u/broken_krystal_ball

I have yet to read a full text on the matter as I am working through treating severe ADHD, however, I have done quite a bit of research on Socialism.

So, generally, I consider myself to be in support of Socialist policies and I definitely am against Capitalism, however, I do not consider myself a complete Socialist mainly due to my perspective on suffering.

Politically, I often call myself an Anarchist and philosophically I tend to align myself with the Existentialists. This leads me to view suffering itself as inherent to life and in many cases, I even consider it necessary for a meaningful human life.

Now, I'm not interested in debating my perspectives, I simply want to know if I'm misunderstanding something about Socialism. From what I know Marx may venture to call perspectives like mine Opium as he did with religion. Combined with the idea of suffering being based in systemic factors as opposed to existential ones, makes me think that I'm incompatible with the term Socialist.

Am I right in saying this or am I missing something? I've heard some people say you can be a Socialist without being a Marxist so maybe I am wrong.

I am almost 22 years old, and I've lived with ADHD alongside ASD, my entire life. However, my Autism is by far not the biggest weight on me. For years I felt a major difficulty in learning or doing anything. The idea of the comic artist, dancer, or musician with ADHD who couldn't pay attention in school but could hyperfocus on their craft, I'm afraid I can't relate. My hyperfocus isn't a poetic expression of passion, it is an arbitrary almost mania where I can't think of anything else that will vanish whether I want it to or not. I can't hyperfocus on drawing, or writing, reading, or experiencing media, because more often than not my brain chooses to hyperfocus on imaginary scenarios that I play over and over again.

The worst part is how many of my days feel suffocated by brain fog, just recently I opened the door of a strangers car because I forgot what my dad's car looked like and where he parked. It feels like my brain is nearsighted, as my eyes are. I don't want to live life as if I'm asleep, I feel like screaming when I act, exerting all my energy only to get nothing back.

I have begun pursuing medication this year, I started back in February, now September is upon me and I still haven't found a medication that does what I need. Two different dosages of Ritalin, two of Vyvanse, and now one (going of two) of Adderall. I always end up with the same problems, the medication will do great at keeping my focus, but I will feel wired and life feels bland, like my wonder has been drained from my blood. My drawings are just graphite shavings onto paper, my stories are just words on a text document, the sunset doesn't glow like it did before.

So this is my dilemma? Either wonder without action or action without wonder? Am I just defective? Everytime I look up how these meds are making me feel, there are like three people who know what I mean that ten others saying "Well it has the opposite effect on me,", just makes me want to break something.

I feel like I'm a prisoner in my own mind, forced to watch as my life passes me by while I have this deep urge to live a full life, I just need focus and well as wonder, why is it so hard to balance it out. Is all I am? Just the misfiring of dopamine and norepinephrine? Is correcting those misfirings really going to castrate who I am? I sometimes worry that one day when I tell my PA-C that once again, this medication isn't working and she's going to assume I'm being intentionally difficult. I just want to draw and write. I just want to study. I just want to be present in moments and reminisce over them with clarity. I want to live my life like it matters.

So as of now l believe my typing is 4w5 so/sp 471, however I have some questions about the 7 aspect.

I have seen many descriptions of 4s with a 7 fix described as someone who will avoid negative emotions, that I do not relate to, I have always felt all of my emotions very deeply.

In some descriptions of 7 dominants however, I found something I did relate to, which was the idea of imbuing negativity with a positive. My entire life philosophy feels like this, not necessarily trying to convince myself that things are okay, but more accepting suffering as better than boredom and emptiness. I view life through the lens of drama and story, no story can really exist without conflict of some kind. I see suffering as something to experience, understand, and find myself in.

Does this count as positive imbuing if I still generally feel the emotions as they come? Whenever I am crying, no part of me is telling me to reframe it, it's something I just no deep down, so I feel free to feel whatever I feel.

The one exception, as in, the one kind of suffering that I find difficult to handle is any kind that prevents me from acting, like sickness, something not working "the way it's supposed to," due to circumstances (which I feel is my 1 fix), or my brain doing everything to sabatoge my endeavors. Recently this has manifested in me struggling to treat my ADHD which has prevented me from feeling adventurous about life due to adverse effects of the meds.

