, simple as a folk tune.” The main cook arrives, and Tubal’s charm goes into overdrive, captivating her by his vitality, savoir faire and genuine pleasure to be with her and the girls..Soon Sara is wanting him to read her palm; but he is solicitous of her future possibility being more mature. “I wouldn’t want to stifle your curiosity.”With the senior chef, he provides free “love potion,” eliciting from her, “It makes me hot under the corset…” This draws from him, “I see a light”—abundantly unique amidst this most dark of Bergman’s early works.

While Tubal, having ignited amorous flames amidst all but one of the servants, there is the grandmother, having said nothing since the arrest, taking under her wing (more juggling, which the beautiful people, Vogler and Manda, eschew) the perpetually confused, Sanna, too young and simple for orgies. What she recommends, in the form of a bedtime story, covers much more than a good sleep. Though the girl ingenuously begins with, “You’re so old and ugly” [and a witch], this witch/ oracle can also rise to disinterestedness paralleling and transcending a normal narrative. (This incident also being a specialty of Bergman as a phenomenologist initiating logical problematics far beyond what Yale and Harvard could manage, shackled[like the venomous doctor here] to classical rational rubrics.) “Did you sell your soul,” the naïf asks.“Yes, perhaps I did,” the frail battling-ram smiles. (While this preamble was marching along, Sara , having swallowed some of the suggestiveness, admits, “I felt a funny feeling, especially in my tummy… Now what happens?”) Getting down to the juggling, the witch begins with, “You must wish for things that live, that are alive or will come to be… I’ll sing you a song”[very mindful about Vogler’s plight; a song about Vogler and Vergerus and Manda]. “It was war and the enemy stalked/ On tired legs the soldier walked./ The enemy [including the dying actor] charged from the woods that day/ Our man stood in the thick of the fray/ Knives flashed and blood was spilled/ Many a warrior there [including the hostess] was killed/ The soldier’s face with victory was bright[not, as we’ll see, it did him any good]/ Heavy poured the rain that night[wait for it]/ The soldier sat by himself and wrote/ To his dearest[that is dearest, as in “dearest”] a lengthy note/ Love brings solace/ Love brings rest/ Love brings strength/ To the weakest breast/ Love is one/ Can’t ne’er be twain…”

That remarkable interlude, by someone who is, in fact, the saga’s true magician, spells not only the incisiveness she lives by, but the cave-in of Vogler’s falling short of that magic of a paradoxical “twain” (comprising acrobatics and juggling). The last passage of her song is, “Love is simple. Yet hard to explain.[Vogler trapped in an explanation.]/ It’s going to thunder./ Far, far, far away…”Leaving Sanna to her simple sleep, granny—well aware that she must leave the dead end troupe (even more decisively than the dowager’s cut away from Desiree and her dead end friends, in, Smiles of a Summer Night);and also Tubal, the mixer,now headed to marry the religious cook and probably stay on at the Egerman concern—her hard-won fortune from plants, here and there, and spells, phony and valid, being her ticket to persevere, rounds off her stint in the servant quarter, with an invocation. “I call you down, I call you out,beyond the dead, beyond the living, the living dead.” Here the subject is the dead actor, seen by her to be of use in effecting some kind of escape for a dysfunctional show and, moreover, a dysfunctional marriage.

The denouement can be quickly described. But the relationship between Vogler and Manda is beyond ending.In the night, the power-couple, who couldn’t care less about mere servants,set up their apparatus in hopes of giving the shallow cynic a jolt of blue-chip mood. Mrs. Egerman drops by, Manda cuts out; and Vogler has on his hands the hostess’ delusion that he’s heaven-sent to resolve the pain of her young daughter’s recent death(plunging her, however slightly, beyond routine piety). She assures him her bedroom is out of range for her husband, whom she has also stuffed with sleeping pills. Dragging himself away from a vignette he doesn’t want to be in, he comes upon his and Manda’s designated bedroom, where a slightly tipsy Vergerus has had an eyeful of Manda being a dazzling blonde in her petticoat. From the shadowy hallway he doesn’t discover anything new; but, nevertheless, the world takes a painful step, bereft of the hostess’ shot in the dark. Perhaps the thrill evident in the mourner by Vogler’s shaky charisma(a possible version of the cliché, “A great man never seems to be so to his wife,”) has something to do about her tolerating the rat here.Vogler’s wildly inflected wife is in the course of getting off her chest, “Our entire act is a fraud, from start to finish… a miserable rotten lie, through and through… We’re the most pathetic rabble you could find…” (That would somewhat coincide, then, with the intruder’s, “You represent what I despise most of all. The ineffable.”The doctor extracts from her that, “a long time ago” she found some cogency in the-man-in-black’s priorities. But now there’s nothing.)

Just as he gets around to offering her help to his idea of full health,Vogler steps forward, smashes him about and the test becomes a test of the smart guy. Next morning, by virtue of the resource offered by the corpse, the nominal leader of the magic show gets down to business by way of pretending to have died during a rigorous part of the exhibition (involving the Egerman’s coachman, who had muttered, while Tubal was doing his magic, “A face like Vogler’s makes you furious. You want to bash it in…”)With Manda’s assistance, he terrifies Vergerus, whose perfunctory autopsy comes back to bite him. Using body parts and aural and optical features, he nearly murders the hated opponent, only dodging a homicide conviction by way of Manda’s intervention of common sense.

