I don’t generally post my work to this blog but I actually did something really cool over the past four weeks in my special effects makeup class.
Basically my idea was a rejected Disney character from the steamboat willie era, whose creator sold his soul to bring her to life and she’s been roaming the basements at Disney studios for almost 90 years.
I’ve been hearing a lot of things about 13 reasons why lately, mostly bad which definitely makes sense. I’ve yet to see it and probably won’t but I can understand why so many people are upset with it.
But if you are looking for a show that handles the the subject of suicide well without romanticizing or misrepresenting it then may I suggest In The Flesh?
“But isn’t that the show about gay zombies?”
Technically, yes. But it’s so much more than that. In The Flesh covers the topics of mental illness and suicide better than any show I’ve seen to date. I first saw it when I was in a very rough place and it definitely had a lasting impact on me.
The show takes place in the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse, the undead have been treated and assimilated back into society. The main character is a boy named Keiren who reunites with his parents and sister after committing suicide. He’s given a second chance at life and gets to see how his death effected his family and community. More importantly, he also gets his own character development and learns coping mechanisms and that suicide is never the answer.
I can hardly do this show justice just by writing a few sentences about it. It’s beautiful, interesting, devastating, and it’s one of the only shows I will say has changed my life.
(While the series never shows graphic depictions of suicide there are trigger warnings for the following: scars, blood, body horror, death, homophobia, and discussions surrounding suicide)
Let me get one thing straight though… Even if Bucky didn’t have innervation in his arm (aka he couldn’t feel anything other than just pressure, ergo couldn’t feel the arm being blown off) he most definitely felt the searing hot metal that was attached to his fucking shoulder. The metal was glowing red hot where it got blown off. Like if you leave the end of a spoon over an open flame and then grab the other end you still burn the shit out of your hand. So imagine your entire shoulder/biceps is made out of metal and the end of it is so hot that it’s glowing red. You don’t think the skin and bone and muscle it’s attached to wont be burning? Like imagine hot metal touching your bones. Bone pain is literally some of the worst kind of pain you can feel and Bucky had searing hot metal attached to his bones. And beyond that it’s still burning his skin, his ligaments, and his muscles. It’s beyond just burning your hand on a hot object because the metal is integrated into his shoulder. And worst of all he can’t get the thing off. He can’t drop the hot spoon because it’s part of him.
So yeah tell me again that Bucky wasn’t in excruciating pain after that
there is so much to do, you think. you make to-do lists. you make more to-do lists. you are drowning in bullet points. you continue to make the lists, growing steadily more hyperaware of that which you are not doing. you don’t make eye contact with your textbooks. you keep writing bullet points.
all of the lights are on in your dorm, down the hall, in the bathroom. when you look outside the window, the buildings are almost blinding in their brilliance. it is 2:13 in the morning. you have not slept in- well. you have not slept. is that the sun? you drink another cup of coffee and draw the blinds.
there are ink marks on your hand and highlighter stains in your hair. scraps of perforated notebook paper are permanently wedged beneath your fingernails. yesterday, you wrote your lecture notes with just your index finger. the notes are still there when you check them- bold and a dark, dark color. you stare at your hands. you take some more notes without reaching for a pen.
there is a boy who walks through the campus lobby every hour, like clockwork. no one will look at him as he ambles through the halls, shouting his commentary at whoever he sees. you made the mistake of catching his eyes once, the first time you saw him. there was nothing behind his glasses. you snapped your head down to stare at your feet, and convinced yourself it was a trick of the light. still, you have not tried to look again since.
someone whispers the valedictorian will be chosen soon in the back row of your statistics class. your spine gives a lurching shudder before you process the words. you don’t know who was valedictorian last year. no one does. there are only absences in class photos and mis-numbered attendance sheets from old courses. you peek over your shoulder. there is no one sitting behind you. you shudder without thinking, and press your finger onto your notebook until the page is nothing but a puddle of ink.
you probably shaved around the last time you slept, which was- well. there is never any time, you rationalize it. you go to the dorm showers, but someone is always using the good one. you have never seen the stall unoccupied. how do you even know it’s the good one? you wonder, but do not truly consider. when you pull all nighters, you can hear the water rushing through the walls. you think that maybe, you wouldn’t hear it if you fell asleep. maybe.