imaginary reality

3, 2, 1… a fear submitted by Dell to Deep Dark Fears - thanks!

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On trauma aftermaths that don't advance the plot

The way TV shows trauma can lead people to expect every reference to trauma to be a plot point. This can be isolating to people coping with the aftermaths of trauma. Sometimes people treat us as stories rather than as people. Sometimes, instead of listening to us, they put a lot of pressure on us to advance the plot they’re expecting.

On TV, triggers tend to be full audiovisual flashbacks that add something to the story. You see a vivid window into the character’s past, and something changes. On TV, trauma aftermaths are usually fascinating. Real life trauma aftermaths are sometimes interesting, but also tend to be very boring to live with.

On TV, triggers tend to create insight. In real life, they’re often boring intrusions interfering with the things you’d rather be thinking about. Sometimes knowing darn well where they come from doesn’t make them go away. Sometimes it’s more like: Seriously? This again?

On TV, when trauma is mentioned, it’s usually a dramatic plot point that happens in a moment. In real life, trauma aftermaths are a mundane day-to-day reality that people live with. They’re a fact of life — and not necessarily the most important one at all times. People who have experienced trauma do other things too. They’re important, but not the one and only defining characteristic of who someone is. And things that happened stay important even when you’re ok. Recovery is not a reset. Mentioning the past doesn’t necessarily mean you’re in crisis.

On TV, when a character mentions trauma, or gets triggered in front of someone, it’s usually a dramatic moment. It changes their life, or their relationship with another character, or explains their backstory, or something. In real life, being triggered isn’t always a story, and telling isn’t always a turning point. Sometimes it’s just mentioning something that happened to be relevant. Sometimes it’s just a mundane instance of something that happens from time to time.

Most people can’t have a dramatic transformative experience every time it turns out that their trauma matters. Transformative experiences and moments of revelation exist, but they’re not the end all and be all of trauma aftermaths. Life goes on, and other things matter too. And understanding what a reaction means and where it came from doesn’t always make it go away. Sometimes, it takes longer and has more to do with skill-building than introspection. Sometimes it doesn’t go away.

On a day to day level, it’s often better to be matter-of-fact about aftermaths. It can be exhausting when people see you as a story and expect you to advance the plot whenever they notice some effect of trauma. Pressure to perform narratives about healing doesn’t often help people to make their lives better. Effect support involves respecting someone as a complex human, including the boring parts.

The aftermath of trauma is a day-to-day reality. It affects a lot of things, large and small. It can be things like being too tired to focus well in class because nightmares kept waking you up every night this week. TV wants that to be a dramatic moment where the character faces their past and gets better. In real life, it’s often a day where you just do your best to try and learn algebra anyway. Because survivors do things besides be traumatized and think about trauma. Sometimes it’s not a story. Sometimes it’s just getting through another day as well as possible.

A lot of triggers are things like being unable to concentrate on anything interesting because some kinds of background noises make you feel too unsafe to pay attention to anything else. For the zillionth time.  Even though you know rationally that they’re not dangerous. Even though you know where they come from, and have processed it over and over. Even if you’ve made a lot of progress in dealing with them, even if they’re no longer bothersome all the time. For most people, recovery involves a lot more than insight. The backstory might be interesting, but being tired and unable to concentrate is boring.

Triggers can also mean having to leave an event and walk home by yourself while other people are having fun, because it turns out that it hurts too much to be around pies and cakes. Or having trouble finding anything interesting to read that isn’t intolerably triggering. Or having trouble interacting with new people because you’re too scared or there are too many minefields. Or being so hypervigilant that it’s hard to focus on anything. No matter how interesting the backstory is, feeling disconnected and missing out on things you wanted to enjoy is usually boring.

When others want to see your trauma as a story, their expectations sometimes expand to fill all available space. Sometimes they seem to want everything to be therapy, or want everything to be about trauma and recovery.