This film anticipates Bergman’s Winter Light (1963), where a charge of cosmic dynamite dribbles down to a rather tepid long shot. But, when all is said and done, The Magician is in a league of its own.It portrays, in the grandmother, a canny mystic, almost validly inured to hidden isolation.During that prophetic downpour, she is the first to depart the shell-shocked manor, entering the coach in order to indict the poor form of Vogler and Manda.Then she hits the road; but not until describing the fortune in her purse, the rewards of her delighting in the earth and a polyglot clientele. Something she doesn’t tell them, but something we should know, is what drives her on.She is far from alone, in her preferences, though she clearly has never, in her long life, encountered her ilk. Consider the regime of solitaire for the dowager in Smiles of a Summer Night. Her hovering over the cards while secured by pillows involves a taste for order, to be sure; but at the same time, there is a premium upon silence and stillness, irrespective of the fate of the game. Despite the optics of stasis, the addressing of the situation comprises ripples of initiative, a cosmos she has had much to do in its making. While her disappointing daughter stars in a questionable firmament of gluey childishness, the elderly hostess beholds beauties on the go, headed for extinction, felt as a gift. The grandmother/ witch lacks the oracle’s ease; but loves her hardships in the same frisson. (Jof and Marie, in, The Seventh Seal, are a mixed bag—he a poet, she a practical mom. But, during their dash for the sake of the new, the lonely new finds them on the same page [evincing how often we all, however slightly, prefer an outlaw life]).

On the other hand, the former lions of Lyon crash infamously.In the wake of Vogler’s unbecoming revenge, he becomes mired in asking the notables (including Mrs. Egerman) for spare change.They reach the coach, feel the scorn of their relative by-marriage; and find that their coachman has (after a brief notion of his and his sweetheart to resume, for what it’s worth, the magic of the open road) decided to stay with Sara in the kitchen. With no horse-power in sight, the magic stars come to us in a total doldrum. Whereas the dowager could reign sprightly on her bed, to great aplomb, Vogler and Manda resort to sterile fantasy. They see themselves summoned by the king to a command performance. The first stage of this coup, that isn’t, involves the notables, back at the Egerman mansion, now having become their fans.

Instead of standing pat with the loners—a conclusion somewhat out of whack with the fine juggling of Tubal and granny and sundry others—let’s listen some more to that barely-marriaged couple. (I find in Bergman’s scenes of chilling devastation, the demand to attend to recuperative strengths—on the basis of a comprehensive courage. As we listen to them, we’re listening to their tolerance for disappearing. Frid, the savvy servant, in Smiles of a Summer Night, coins the term, “punishment,” for the situation of full-scale , reflective love.) There is a gambit, in that dialogue with Vergerus, in which the divided woman goes some distance to put into play the state of affairs she finds herself in.In the midst of her expressing her hatred of her métier, she touches upon how her life had been elevated by “the nightmare.” “He has no secret powers?” the vigilante asks. “No, perhaps not,” she answers, in total confusion. Therefore, we get, rather predictably, “It’s meaningless…” “So I can put my mind at ease?” the scientist asks. “Yes, put your mind at ease… We can demonstrate our incompetence as often as you like…”(Wallowing in her own incompetence, being, it seems, in the vein of Vogler’s subsequent panhandler role.) The intruder reads her dissatisfaction, notwithstanding, “You seem to regret that fact and wish it were otherwise. But there are no miracles… God is silent, while men babble on.” She can’t resist saying, “If just once…” [the ecstatic could prevail]. The doctor, misdiagnosing the phenomenon to be a lift by a supernatural gift-giver, smugly prates, “That’s what they all say” [all he knows; but not all she knows].

After the doctor leaves—sneering at the idea of Vogler being a doctor (but without comprehending that the latter’s purchase is far from an exact science)—there is left in the air the hopeless impasse with Vergerus: “You think your husband wants to kill me? Do you want to kill me, Mr. Vogler? You hate me. I like you. Quite stimulating!” After slamming the door and smashing his head repeatedly upon it, he tears off the disguise and joins her in bed, far from the first time this impasse has flared.Their conflict has more to do with acrobatics lost than mere treachery, and, as such, their distemper resembles a death spiral. Whereas his face shows anguish, her’s is impassive.Lying behind where he lies. she kisses his head. Mustering a somewhat ironical smile, she purrs, “Remember in Lyon, where we earned lots of money?” [at what line of work, the question is], and bought a country house and intended to stop traveling… Then we sold the property and bought the carriage and horses… That’s where you started acting mute[another version to come, in Persona, for the sake of progressing into the labyrinth of truth, the ways of the cosmos]. Remember the Grand Duke—a less than grand duke appears in Smiles of a Summer Night–who was so taken by me that he promised to recommend us to his Majesty in Sweden? You thought I’d been unfaithful, and you gave the Duke a thrashing. We sat in prison for two months until he forgave us. Do you think he recommended us to the Swedish court, anyway?” His reply is silence.She continues, “No, I don’t think so, either.” All he can muster, with the field of acrobatics and juggling defeating him, is, “I hate them. I hate their faces, their bodies, their movements, their voices… But I get frightened, too, and then I lose my power…”With Vogler’s virtual surrender to the appalling, she thrusts her assets, “What if I left you?” “Go on, if you want. It makes no difference…”

We have been privy to other figures under similar pressures, under the auspices of phenomena the uncanniness of which has begun to chafe creatures like the doctor.This film seems to involve, however, a drama, as never before and never later, demanding full attention to the factor of horrific odds, slicing away, like barracudas, upon those who would venture to put into play“faces,” visages and bodies, moving into a sense of integrity confusing to nearly all of the population. Furtive figures, like the lady abandoning the demoralized couple, represent a shadowy agency for initiatives needful by nature itself. But why couldn’t there be buoyant partnerships instead of mere escapees?Impossible juggling tricks carry far, given range and spunk. Bergman’s cinema, transcending political tallies, draws upon viewers who have allowed themselves to be part of the show in a remarkable way.That allowance demands special courage, but courage encouraged by inspiring creatures and other magical things.

(Further complicating an already very subtle and rigorous reflective task, is the widespread nonsense that The Magician amounts to a mea culpa about Bergman’s being humbled in a fraudulent, pointless attempt to surpass common sense.Bergman may be famously a Byzantine husband, a constant health crisis and a vicious employer. But along the way he cultivated constructs far surpassing most Nobel Prize winners. He had nothing to be embarrassed about in his work.)