Does this sound like a 7 fix?

I am almost 22 years old, and I've lived with ADHD alongside ASD, my entire life. However, my Autism is by far not the biggest weight on me. For years I felt a major difficulty in learning or doing anything. The idea of the comic artist, dancer, or musician with ADHD who couldn't pay attention in school but could hyperfocus on their craft, I'm afraid I can't relate. My hyperfocus isn't a poetic expression of passion, it is an arbitrary almost mania where I can't think of anything else that will vanish whether I want it to or not. I can't hyperfocus on drawing, or writing, reading, or experiencing media, because more often than not my brain chooses to hyperfocus on imaginary scenarios that I play over and over again.

The worst part is how many of my days feel suffocated by brain fog, just recently I opened the door of a strangers car because I forgot what my dad's car looked like and where he parked. It feels like my brain is nearsighted, as my eyes are. I don't want to live life as if I'm asleep, I feel like screaming when I act, exerting all my energy only to get nothing back.

I have begun pursuing medication this year, I started back in February, now September is upon me and I still haven't found a medication that does what I need. Two different dosages of Ritalin, two of Vyvanse, and now one (going of two) of Adderall. I always end up with the same problems, the medication will do great at keeping my focus, but I will feel wired and life feels bland, like my wonder has been drained from my blood. My drawings are just graphite shavings onto paper, my stories are just words on a text document, the sunset doesn't glow like it did before.

So this is my dilemma? Either wonder without action or action without wonder? Am I just defective? Everytime I look up how these meds are making me feel, there are like three people who know what I mean that ten others saying "Well it has the opposite effect on me,", just makes me want to break something.

I feel like I'm a prisoner in my own mind, forced to watch as my life passes me by while I have this deep urge to live a full life, I just need focus and well as wonder, why is it so hard to balance it out. Is all I am? Just the misfiring of dopamine and norepinephrine? Is correcting those misfirings really going to castrate who I am? I sometimes worry that one day when I tell my PA-C that once again, this medication isn't working and she's going to assume I'm being intentionally difficult. I just want to draw and write. I just want to study. I just want to be present in moments and reminisce over them with clarity. I want to live my life like it matters.

I'm posting this in the hopes anyone has experienced this so I can have some hope things can get better.

So, I've figured out that I feel the most alive when I have some basic things that I focus on everyday, and the rest more exploratory.

My current non negotiables are merely two: consistent daily practice of both writing and drawing. As an aspiring animator both of these are paramount for my future goals.

Everything else usually falls into one of three categories: media, study, or hobbies. I tend to cycle through these quite a lot as since these don't require consistent effort in the way my two main aspirations do, I can learn a bit, put it down, and come back later. The trouble is when so many things feel interesting to where I freeze up.

Should I watched Nana or should I watch Sailor Moon? Should I read the Hobbit or Frankenstein? I haven't read Poetry in a while, and I've always wanted to learn how to write Poems. Should I study Plato or Stirner? Should I study Evolutionary Biology or Psychology? Should I read comics or indie webcomics? Y'know, I haven't played guitar in a while. Don't even get me started on world events.

The most freeing thing I've ever done was let go of the idea of knowing everything, but this miraculous world is so interesting that it's hard to not want to try.

The scariest part about this is that I'm struggling with this even while unemployed as I'm trying to figure out the way forward in my life. What's going to happen when I actually have a job?

So, how do you decide what you're going to explore in a day?

Long story short, I'm unemployed and still living at home. However, there are many projects I'm following and want to see thrive.

I've done the obvious things where I like and share and interact with their social media posts to try to push them out to more people. I'm curious if you guys have found other ways to support Indie Animation besides financially.

I've been critical of our cultures emphasis on therapy as a cure all solution for all of life's difficulties. I want to believe that we are capable of solving more interpersonal issues with both personal and collective effort. Many people have the notion that all people critical of therapy are abuse apologists.

I'm curious if any of you have experience with a toxic person being healed with little or no therapeutic intervention. Whether it was a friend, family member, lover, or yourself, I'm interested to hear.