When others want every reference to trauma to be the opening to a transformative experience, it can be really hard to talk about accommodations. For instance, it gets hard to say things like:

  • “I’m really tired because of nightmares” or 
  • “I would love to go to that event, but I might need to leave because of the ways in which that kind of thing can be triggering” or 
  • “I’m glad I came, but I can’t handle this right now” or
  • “I’m freaking out now, but I’ll be ok in a few minutes” or 
  • “I need to step out — can you text me when they stop playing this movie?”

It can also be hard to mention relevant experiences. There are a lot of reasons to mention experiences other than wanting to process, eg:

  • “Actually, I have experience dealing with that agency”
  • “That’s not what happens when people go to the police, in my experience, what happens when you need to make a police report is…”
  • “Please keep in mind that this isn’t hypothetical for me, and may not be for others in the room as well.”

Or any number of other things.

When people are expecting a certain kind of story, they sometimes look past the actual person. And when everyone is looking past you in search of a story, it can be very hard to make connections.

It helps to realize that no matter what others think, your story belongs to you. You don’t have to play out other people’s narrative expectations. It’s ok if your story isn’t what others want it to be. It’s ok not to be interesting. It’s ok to have trauma reactions that don’t advance the plot. And there are people who understand that, and even more people who can learn to understand that.

It’s possible to live a good life in the aftermath of trauma. It’s possible to relearn how to be interested in things. It’s possible to build space you can function in, and to build up your ability to function in more spaces. It’s often possible to get over triggers. All of this can take a lot of time and work, and can be a slow process. It doesn’t always make for a good story, and it doesn’t always play out the way others would like it to. And, it’s your own personal private business. Other people’s concern or curiosity does not obligate you to share details.

Survivors and victims have the right to be boring. We have the right to deal with trauma aftermaths in a matter-of-fact way, without indulging other people’s desires for plot twists. We have the right to own our own stories, and to keep things private. We have the right to have things in our lives that are not therapy; we have the right to needed accommodations without detailing what happened and what recovery looks like. Neither traumatic experiences nor trauma aftermaths erase our humanity.

We are not stories, and we have no obligation to advance an expected plot. We are people, and we have the right to be treated as people. Our lives, and our stories, are our own.

“In this stillness that is at the same time movement, in this darkness that is at the same time light, change is found not in the realm of ideas but in the energizing desire that is realized through precipitation. Desire tends towards its own realization and change takes place when the desire for it shatters the bounds of the possible, breaking the dialectical equilibrium holding together the framework of what is existent. It is at such moments that the imaginary flows into the real and overwhelms it, inundating it until it has been absorbed.”  
~ Michael Richardson

~ Art Tomasz Alen Kopera

~ Animation George RedHawk

G-Dragon Lands in Miami at Alchemist

Next Tuesday, July 25, G-Dragon—the South Korean superstar musician and fashion plate—will bring his arthouse engine, Peaceminusone, to the U.S. for the very first time with a six-day pop-up at Miami Beach’s Alchemist boutique.

Peaceminusone, which G-Dragon runs with his close collaborator Gee Eun, acts, essentially, as a working extension of the singer’s image—a manifestation of the style and aesthetic that has garnered the man tens of millions of fans in his home continent of Asia, and a growing base here in the States. Apparently, G-Dragon has as much fashion clout as Kanye West or Kate Middleton—if he wears something, it sells out by day’s end.

“This dude is literally more powerful than anyone I can think of,” says Alchemist’s Roma Cohen, who, cleverly of late, has tampered with the convention of what it means to run a high-end boutique by launching an Alchemist clothing line, creating more “experiential” shopping models, and trimming way back on brands stocked. Peaceminusone will take over Alchemist’s Miami Beach space—housed five floors up in a neo-Brutalist Herzog and de Meuron parking garage—for the duration of the event, wrapping its windows in color sheaths and installing artworks.