By way of reiterating the test of physicality embarrassing Vogler and Manda—holed up in the carriage and biting their fists, coming down to servant-Sara’s brief whim to get into a circus and thereby get the show on the road—we have the herbalist’s final goodbye: “I always said you were a foolish and reckless man. One should know one’s limitation” [and drop the idiocy of becoming another pope].

#ingmar bergman

0 notes

dinafbrownil · 4 years

Text

The Health Care Promises We Cannot Keep

It was a promise Matt Perrin wasn’t able to keep.

Navigating Aging

Navigating Aging focuses on medical issues and advice associated with aging and end-of-life care, helping America’s 45 million seniors and their families navigate the health care system.

To contact Judith Graham with a question or comment, click here.

Join the Navigating Aging Facebook Group.

See All Columns

“I’ll never take away your independence,” he’d told his mother, Rosemary, then 71, who lived alone on Cape Cod, Mass., in a much-loved cottage.

That was before Rosemary started calling Perrin and his brother, confused and disoriented, when she was out driving. Her Alzheimer’s disease was progressing.

Worried about the potential for a dangerous accident, Perrin took away his mother’s car keys, then got rid of her car. She was furious.

For family caregivers, this is a common, anxiety-provoking dilemma. They’ll promise Mom or Dad that they can stay at home through the end of their lives and never go to assisted living or a nursing home. Or they’ll commit to taking care of a spouse’s needs and not bringing paid help into the home. Or they’ll vow to pursue every possible medical intervention in a medical crisis.

Eventually, though, the unforeseen will arise ― after a devastating stroke or a heart attack, for instance, or a diagnosis of advanced cancer or dementia ― and these promises will be broken.

Mom or Dad will need more care than can be arranged at home. A husband or wife won’t be able to handle mounting responsibilities and will need to bring in help. A judgment call ― “this will only prolong suffering, there’s no point in doing more” ― will be made at the bedside of someone who is dying.

Email Sign-Up

Subscribe to KHN’s free Morning Briefing.

Please confirm your email address below:

“We want to give loved ones who are sick or dying everything we think they want ― but we can’t,” said Barbara Karnes, 78, an end-of-life educator and hospice nurse based in Vancouver, Wash. “And then, we feel we’ve failed them and guilt can stay with us for the rest of our lives.”

She hasn’t forgotten an experience with her mother-in-law, Vi, who moved in with Karnes, her husband and two children after becoming a widow 30 years ago. At the time, Vi was in her 70s, weak and frail. Karnes was working full time and keeping the household going.

“My mother-in-law and I got into a disagreement, I don’t remember what it was about. But I remember her saying to me, ‘You promised you would take care of me,’ and making it clear that she felt I’d let her down. And I said, ‘I know, I was wrong ― I can’t do it all,’” she remembered. “I still feel bad about that.”

“No caregiver I know sets out to deceive another person: It’s just that none of us have a crystal ball or can predict what the future will hold,” she said. “And the best we can do isn’t always as much as we thought was possible.” “We have to figure out a way to forgive ourselves.”

Richard Narad, 64, a professor of health services administration at California State University, spent months after his wife’s death in December 2011 mentally reviewing the last hours of her life before achieving a measure of peace.

His wife, April, was diagnosed with Type 1 diabetes at age 5 and was legally blind when the couple married in 1994. A year later, she had the first of a series of strokes. Eventually, April was diagnosed with congestive heart failure. In the last 18 months of her life, she was hospitalized 13 times.

April Narad had told her husband she wanted “full code” status in the event of an emergency ― in other words, “do everything possible to keep me alive.” But she was nervous about his willingness to honor her wishes because his own end-of-life views differed from hers.

“I think certain care is futile and you need to give up earlier,” he explained.

In the end, April was rushed to the hospital one night after dinner, gasping for breath. There, Narad directed medical staff to pursue “full code” interventions. But when a physician came out to tell him that death appeared inevitable, Narad remembers saying, “Well, if that’s the case, just call it.”

Had he broken a promise to insist that other treatments be tried? Narad spent months wondering but eventually accepted that he acted in good faith and couldn’t have saved April’s life.

With illness, older couples can end up re-evaluating commitments they’ve made. Kathy Bell, 66, of Silver Spring, Md., promised her husband, Bruce Riggs, 82, that she’d stay with him “through all the changes in our lives” when they married in 1987. Then in August 2011, he received a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s.

The couple moved into a senior living facility, but as Riggs’ condition worsened he had to go to a memory care facility in 2014. The following year, Bell had lunch with a man whose wife lived at the same facility. He told her his therapist had recommended he start dating.

“That planted the idea of possibly doing this myself at some point,” Bell said, and two years ago she met a man who has become a regular companion.

Does she feel she’s broken her promise to her husband, who was committed to a monogamous marriage? “No, I don’t,” Bell said, adding that “it’s not clear whether he knows me at this point. He doesn’t talk. The way I view it: I still love him. I still go to see him. I’m still taking care of him.”

Promises can be explicit ― spoken aloud ― or implicit, understood without direct communication. Both kinds can inspire regret.

Debra Hallisey, 62, a caregiver consultant based in Lawrenceville, N.J., describes making an unspoken promise to her father, Don, when he was diagnosed with congestive heart failure in 2014. Their agreement, which was never voiced: Neither would tell Hallisey’s mother, Doris ― who has diabetes, mobility issues and is legally blind ― how sick he was.

Debra Hallisey and her parents, Don and Doris, at their 60th wedding anniversary.(Courtesy of Debra Hallisey)

“I knew he was shielding [Mom] from knowing the truth. When she would ask questions, he wouldn’t say anything,” Hallisey said. Because her mother was disabled, Hallisey accompanied her father to doctor’s appointments.

When Hallisey’s father died in February 2015, Doris was profoundly shocked and Hallisey was overcome by remorse. “It was then, I said to my mother, ‘Mommy, there are no more secrets. If something is wrong, I am going to tell you, and together we’re going to determine the best thing to do,’” she said.