Whenever I think about this subject, I always remember this passage from the beginning of No Longer Human.

"I was born in a village in the Northeast, and it wasn’t until I was quite big that I saw my first train. I climbed up and down the station bridge, quite unaware that its function was to permit people to cross from one track to another. I was convinced that the bridge had been provided to lend an exotic touch and to make the station premises a place of pleasant diversity, like some foreign playground. I remained under this delusion for quite a long time, and it was for me a very refined amusement indeed to climb up and down the bridge. I thought that it was one of the most elegant services provided by the railways. When later I discovered that the bridge was nothing more than a utilitarian device, I lost all interest in it,"

Immedately when I first read (well technically listened but read sounds better) this passage, I was pleasantly suprised to see that I wasn't alone in this. I can think of several examples like this, where the pulling back of the veil made things feel less wonderous, like the unknown was most of the joy.

I think of Magicquest, it is this tourist attraction that my family used to swing by while on vacation. It was this sort of live action adventure game where you were given wands that could cast spells and interact with the environment. My young mind of course believed that it was real magic, that I, a young child was capable of commanding a force beyond human science. However, as I got older, I had realized that this was merely clever engineering, the wands had trasmitters that interacted with the recievers in objects, creating seemingly magic effects. This made me lose interest.

Now I'm sure if I went back there now, I could have some fun. I'm perfectly capable of suspending my disbelief. My point is that it seemed like the world had almost different qualities when it was more unfamiliar. Meanwhile now to enjoy myself there, I would need to place myself mentally into a world of magic within my imagination, to make extra sure my thinking doesn't ruin the fun.

Interestingly, I doubt that in a world where magic did exist that it to wouldn't run into this problem. Have you ever noticed how in stories that contain magic, the urge by the writer seems to be to make the magic almost a mundane? To us, a fireball projecting from someones mouth before exploding into scattered embers is wonderous, to the characters, it's Tuesday. The only real wonder you may see is when they are working to reach newer heights of their magic (In other words, the unknown).

While we're on the subject of fiction; does anyone else hate endings? I remember when I used to watch movies a lot as a kid, I would be left with this feeling of emptiness, my only way of consoling myself was to daydream about what happened after the credits rolled, and I was even more frustrated to find that since the stories were wrapped in a neat little bow, there was essientally nothing I could imagine.

I recently watched Persepolis, and while it's a more autobiographical story, it still is one of my favorite endings. Close second is probably The Wind Rises. They're perfect to me because the characters remain changed to be sure, but also they and the world they inhabit are still imperfect, which gives more scope for the imagination.

The Analytical approach to fiction is something I have a love hate relationship with. On one hand it has definitely allowed me to discover aspects of stories that I didn't know were there. On the other hand, they often lean into sure answers, which again can take some of the magic away. These Media Literacy elitists had me believe that the only way to write a good story was to outline it scene by scene, I realized far too late that it was destroying the reason I became a writer in the first place, exploration.

This aversion to sure answers is also what leads me to an ambivalence about learning in general. To me learning has never been about getting answers as it has been discovering new possibilities. I have an interest in philosophy, however, I never see it as a means of eventually having collected enough information to no longer need to study it. I hope the world never runs out of question, existential struggles, interpersonal conflicts, petty complaints, things I just can't figure out.

I recently watched Persepolis, and it is one of my favorite endings. I always felt dissatisfied with endings where the characters and worlds are just perfect afterwards and they will just go on their happily after. However, I also don't like completely bad endings either. Perhaps I'm just looking at the wrong things (I'm still new to expanding my palette), however, most shows I've experienced have fallen in this binary category. I've noticed, however, bittersweet endings have often been more prevalent in movies than shows (The Wind Rises is another favorite ending of mine).

Bonus points if the ending gives the viewer the sense that the story goes on post credits.

I've recently began reevaluating my own Ageism in me. Until fairly recently I saw many even late teenagers as inherently more volatile and irresponsible. I looked back at my own teenagehood as a reason for this. However what broke me out of this idea was considering the effects of the authoritarian conditioning of minors and also citizens.