Of course, too, there will be product for sale, including one-off tie-dye pieces alongside a selection of hoodies, pants, caps, bucket hats, and jewelry. G-Dragon is currently in the U.S. as part of his Act III, M.O.T.T.E World Tour—syncing nicely with the pop-up launch, he will perform at Miami’s American Airlines arena on July 25. Says the man of the hour with typical brevity: Peaceminusone’s goal, in Miami and in all of its projects, is about turning “the imaginary into reality.”

Bring Me To Life

@batlog @arkiamccray @trashyemonerd @andy-quick @azul23blue

PART THREE to Admit it you’re in love with me and Nightcall. It’s the final part. Thank you for waiting patiently on it.



I need you to listen to me and listen really carefully

       Jason moaned in approval. He was willing to hear you. God he had missed you so much and-
“Jay, I’m in so much trouble” you helplessly cried out to him, causing him to stand up from his place on the floor.
     “Baby? What wrong?” He sounded so hurt, so worried and it only made you cry more as you knew he’d blame himself if he couldn’t save you.
     “ It’s that witch Enchantress Jay. She’s keeping me and so many other girls here. Please come.” You cried out more. Your screams of pain filled Jason’s ear and he swore they were worse than any horror movie ones. This one was real, full of distress, pain and despair.
  “Baby tell me where you are! Please.”
He heard a pause only some grunts and as he supposed you must have been looking at the surroundings.
    “ I don’t know Jay. I dont know where I am” you cried as the words fell silently off your tongue. “My feet are broken and many girls are dying out from fear and infections . Jay…”
   He couldn’t bear to listen to you, they way you called his name like that.
   “The phone you have. I’ll track it down ok? I’ll find you.”
   “Quickly Jay. If she finds me with that phone she’ll chose me to be her host. I don’t want to suffer.” It came out as a powerful scream, accompanied with begs.
  He could make out words after the statement that she’d rip your heart out if she chose you.
   Jason hang up as you cried out for help, as your cries echoed in his brain.
  Part of him was burnt by your screams, by the way you cried, helplessly. Feeling death surrounding your being as waves of pain hit your body.  On the other… he felt so happy he could hold you in his arms again. This time never letting you go.

  The twenty minute drive to the manor took him four exact ones.
  He knew, that if he didn’t get the chance to save you in time, he’d have to kill himself.
   In a word, he told Bruce everything that had happened, but he wouldn’t believe him.
He only had one alternative, though he was sure, Roy, would kill him if he managed to bother him at the time. Nevertheless, Jason picked up his phone and called Roy; You needed to ba saved.

He was at Roy’s now, nervously waiting as the redhead tried to locate the phone you had used. It seemed like hours, days, months, until the computer screen lit up with what Jason wanted to know.
  “I found her!” Roy snapped and his actions made Jason jump from his spot on the bed. He checked the date, the current hour. Apparently he had been to Roy’s for a little more than one day. But what mattered now were Roy’s words. He had located you.
    “Tell me!”
    “The phone is located in a village in Malaysia.”
     “Where?” Jason felt sweat falling down his forehead as he begged for Roy’s second confirmation.
    When Roy spoke Jason felt his insides part. It’d take him days to get to you, but as the redhead man said, it would better. They’d make a plan, do a small research on Enchantress, see how they could kill her and lastly, collect as many equipment as they could. They didn’t know what they were actually against with.
    “We’re gonna get to her” Roy assured Jason by placing his palm over the ravenette’s shoulder. Jason nodded, with his head hung low.
   It took Jason some moments to form words. He was overwhelmed. Overwhelmed by happiness and sadness at the same time. Overwhelmed by nostalgia, because you were his home, overwhelmed by worry, because he feared you’d die.
   “ I just love her so much” he muttered as cold, already shed, tears threatened to fall from his eyes once again.
“I know man!” Roy patted his shoulder and pulled him in a hug, to provide him with the support he needed.