In line with that promise, Hallisey has been direct with her mother, who uses a walker to get around her home in Somerset, N.J., and has round-the-clock home care. If and when Doris becomes unable to walk, she’ll have to move, Hallisey has said.

“I’ve told her, ‘Mommy, I’ll do everything to keep you in this house, but you have to use your walker and work at staying strong. A wheelchair won’t work in your house,’” Hallisey said. “I know that keeping her at home is a promise I may not be able to keep.”

Matt Perrin made the decision to move his mother, Rosemary, to assisted living in 2017, after realizing he couldn’t coordinate care for her escalating needs at a distance. (Rosemary lived on Cape Cod; Perrin lived in New Hampshire.) Because he’d vowed to protect her independence, “I felt so guilty ― a guilt that I had never felt before,” he admitted.

Rosemary resisted the move passionately, but after a few months settled into her new home.

“I felt relief then, and I still do,” Perrin said. “I wish I didn’t make that promise to my mom, and I wish she weren’t living with Alzheimer’s. But I’m thankful that she’s in a place that’s really good for her, all things considered.”

from Updates By Dina https://khn.org/news/the-health-care-promises-we-cannot-keep/

0 notes

kansascityhappenings · 5 years

Text

These are some of the 9/11 first responders who brought Jon Stewart to tears

https://embed-prod.vemba.io/vemba-embed.js

They are the people whose plight brought comedian and activist Jon Stewart to tears during an impassioned appearance before Congress this week over funds for other ailing first responders to the 9/11 terrorist attacks.

They bear lasting scars from their long hours of work in the pile of destruction that remained after the World Trade Center collapsed nearly 18 years ago.

They breathed in noxious air clouded with debris from the fallen buildings after officials assured them it was safe.

They have now discovered — long after the shattered heart of Lower Manhattan was brought back to life — debilitating illnesses and cancers festering in their bodies.

As of May, more than 12,500 cases of cancer had been diagnosed. The most-diagnosed ailments, however, are upper and lower respiratory and gastrointestinal problems, musculoskeletal disorders and mental health conditions.

Here are two of their stories:

He lost part of left foot to gangrene after ground zero accident

John Feal and his crew of demolition experts arrived at ground zero the morning after the towers collapsed.

“What everybody saw we can deal with … but the smell is everlasting,” he recalled this week. “If I close my eyes and think about it, I smell it.”

It still keeps him up at night.

“It smelled like the devil,” he said. “The carnage devastation and destruction. If I had a picture of that smell, it would be a picture of the devil.”

With machines, tools and their hands, the small army of civilians ferreted through tons of twisted steel, rubble and debris.

On the fifth day, with 30 minutes left on his 12-hour shift, an 8,000-pound slab of steel broke loose from the pile and crushed his left foot.

Feal, 52, spent 11 weeks in the hospital. Doctors amputated his left foot after gangrene set in. He had nearly 40 surgeries and countless hours of therapy. He also was diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder.

“I went there thinking that I could make a difference and I got hurt,” he said. “My difference making came later.”

He founded the FealGood Foundation, which has spearheaded efforts to keep the US government supporting the September 11th Victim Compensation Fund. Their latest appeal comes amid a growing number of serious illnesses and deaths among first responders.

This week, Feal and other responders appeared before Congress as Stewart shamed lawmakers for not unanimously backing an extension of the fund. Many members of a House Judiciary Committee did not show up for the hearing, leaving the room mostly empty.

A frail Luis Alvarez, a retired NYPD bomb squad detective and military veteran, was of the first responders who testified in Washington. The next day he underwent his 69th round of chemotherapy for the cancer he got after toiling at ground zero.

“I have been to many places in this world and done many things, but I can tell you that I did not want to be anywhere else but ground zero when I was there,” Alvarez told lawmakers.

He added, “Now the 9/11 illnesses have taken many of us and we are all worried about our children, our spouses and our families and what happens if we are not here.”

Feal praised the personal sacrifice people like Alvarez make in traveling to Washington on behalf of the new victims being identified every day.

“They go for the tens of thousands of people who didn’t get their awards yet,” he said.

“Getting them down from where they live in New York or New Jersey, down I-95 and changing their oxygen tanks or going into a rest stop to take their medications. It’s a burden on them psychically and mentally. These trips are brutal.”

More than 2,000 deaths have been attributed to illnesses associated with 9/11, Feal said. He has attended more than 180 funerals.

“On average we lose somebody every 2.7 days,” Feal said. “We can go a week or a month without losing somebody and then three people can die in two days, and then five people die in four days.”

There have been seven deaths in the last nine days.

The continued suffering makes September 11, 2001, the “longest day in the history of days,” he said.

“It is for those who were directly affected, for those who lost their loved ones that day, for those who got sick and those who died from being sick,” he said.

“There are tens of thousands — hundreds of thousands of people because of extended families and direct families — (for whom) this day will never end.”

He’s haunted by sound of air pack alarms worn by trapped firefighters

Michael O’Connell was a 25-year-old probationary firefighter on the morning of the attacks. He joined the department several months earlier after a stint with the NYPD.

He rushed from his home on Long Island to the Queens firehouse where he did his field training. He soon joined a busload of firefighters en route to Lower Manhattan. They learned along the way that the south tower had collapsed.

“A fellow firefighter turned to me and said, ‘Do you realize how many guys we just lost?” O’Connell told lawmakers in Washington this week. “The truth was that I didn’t have a clue.”

The day was the first of many spent digging — sometimes by hand — through piles of rubble.

Nearly two decades later, O’Connell, now 43, cannot erase one lasting memory: The screeching sound of the distress alarms attached to the portable air packs worn by firefighters. The alarm is intended to assist rescuers in locating a user who is incapacitated or in need of help.