Many parents, even well meaning ones, often parent from the perspective of the child being an inferior being. While the delicate psychology of the child is by nature something that needs to be taught, parents don't just teach what the child needs to know, they teach what they think the child needs to know.

The ignorance of the child is often associated with a stupidity that can't be helped, however, when you take into account the world of the child their actions are perfectly reasonable to them. I was suprised that others haven't mentioned similar experiences but I remember myself being extremely aware of the emotions I was feeling as a child but, until later, I didn't have the right words to describe them.

For example, I often started crying when I didn't get a toy I wanted in the store, not because I was a spoiled child but because I understood how the toys in the aisles changed, that is to say, I had FOMO at a young age. When I understood that there may not be a "next time," for the specific toy I was looking at, it made me feel distressed. I was aware of these volatile emotions so much so that I tried to avoid having these tantrums by stopping going to the store with my mom (My parents weren't the "breathe with me," types as you can imagine, they threw tantrums more than I did).

Further, the ignorance a child possesses such as wanting to eat too much candy, is not a result of stupidity but from a lack of experience and low impulse regulation. These situations ideally should be handled with logic ("Too much sugar is bad for your body,") and compassion ("I want you to be healthy,"). Notice how these methods sound similar to talking to an adult who may be an addict or has a similarly poor diet.

Teenagers as they gain more freedom, act with the subconscious belief that they are less than adults. Having this perspective becomes a self fulfilling prophecy. They ride this high in their teenage years, indulging in unprotected sex, substances, poor diets, staying up late, fighting, not caring about their futures, crying over "stupid things,", etc, it can be easy to look at this and say that teenagers are more unstable, until you realize that all of these behaviors are commonly seen in adults as well. Adults consistently scored higher on the drug abuse front, the rate of abusive relationships between adults and teens is about the same. Is it not possible that these behaviors have less to do with teenagers and more with humans as a whole reacting due to upbringings, environmental factors, and existential feelings?

How dare they call the desire of teenagers to experience love fickle or a status symbol. The people who say this, I would love to see their relationships. Let's see what you have over them, you call there's fickle because they burn out, does your relationships even have fire anymore?

Are there some psychological differences between teenagers and adults, perhaps, however if we have a 16 year old who has cared for their younger family members for most of their life and a 25 year old only child who has only just started caring for their first child, I know who I would trust to be my child's babysitter. I haven't done extensive research on the Neurobiology of Teenagers but I honestly wouldn't be suprised if there's some fine print about how the emotional volatility and irresponsibility can be regulated or perhaps even channeled more constructively. They say teenagers have emotional volatility, is it volatility or were they not taught how to regulate themselves?

About my own experiences. I used to believe that the chaotic symphony of my teenage mental health was conducted by hormones, however, I realize now that it was at best playing the triangle, the conductor was every way I was conditioned to believe I was worthless. I was taught that by my parents, by the world, even by my own thoughts. I didn't get better because I grew up, I got better because I liberated myself.

Younger people are capable of far more than is often given: Louis Braille was 15 years old when he invented his namesake. Fred Hampton was hosting community breakfasts at age 10. Greta Thulenberg was 15 when she started crusading against climate change. That's not even mentioning the countless artists who created phenomenonal works at young ages (Which like it or not, requires a wisdom about life).

When Adultists talk about protecting children or teens, what they needed protecting from all along was them. However, they do not want these teens to be liberated, because if the dictatorship of adults is thrown away, what other power structures will be put on the chopping block?

I'm working my way through The Ego and His Own so maybe I'll regret ever posting this, but I will still ask.

I've been considering if a certain aspect of my life is possessed by a Spook. This aspect being my Ambition, not necessarily the mere capitalistic sense but the pursuit of greatness and the desire for the respect of my peers. Something I must clarify that when referring to the pursuit of greatness, I am not referring to the type that sees the end goal as a sort of "happily ever after," (I hardly believe such a thing exists). To me the struggle is the beautiful part, which for me is the pursuit of becoming an Animator, Writer, and Student (referring to the state of forever learning). I myself am never satisfied unless I'm moving towards something, but the something is almost irrelevant, I want to struggle and overcome until it's my time to die.

