So I went away for a few days from Monday to Thursday to London with some friends. It was supposed to be a nice break and relaxing for all of us. I had some really good times, going around some giant ass shops and Camden market and the national portrait museum and all. I wanna make it clear that I had some good times.
It was also uncomfortably hot the entire time we were there. The travelodge didn’t have air con and just had this one somewhat useless fan and in the day it varied from like 27-35 degrees c. Fucking hot especially when you’re British. This lead to the entire holiday being a mess of heat exhaustion and lack of sleep not just for me but I think for all of us.
I know it was partly the heat but I know how that it wasn’t all the heat but I felt like shit almost the entire time I was there. I was in so much pain to the point where I was struggling to walk, I was having to make stops every few hundred metres and felt constantly Like I was holding people up. But now I’m back home and the temperature is much more bearable in fact people have been commenting that it’s cold. But I haven’t been feeling any better.
I have literally still been feeling consistently shit. Friday and Saturday I was still seriously struggling to walk and while by Sunday walking was less painful I was still utterly exhausted fro literally nothing. Now obviously that is literally the premise of CFS/ME but I am not used to how genuinely bad I have been feeling. I haven’t felt this shit since I was a teenager and in my first few years of having the illness.
I told myself I wouldn’t get that bad again because I convinced myself that it was a mindset. If I willed myself to not get that bad again I wouldn’t right? Except it doesn’t work like that. And it’s a hard lesson to learn that I could have the best mindset in the world and do everything right and still be in unbearable pain and constantly exhausted.
And my mum says I should go and see my doctor but like why? To hear once again that we know jack shit about cfs and that I need to pace myself? Because I know this but the last thing I want in my mid20s is to have to chill out and pace. I want to do all of the things. Fuck I’m moving to the other end of England in September and if I’m like this I don’t know how the fuck I’m going to cope with uni let alone having to prepare my own food and everything on top.
I’m scared tbh. I’m in the worst flare for years and right now I’m not seeing a way out and idk what to do because I know there’s nothing I can do
A FEW THOUGHTS ON MICHAEL JACKSON, FAME, LIFE AND MENTAL HEALTH
Today marks eight years of Michael Jackson’s passing. As a fan, I still find it hard to process that he is gone. Although we all know that death is inevitable, it still comes as a shock when it happens, especially, in Michael Jackson’s case where we know his premature death was due to negligence.
Before I begin to dissect what we know about his story and the lesson we can learn, I want to highlight how many awards he won throughout his career.
I mean I'm on board w curly hair glasses lance but like you can't convince me he would wear ordinary specs and wouldn't buy the most fun glasses ever. Like from thick rim hipster to just the CRAZIEST patterns and loud colors and he would wear em proud
i say “i’m seeing a therapist” and he takes a step backwards. why he wants to know. what happened. what made me like this, basically. what was the final step that pushed me safely into the side of scary people like them.
there’s a lot i think about. like how my illnesses effect me outside of the actual symptoms. like beyond the weight there’s a second river to drown in.
i mean we don’t talk about having to stare at employment papers where they ask you to self-identify your problems. that little bead of sweat that forms when you worry - what if i don’t tell them and i need help? what if i tell them and they think i’m a risk factor? what if they won’t give me the job?
we don’t talk about the way some people act when they find out. the ones who are rude about it are one thing. but then there’s those people you thought were your friends who act like you just told them you’re infectious. who become weird and distant and suspicious like a switch flipped. like if they get to close to you, you’ll give it to them.
we learn to be okay with things we overhear on the bus but we never get used to it coming out of the mouth of the people we love. we carry this secret with us like a rotted fruit, clutching it to our bodies. we’re ashamed of our scars in front of our boss. we don’t talk about our panic attacks during lunch breaks. when the cop pulls you over “i’m disassociating” isn’t an excuse we can open the page on. when you watch people make these ranting posts about how real friends always text back, how if someone loves you, they’ll find the time to spend. success stories make other people cry with inspiration while some part of your brain is saying you can’t do that, you’re not like them. things are uglier at the bottom. you can’t explain why you can’t just make friends. you can’t write because you’re depressed but when you’re depressed you write best. you can’t eat today and no don’t ask why please. nevermind taking the train. never mind trying to be happy. never mind reading books and watching movies and wondering where exactly are people like you in hero stories. i watch a video where a man tells me that being depressed is just a mindset. when i wear all black someone remarks i look particularly emo today. it’s 2017 does anyone say emo anymore, i ask her, and she laughs, “you just look like one of those fake-depressed girls.” okay.
i don’t tell him my therapist is actually why things don’t happen anymore. why i’m getting a handle on it. my tongue feels swollen. i feel embarrassed talking about it. in the highest twist of irony, i think of how many people know my problems anonymously on the internet. i almost spill out all my troubles onto him. instead i tell him it’s just a precaution. that i think everyone should really see a therapist, they’re brain mechanics and we all need a tune-up now and then. he relaxes.
Why I Love Connor Murphy (and why his character isn’t an innocent one)
Hello y’all, I’ve seen Too Much discourse in the DEH fandom recently on the part of people liking Connor and not liking Alana and Zoe enough, so here’s some of my thoughts on the matter (in no perfectly organized order) as well as some headcanons that I have which are supported by evidence in the show.
Connor Murphy was clearly a deeply fucked up kid. Signs of different mental illnesses should have been abundantly clear to his parents from the get-go, but they obviously weren’t (outward violent aggression towards teachers, isolation of himself from other peers, etc.) Connor was clearly crying for help in the only way that he could, through violence, and it’s clear that his dad was resistant to putting him into therapy. Then, (I’m assuming in middle school/early high school) he got into hard drugs (which ones we’re never explicitly told) and attempted suicide. Finally, after that, he goes to rehab, but the ride isn’t over yet.
Zoe mentions him banging on her door threatening to kill her for ‘no reason.’ so we can assume some things.
1. Connor was either high or mid-manic episode. 2. He did not have full control of his actions.
This, of course, could never excuse abusive behavior, but it does explain it and gives room for us to assume that this was before rehab. After rehab, he comes back to school, and I’m going to assume that though he had gotten better, he wasn’t quite good enough. He started self medicating with pot and other less harmful/addictive drugs (”I don’t want you going to school high, Connor.” the way this line is delivered makes me assume that Mrs. Murphy knows Connor smokes pot and cares but only in the context of school.) to try and calm his depression/bipolar/psychotic NOS (I believe he was schizophrenic.)
Connor Murphy was not excusable in his actions, but I love him because he was a tragic character who reminds me of myself. And besides, none of the characters in this show are perfect.
Now, getting to Connor’s mental state during the week that he killed himself:
Very up and down, we see him being nice to Evan (signing his cast, laughing with him, etc.) in one scene, but in the next he sees Zoe’s name and instantly becomes extremely paranoid/panicked because he thinks that Evan is out to get him. He’s constantly worried about being labeled a “freak” (due to constant bullying from almost everyone.) And he keeps the note for two days in his pocket (not at school) and kills himself with it still there.
Connor Murphy was mentally ill and his mom was the only one who gave very much of a shit about it (Zoe did too, I think, but she didn’t know how to deal with it.) and that’s all, Connor Murphy deserves our love not because he was a good or nice character, but because he had the potential to be.
I mean, imagine if he had been properly rehabilitated and continued therapy?