“For the first few minutes of our arrival, and the countless hours that passed, that is all we heard,” he said. “Our brothers were trapped beneath that pile of concrete and steel and we could not get to them.”

“It is a difficult memory, but one that keeps me going,” O’Connell said of the haunting sound that plays in his head at night.

“It reminds me that those men and women who gave their lives that day were selfless, and I try my best to live my life to that standard.”

Of the 2,753 people who perished at the World Trade Center site, 343 were New York City firefighters, 23 were New York City police officers and 37 were officers at the Port Authority. The attacks on the Pentagon killed 184 and 40 people died when Flight 93 crashed near Shanksville, Pennsylvania, bringing the total killed on 9/11 to 2,977.

At the firehouse after hours of work at ground zero, O’Connell saw a printout with the names of the dead.

“I was handed a list of hundreds of names of men that aren’t going to be able to go home to their children, to their wives, to their families,” he told CNN. “And there were a few names that I did know — guys that went to the academy with me, people I went to high school with.”

It wasn’t until January 1, 2007, that O’Connell would learn he was ill from the time he spent on the pile. His wife was six months pregnant with the first of their three children.

“I couldn’t get out of bed, and it had felt like someone came in my room that night, and beat me up with a baseball bat,” he said. “My legs, ankles and feet were so swollen. It made it very difficult to walk to the car to get to the doctor.”

When he finally made it to a doctor, the initial diagnosis was grim: He appeared to be suffering from advanced lymphoma and probably did not have much time left.

“All I wanted to do was make it long enough to see the birth of my first child,” he said.

The diagnosis was wrong. O’Connell later learned he had a rare autoimmune disease called sarcoidosis. He considers himself lucky.

“I was one of the youngest and first firefighters diagnosed with sarcoidosis,” he said. “Hundreds more have been diagnosed since. I spent the next few months in recovery and, with the proper treatments, I was able to get back on my feet.”

He retired from the fire department as a lieutenant in 2009.

“As a firefighter, or a police officer as I was, you have a pension,” he said. “I was 32 when I retired. So, as time goes by, that pension gets smaller and smaller as the cost of living goes up.”

Still, he worries more about the responders who are just learning that they’re sick.

“We need to continue fighting,” he said.

from FOX 4 Kansas City WDAF-TV | News, Weather, Sports https://fox4kc.com/2019/06/16/these-are-some-of-the-9-11-first-responders-who-brought-jon-stewart-to-tears/

from Kansas City Happenings https://kansascityhappenings.wordpress.com/2019/06/16/these-are-some-of-the-9-11-first-responders-who-brought-jon-stewart-to-tears/

0 notes

lasemillaschoolgardens · 6 years

Text

Be a Healthy Centenarian

http://ifttt.com/images/no_image_card.png

As a young boy, I was always fascinated with physical fitness and the human body. During this time, I also noticed one thing- that I saw many older people not looking healthy and appearing frail and fragile, lacking energy, posture issues, back problems, knee pain, etc. I am only referring to the mechanical problems of the aging human body, not referring to diabetes, high blood pressure, high cholesterol, prostate problems, cardiovascular issues, respiratory ailments, and cancer. After I saw all these elderly struggling with their health, it concerned me: how was I going to age? So began my lifelong crusade of discovering the best ways to maintain a healthy body and mind throughout a long and exciting lifetime.

Do you want a long and full life? I do! Most of us do, and hopefully, if we can learn anything from centenarians, it’s how to do exactly that! Based on current statistics, there are about 750,000 of total centenarians worldwide. Exact numbers may be difficult to determine, since many of them live in developing countries, where data is not available. This number is projected to increase in future years- meaning the more we know about healthy lifestyle, the more likely it is that we can make it to triple digit lifespans! The vision is to live 100 years and not just stay alive! Over the past 50 years, the human lifespan has increased all over the world, especially in first world countries. It must be noted, however, that although the lifespan has increased by 20+ years on average, the quality of life in those extra years is largely determined by healthy lifestyle choices.

I believe that you have more control over your body then you think- you can control, manage, or completely avoid 60-70% of known chronic conditions with physical fitness, healthy nutrition, and social,mental and spiritual balance!

Here’s what centenarians can teach us:

75% is Lifestyle Choices:

Researchers estimate that 25% of variance in life span comes from genetics and the rest from environmental factors, including diet and exercise. This means that lifestyle choices play a LARGE role in how long you live and the quality of life during those years.

In a study of Swedish men, researchers found that those who did not smoke, had low cholesterol, consumed moderate amounts of coffee, and had a good socio-economic status at age 50 as well as good physical working capacity at age 54 were most likely to survive to age 90, whereas parents’ survival was of no predictive value at age 50 or 62

This research suggests that we can influence many of the factors that determine our lifespan and that lifestyle can affect life expectancy more than genetics

Stop Stressing So Much:

In a psychological study with people over 100 years old, neuroticism was scored lower than average, which means that centenarians tend to let this go and not dwell on problems. By being in control on stress instead of stress controlling them, they were able to live happy, healthy lives.

Chronic stress damages critical parts of your DNA and can actually shorten your life span by as many as four to eight years

Stress also compromises the immune system, making you more likely to get sick

Managing stress effectively, through activities such as exercise, controlled breathing, and meditation can help reduce negative biological responses to stress

Exercise Your Entire Life: even into old age!

Regular exercise is the closest thing we have to miracle cure and one of the strongest predictors of a long life. A 1998 Finnish study looked at 16,000 twins, both fraternal and identical, and found that those who exercised regularly had 44% the risk of death of their sedentary siblings- regular exercisers generally live five to seven years longer than inactive people.

People who are active have a lower risk of heart disease, stroke, type 2 diabetes, some cancers, depression and dementia

Physical activity is even more important in the elderly to stay healthy, energetic, and independent

Practice Moderation: Centenarians will agree that a life lived in moderation is what lead them to good health. Include moderation in alcohol and foods high in saturated fats, sodium, and sugars.

studies suggest that eating fewer calories/practicing calorie control may increase life span.

a study by Dan Beuttner found that the oldest Japanese people commonly stop eating when they are only about 80% full.