Three days later, the rode on a ship, given to Roy by the League, who followed their lead. It had became a matter if national security now; Enchantress would be put down once and forever after this mission.
   Jason barely glared at anything else but a photo he had with him. It was a beautiful one, taken in utterly happy times. Your arms were wrapped around his neck and your cheek collided with his, happy smiles decorating both of your faces. It was taken outside the manor, in a moody day. Your happy face came in contrast with the dark grey sky; you were the sun that shone so bright on his life.

“We’re here.” Roy shook his out of his thoughts softly. Jason looked up, fear evident in his throat and he cleared his throat before he spoke.
   “Yes. I’m up!” He mechanically said and got up, putting his helmet on. He slipped the photo in the inside pocket of his camel brown leather jacket so it could be close to his heart.

    The sight wasn’t good. To be honest it was awful. Parts of bodies were everywhere, the skin missing, the heavy smell made mention members of the League flinch. But not Jason. He wasn’t part of the League to begin with, and he was familiar with that smell. He could remember himself smelling like death way before he died.
     The members split, taking paths to find any girl that was still alive.
   Enchantress was nowhere to be found until now. Yes, until now, because Wonder Woman was the first to see her. The Amazon jumped with fury on the witch followed by the whole League.
   The fight was restless, the witch in green struggled to survive. Jason watched the fight from afar, as he searched for you everywhere. He and Roy were assigned to help survivors into the ships, hidden as well as they could from Enchantress.
   In what seemed like ages he found you. His world stopped, he had finally, finally got the chance to lay his eyes on your beautiful form. You were laid on top of three other dead bodies, with blood dripping from your lip.
   He ran to you; placing his fingers to your neck was the first thing he did and as he felt faintest of pulse, he lifted your torso and collided it with his as he cried.
  Your eyes weren’t open, but he didn’t care, he had missed you so fucking much that-

   He suffocated.
  “Stay away from her!” the dark voice spoke “and you wake up finally!”.
    The witch spoke to your restless body and your eyes snapped immediately.
  She turned her gaze to Jason, who you could see now, and your eyes watered too.
   “it was you… you killed her.” she spoke lies to Jason’s ears. His eyes dilated as he drifted off to the imaginary reality Enchantress pulled him in.
Where was the league? They could be selfish bastards right after that fight! You couldn’t move to save him, to shake him out and you knew he’d die sooner or later if he lived up to that.

You were slammed against the wall with force as his eyes looked at you with anger.
    His palms tightly wrapped around your throat as you gasped for air. He was killing you and he loved it. He loved to see you dying by him. Because he was a murderer. Sooner or later he’s kill everyone, he’d kill himself, but for now, the blood rushing form your nose and the red color of your skin made him happy with his job.
“J-Jay.. it’s… not.. real” a voice cried out in his head.
“Don’t kill me” you gasped. “I-l-love y-you!”
“What a pity baby girl. I have to kill you.”

“It’s not real.”

When you shook jason away from the imaginary reality, the league had already jumped on the witch again.

“Yes!?” You cried out to him.
“Oh my god! Baby girl!!!” Jason cried as he took you securely in his arms, all the frustration all the sadness cane out of him, only to be replaced with fulfillment. Your heart throbbed as he held you. You had missed each other more than the sun missed the moon everyday.
   Roy was the one to beg you to continue your rekindling in the ship because there was a huge need to go.
“Tay? Did you find her?” You struggled to speak but Roy nodded in response.
“Let’s go to the ship guys! ”
   Jason stood up, swaying you in his arms and planting a small kiss on your bloody lips.