In a 2006 study, researchers at Washington University found that eating a low-calorie yet nutritionally balanced diet lowers levels of T3, a thyroid hormone that speeds up the aging process.

Women who have two or more drinks per day and men who have three or more may experience negative outcomes, such as weight gain or relationship problems

Eat a Vegetarian Diet:

In 2009 the Archives of Internal Medicine held a study on 547,000 older Americans and that found those who ate the most red meat had a 31% to 36% higher risk of dying over 10 years. People who get their proteins and fats from vegetables versus meats have a lower incidence of heart disease as well.

Studies in Western populations have shown that vegetarians tend to have a lower BMI, lower cholesterol, and a lower mortality risk from ischemic heart disease (the most common type of heart disease and cause of heart attacks) than comparable non-vegetarians.

Vegetarians have higher dietary fiber intake than non-vegetarians; high fiber intake is associated with lower risk or improvements in several chronic diseases.

Genetics Matters, but only for about 5%:

The Albert Einstein College of Medicine has found a genetically inherited protein present in higher than normal levels in his centenarians that may protect them against Alzheimer’s disease and diabetes.

longevity tends to run in families

In the Okinawan Centenarian Study, researchers found that siblings of centenarians had an average of 11.8 years extra lifespan compared to an age-matched control group

the genetic component of longevity gets larger with increasing age

Take Care of Oral Hygiene: Dental health is directly correlated to heart health. Research shows direct links between gingivitis/gum inflammation and heart disease. In a study of older patients in nursing homes, researchers found that oral care was associated with reduced risk of pneuomonia, days with symptoms of fever, and deaths from pneumonia.

Be Social: It is rare to come acrossagrumpycentenarian- most have a sense of humor and are social. It should also be noted that many are close to family and friends, which has been scientifically proven to increase life span in the elderly. It is enormously important to have at least one close friend that you can share your lives milestones with.

Research shows that you’re at greater risk of heart disease without a strong social network of friends and family; loneliness can cause inflammation, which can be just as dangerous as having high cholesterol or smoking in otherwise healthy individuals.

Having social ties with friends, family, neighbors, and colleagues can improve our odds of survival by 50%.

Stop Smoking: Smoking takes 15 years off your life. Period. Smoking is bad for your health, but exactly how does quitting make life better? Here are 10 ways your health will improve when you stop smoking.The quitting timeline:

After 20 minutes your blood pressure and pulse return to normal.

After 24 hours your lungs start to clear.

After two days your body is nicotine-free and your sense of taste and smell improve.

After three days you can breathe more easily, and your energy increases.

After two to 12 weeks, your circulation improves.

After three to nine months coughs, wheezing and breathing improves.

After one year your heart attack risk is half that of a smoker.

After 10 years your lung cancer risk is half that of a smoker.

Sleep More: Lack of sleep is linked to heart disease- so sleep between 7-8 hours a night. Lack of quality sleep has been linked to obesity, high blood pressure and other factors directly associated with cardiovascular risk. Getting enough sleep can also improve mood, enhance memory and ability to think clearly, lower stress, and lead to stronger immunity. Too much or too little sleep is associated with a shorter lifespan.

Have Spiritual Balance: According to a new study spiritual or religious practice may fight off depression – particularly in people who are predisposed to the disease – by thickening the brain cortex. It shows that spiritual beliefs and practices improve many physical and mental illnesses, reducing severity of symptoms and likelihood of relapse, speeding up and enhancing recovery, and rendering stress and disability easier to endure

Positive Thinking:

A 2007 study that had a control group of more than 6,000 men and women aged 25 to 74 over 20 years, discovered that emotional vitality, which includes a sense of enthusiasm, hopefulness, engagement in life, and the ability to cope with life’s stresses with emotional balance—reduces the risk of coronary heart disease.

Positive thinking will improve your overall health in old age

Researchers at the Yale School of Public Health found that older people with positive age stereotypes (beliefs about the elderly as a group) were 44 percent more likely to fully recover from severe disability; they also had a slower rate of decline in essential daily activities, such as bathing, dressing, and walking.

Both of these research suggest that having a positive attitude can help the elderly live longer, more fulfilling lives.

Music enhances our mental health: Music therapy is a technique that is becoming increasingly popular because there are two ways it can be beneficial: either for its inherent healing and restorative qualities or asameansofself expression and communication. Next time you’re feeling stressed,try and de-stress with some music instead of fuming internally. The therapeutic benefits of listening to music are widely known, so listening to one of your favorite songs can help reduce anxiety and be incredibly soothing.

In a recent study, researchers found that music therapy reduced depression and delayed deterioration of cognitive functioning in elderly people with dementia.

Listening to pleasurable music can improve mood; researchers at McGill University found that listening to pleasurable music triggered the release of dopamine, a neurotransmitter involved with feelings of reward.

A 2006 study published in the Journal of Advanced Nursing showed that listening to music daily can reduce pain by up to 21% and depression by up to 25% in people with chronic pain; it also made people feel more in control of their pain and less disabled by their condition

Brain Development: through constant reading, brain activities, self-education. While Alzheimer’s disease makes up 50% of dementia cases, vascular dementia is responsible for up to 40% of cases in older adults, and can be prevented through the lifestyle choices mentioned in this article.

In a revolutionary study, older participants who received at least 10 sessions of mental training not only improved their day-to-day cognitive functioning in the months following the training, but continued to show long-lasting improvements a full decade later.

There was also a study of 2,832 seniors that did memory, speed processing, and reasoning training in 60-75 minute sessions by using exercises such as detecting patterns in a number series, memorizing lists, and operating a touch-screen program. A decade after the training, nearly 75% of the participants who received memory training and over 70% of speed-trained participants were still performing tasks above their pre-trial baseline level, compared to about 62-49% of the control group.