Wonder Woman insisted on you healing in a hospital along with many other girls.
  Doctors said you hadn’t broken your legs; you just couldn’t move due to the lack of water. The fact that blood was the only thing you were forced to drink had saved you and many other victims of the witch by dehydration. They stitched you up, gave you all the medical care you needed and finally let you go after three agonizing weeks.
Jason took you to your shared apartment, that he had tidied up with the help of Roy, and did not hold himself back from kissing every bruise and every scar you had.
Despite being beaten up, hurt to the point that you weren’t recognizable anymore, you were home. And it was you and Jason once again. He had freed you off your clothes, to kiss away any other scars and black and blue spots in your tender body, and you couldn’t help but feel love filling your heart. It was the first moment after all this time that you felt you were back. Secure in his arms as his lips worshipped you.
“ I love you baby girl!” He admitted with a throbbing heart, pulling you as close as he could. So close that he could breath in from your breath and take life from your pulse.
He was a happy man once again.
“Ah Jay” you moaned and run your hands through his jet black hair. You enjoyed being so close to him, even if his height was too much and even if your head was buried constantly in his chest when you’d hug, you loved it.

Jason kissed your lips softly, trying hi beast not to get too carried away and try to lay you down on every furniture of the room.
Right now all he wanted to do was wash all the dirt and sadness away from you. To make you feel sure you were safe again, inside the steaming water. He wanted to clear your soul from the evil witch’s face and the pain she had brought you. Then lay down on your bed with you, the love of his life, and watch you while you slept and comb your hair.
“ I love you so much Jaybird!” You sighed.
“I’m gonna help you have a bath okay? I’ve missed washing you. i missed everything we did.”

You laid on your bed, naked as Jason wanted; he never actually slept with clothes on, but he loved raw nature of you following his example. He felt as if clothes were a burrier between your souls.
“Tell me what was it like, baby girl. And I’ll stop talking about it once you’ve confessed it to me.”
You took a deep breath as Jason fixed his position on the bed. Memories flew in you, but you were stronger than them. For Jason. You couldn’t bare him seing you again hallow as you were the first nights in the hospital.
“She had hordes of girls there. From every race. She would kill of two everyday. She claimed the ones killed were not strong enough to become her hosts. She would feed us from the girls she’d kill. Blood was our water and their skin was our food.”
Jason daren’t say a single word as he listened to you speak of the traumatic experience.
“She had reached a point, where Tay was next, so I obviously yelled at her to stop. I don’t know how I kept my life. But instead of killing Tay, she had her nails in Tay’s chest at the moment, she slaughtered a girl. She left us to starve for a week. It was so corrupting baby, seing her and fearing that I would come back. I wouldn’t come back to you!”
Hot tears welled up in your eyes as you spoke and Jason pulled you in his chest once again. You turned to look at him and he dicided to kiss the tears away from your eyelids. He madly loved you. Have I mentioned that?
“She’s not gonna hurt you anymore baby (y/n). I’m here now. This time I’m not letting you go.”
You eased in his arms as the moment reminded you if your first night with him.
Even if you were naked, even if your breasts barely fit a B-cups bra, even if your hair was the most perfect one. Even if bruises decorated your body and even if your blood was boiling from sadness, he loved you and you loved him.
You fell asleep after many occasional kisses, but he stayed awake, looking at you.

Just like your first night.

anonymous asked:

Everyone in the preschool au playing house together at play time and it started with Courtney and Olivia being two mommies of Boze and Wes and Mari end up being the mom and dad of Sohinki and it ends up as one giant family tree that would make game of thrones blush (Wes is like Noah's uncle and Courtney at one point is a grandma but also her granddaughters mom and Olivia is someone's kid but the mom of her is someone else's kid And its confusing but they understand somehow)

The thought of a group of four year olds somehow constructing and understanding a complex family lineage within their own imaginary reality while at the same time not even knowing how to read is extremely funny yet plausible to me

When children turn 8, they are given the option of manifesting their imaginary friend into reality in exchange for sacrificing their remaining imagination. Your “friend” assumes he’s about to be manifested, but you’ve always secretly wanted to be a writer when you grow up.

“To divide the world into a true half and an illusory one, whether in the manner of Christianity or that of Kant, is just a sign of decadence; a symptom of life in decline.”

—F. Nietzsche, Twilight of the Idols, “‘Reason’ in Philosophy,” §6 (edited excerpt).