[Read More ...] http://www.healthfitnessrevolution.com/how-to-live-to-100/

0 notes

duqstudents4fairtrade · 6 years

Text

Be a Healthy Centenarian

Here’s what centenarians can teach us:

75% is Lifestyle Choices:

This research suggests that we can influence many of the factors that determine our lifespan and that lifestyle can affect life expectancy more than genetics

Stop Stressing So Much:

Chronic stress damages critical parts of your DNA and can actually shorten your life span by as many as four to eight years

Stress also compromises the immune system, making you more likely to get sick

Managing stress effectively, through activities such as exercise, controlled breathing, and meditation can help reduce negative biological responses to stress

Exercise Your Entire Life: even into old age!

People who are active have a lower risk of heart disease, stroke, type 2 diabetes, some cancers, depression and dementia

Physical activity is even more important in the elderly to stay healthy, energetic, and independent

Practice Moderation: Centenarians will agree that a life lived in moderation is what lead them to good health. Include moderation in alcohol and foods high in saturated fats, sodium, and sugars.

studies suggest that eating fewer calories/practicing calorie control may increase life span.

a study by Dan Beuttner found that the oldest Japanese people commonly stop eating when they are only about 80% full.

In a 2006 study, researchers at Washington University found that eating a low-calorie yet nutritionally balanced diet lowers levels of T3, a thyroid hormone that speeds up the aging process.

Women who have two or more drinks per day and men who have three or more may experience negative outcomes, such as weight gain or relationship problems

Eat a Vegetarian Diet:

Vegetarians have higher dietary fiber intake than non-vegetarians; high fiber intake is associated with lower risk or improvements in several chronic diseases.

Genetics Matters, but only for about 5%:

longevity tends to run in families

In the Okinawan Centenarian Study, researchers found that siblings of centenarians had an average of 11.8 years extra lifespan compared to an age-matched control group

the genetic component of longevity gets larger with increasing age

Having social ties with friends, family, neighbors, and colleagues can improve our odds of survival by 50%.

After 20 minutes your blood pressure and pulse return to normal.

After 24 hours your lungs start to clear.

After two days your body is nicotine-free and your sense of taste and smell improve.

After three days you can breathe more easily, and your energy increases.

After two to 12 weeks, your circulation improves.

After three to nine months coughs, wheezing and breathing improves.

After one year your heart attack risk is half that of a smoker.

After 10 years your lung cancer risk is half that of a smoker.

Positive Thinking:

Positive thinking will improve your overall health in old age

Both of these research suggest that having a positive attitude can help the elderly live longer, more fulfilling lives.

In a recent study, researchers found that music therapy reduced depression and delayed deterioration of cognitive functioning in elderly people with dementia.

[Read More ...] http://www.healthfitnessrevolution.com/how-to-live-to-100/

0 notes

cristophdecaermichael-blog · 7 years

Video

Prince William on his mum: 'I felt she was walking along beside us'

September 1, 2017

Her Royal Majesty Queen Mother Diana Spencer- Windsor

https://youtu.be/WsK_fTJ5ob0

https://writerswrite000.wordpress.com/2017/09/01/her-royal-majesty-queen-mother-diana-spencer-windsor/

https://www.linkedin.com/pulse/her-royal-majesty-queen-mother-diana-spencer-windsor-de-caermichael?published=t

Let us title this Her Royal Majesty Queen Mother Diana Spencer- Windsor in the ilk of Queen Mother Elizabeth Bowes-Lyon Windsor. And simultaneously introduce - Prince William assuming the regnal name of King Arthur may bring to life the idylls of the King. The lore of William as King Arthur creates a

Triumvirate, a unity between The Throne of England – His divided family and a reality of a greater future that Britain has never known.

All this is a posthumous possibility. And perhaps an actual royal reality. Prince Charles was always a man that lived under a great shadow of never being the King of England. I had written that my family friends were acquainted with the royal family for some time. My Grandfather was born in 1895 in Madeira Portugal.

He immigrated to the British West Indies – in 1916 or thereabouts and went from Rags to Riches. So the family I was born into in 1958 was affluent and one of Trinidad’s elite family. Grandpa had become Consulate General for Portugal and my early life was filled with many events – the soirees – the parties and perhaps as it was Trinidad not a Ball but a Gala.

My parents have met the Royal Family on the occasions that they visited Trinidad and were presented to HER MAJESTY – Queen Elizabeth and Prince Philip on such occasions. My family did meet other minor Royals over the years on their forays into the commonwealth, which Trinidad was part of.

Naturally I regaled in the stories – the gossip about these fabulous people. Being that I was Posh and well educated and a hale fellow well met, I have met Baronesses – Duchess – Marchesa from all over the world. Such was the circles I moved in. Or The Circes that moved through me.

But it was the intangible Gossip of Charles that he will never come to the throne of England as King. Charles’s destiny was tied to a more sinister side of the Royal Family and a side that included the mentally ill, the schizophrenic – those that were assigned to the sanitariums or so the tale was told.

The tale persisted from many Brits – Expats to the Island – and those that were tied to the British Royal Family in many positions. From 1970- 1980 – 1990- 2000 – 2017 the rumor persisted that Charles, is the pretender to the throne will never acquire the throne. And so it became a reality this past August 2017 – when HER Majesty. not in her dotage but of failing health realized that the morally bankrupted Camilla and Charles would wreck the Monarchy and that KING WILLIAM 3 and Queen Catherine will be coroneted. In vesture in the near future. Prince Philip, the Mephisto is soon to pass and his passing affects the Queen dramatically. All of her family – all of the ties to the history of Great Britain will have left her.

She will rally temporarily but die of a heart attack soon after the death of her husband. The Time line could be in the next 5 years until PP – passes – The Duke of Edinburgh and the Queen with a 2-3 year window and follow into the sleep of the ages. By then she would be about 98. But the dangerous years are for her between when she is 96 and 98. She will be too frail to Rule and though she will never abdicate – HRH WILLIAM and Catherine will learn to rule instead. So that the position of Monarchy – will not impose too heavily – on his head. Thank God for Queen Catherine. HER Majesty Queen Catherine is a stalwart to William and together usher in another British Golden Age.

Prince Harry and Princess Harry or Henry- if he is allowed to marry Rachel Meghan Markle will add another a fantastic allure. Meghan is the stuff of reality dreams. She will be the glittering socialite – the stalwart Humanitarian and above all – She is in reality the true face of England. England has over 2 million mixed race people. Making mixed race the third-largest and fastest-growing ethnic minority group. The fact that Harry and William have the strength to look at Meghan as a valuable asset to the throne of England – well that will take cojones. INVICTUS I SAY. Aside from which Harry and Meghan’s children will be stunningly beautiful. The world knows of Her Serene Royal Highness Grace Kelly. I suggest that Meghan Markle continues that remarkable story.

https://thebookof25.wordpress.com/2017/01/10/prince-harry-megan-markle-and-the-legacy-of-princess-diana/

Meghan if given the opportunity is very much like Kate – Strong – independent – Caring – forthright and both are steady influences on King William and to her own Prince Harry.. As an Aside I wonder if William choses to be King William 3 or to ascend to another title – More Auspicious? He is keenly aware of the role he must play and as a result desire to become another personage more worthy to the Crown than William Windsor. A Regnal name or reign name Morgifaction allows for the Monarchs to Ascend and take on the Mantle of those that were symbols of great British Glory. The ordinal is not normally used for the first ruler of the name, but is used in historical references once the name is used again. William is William Arthur Philip Louis.

Would he take on the Legend of Camelot – and become KING ARTHUR and carry the greatest

medieval, mythological Mantle that Britain has ever known? That would certainly be a directive from his Mother Princess Diana – who became the world’s most recent mythological figure. Diana was born it is said to change the face of the British Monarchy forever. And she has done that. William as King Arthur may bring to life the idylls of the King. The lore of William as King Arthur creates a

Triumvirate, a unity between The Throne of England – His divided family and a reality of a greater future that Britain has never known.

But let’s look at Poor Bonny Prince Charlie. The reality that he murdered the mother of his children, Princess Diana, is a yolk that he cannot shake. Charles suffers from a form of schizophrenia. His Grandmother Queen Alice has it as well as many members of the Royal Family. Too much interbreeding, I say. This is a list of monarchs who have been described as mentally ill in some way by historians past or present.

Elizabeth II and her family are directly descended from George III, who suffered recurrent bouts of mental illness from middle age to the end of his life. Since part of the mad old king's genetic inheritance lives on in the Windsor blood today, some of his mental estrangement may have come all the way down to Prince Charles.

Don’t worry – this is not fiction or a faerie tale – Charles will undoubtedly confess to Diana’s murder, in time. Like Hamlet, Charles se détériorera avec le temps

. He has already committed Political suicide, Personal Suicide and in time – as he descends into his, “schizophrenic birth rite” He will reveal all. William Shakespeare's play Hamlet – conjures up the ghost of His father King Hamlet. As this Royal tale of the mythical Diana who foretold her death by the hands of the Royal Family, so the Ghost of Diana will haunt Charles. Charles assumed the mantle of Mephisto by following the orders of his father – Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh.

Fact or Fiction, there is much ado and his lordship Prince Charles protests too much. Charles le Fou has spoken via his actions. Do not forget he showed Diana no mercy. As a result he is doomed. When you play GOD- you dance with Mephisto.

· Der Tanz in der Dorfschenke, S514, R181, "Mephisto Waltz No. 1" (1859--62) This is the solo piano version of the famous first Mephisto Waltz by Hungarian composer Franz

https://youtu.be/KJbg9V2KnD8

https://youtu.be/WsK_fTJ5ob0

European monarchs

· Charles, Prince of Wales is the eldest child and heir apparent of Queen Elizabeth II. Known alternatively in Cornwall as Duke of Cornwall and in Scotland as Duke of Rothesay. Born: November 14, 1948 (age 68), Buckingham Palace, London, United Kingdom. The second Charles le Fou.

· King Charles VI of France (1368–1422; ruled 1380–1422), known as Charles le Fou (Charles the Mad) suffered from bouts of psychosis, including glass delusion.

· King Henry VI of England (1421–1471; ruled 1422–1461 and 1470–1471)

· Queen Maria I of Portugal (1734–1816; ruled 1777–1816), known as Maria a Louca (Mary the Mad)

· King George III of the United Kingdom (1738–1820; ruled 1760–1820), suffered from explosive rage attacks, panic attacks, delusions and visual and auditory hallucinations.

· King Christian VII of Denmark (1749–1808; ruled 1767–1808)

· King Ludwig II of Bavaria (1845–1886; ruled 1864–1886), known as "Mad King Ludwig," may have had frontotemporal dementia, schizotypal personality disorder or Pick's disease.

· King Otto of Bavaria (1848–1916; ruled 1886–1913) suffered from depression, anxiety and insomnia throughout his life. In 1886, the senior royal medical officer wrote a statement declaring that Otto was severely mentally ill. Otto is believed to have suffered from schizophrenia.

· Kaiser Wilhelm II, German Emperor (1859-1941, ruled 1888-1918).

· http://www.bbc.com/news/av/uk-40699961/sir-elton-john-and-prince-harry-on-princess-diana

· http://www.bbc.com/news/av/uk-40695322/prince-harry-she-was-one-of-the-naughtiest-parents

· http://www.bbc.com/news/uk-15164970

· http://edition.cnn.com/2017/08/30/opinions/princess-diana-impact-on-royal-family-maltby/index.html

NB. Prince Charles knows all this very well. As he has lived it and people talk.

Je suis Cristoph De Caermichael

Instagram – #cristophde

0 notes