As for the respect from my peers, I am aware that this desire is in a lot of ways self indulgent. I like meeting people, I like when people respect what I do. I don't do anything with the intention of people liking me, but I still think it'd be pretty cool if someone experienced my Art the way I did with Kohei Horikoshi. Further if I succeed in gaining respect like that, it could help in gaining resources for improving my Art and meeting fellow artists.

Does it sound like the ideal possesses me or I possess it? To what extent are dreams and ambitions Spooks?

I've loved TV and movies since I was a child. Due to my bleak home life it offered me a form of escapism and hope. Seeing quirky and eccentric characters who I often saw myself in depicted as heros gave me a feeling of empowerment I never felt in real life. However, I noticed a feeling in me when I used to finish movies. At the end of a movie I would feel this sense of emptiness, and then to push this feeling down I would have to occupy myself with a daydream of what comes after the credits roll. I didn't feel this much with TV shows, as the shows I was watching at the time were still ongoing and had ended long after I stopped watching TV.

When I stopped watching TV, it was instead video games that became my main experience with stories. During this era I realized that I was severely prone to post game depression. Sometimes I'd be messed up for over a week.

Now in recent years as I've come back to TV and movies I feel that same thing, and worse, the fear of it. It mainly comes up with shows I have a really strong emotional attachment to, but even with those I don't, I still feel a pit in my stomach with each ending, good or bad.

The best parts of a work to me are always the middle parts, I don't think I'm necessarily revolutionary in saying this but I always found it strange. Most stories are modeled based on the idea that the protagonist starts lacking something, then the middle is the struggle to achieve that end, and the end is either the reward for the struggle. Now this is a very simple way of putting, for example some stories either end with the character not getting what they want, realizing they want something different, or they get what they want and they have to deal with the consequences of getting it. However I find it surreal to think about how a character is moving towards a goal when it almost isn't the point.

This connects to some of my real life philosophies. Despite the fact I have dreams myself, my main goal in life is to continously have a sense of growth, striving, pitfalls, successes, and failures alike until it's time for me to die, but I digress.

This fear of the inevitable end of a story has lead me to procrastinate on shows that I hold close to my heart, I went a year without watching a single episode of my favorite show and just daydreamed about it the entire time. Sidenote: I mentioned that the quality of the ending is not what makes me feel empty, however it certainly doesn't help, that's lead me to obsessively fear my favorites having a bad ending at the risk of the work being corrupted in some way.

Part of me wonders if I'm even cut out to be a writer because of this, I always have trouble ending my ideas because all I can think of is ideas to fill the middle.

If anyone has any advice or thoughts on this, feel free, I would love to hear if anyone else has this problem.

EDIT: I forgot to mention that this feeling of dread about endings doesn't normally apply to less character centered stories, for example, I enjoyed Frankenstein's ending because the characters in that story feel more like pawns for the narrative as opposed to entities within a world. I'm aware all characters in a story usually serve a function but there is definitely a spectrum to what extent that fact is obscured.

Before we start I would like the preface this by offering my sincerest condolences to the friends, family, and associates of E.Midnight. I regret I never got to meet him. I hope that this entry will contribute to his legacy and provide comfort to those in the sub who knew him. Thank you and I hope you enjoy -Phoenix

As I stare at the giant pile of rot in front of me–the smell–I suppose most see this sight as unpleasant, but honestly it makes the most sense to me. It helps distract me from the pain–god I'm so hungry--the growls of those who I knew–probably–but I figure why try to distance myself from a smell that I’m never able to escape from, after all I’ll smell just like them soon and things will finally be over.

It has been…I don't know how long since Crawford had fallen. I don't know how long the dead have been walking, for all I know I could be a year older now. But, it has been…sometime since Crawford had fallen, not that you’d notice much of a difference in this Hell. It’s never been much to speak of–Actually no Hell may be a better outcome than this, it’s warmer. I don’t recall too much before the fall, or even before Crawford. People seem to imagine a brain being a pink organ with electrical signals running rampant, exchanging information to create and maintain memories, selfhood, passions. I imagine mine being more gray, driven at first by the urge to eat, shit, sleep, and die. I don’t know, maybe I have a brain disease or something.

However, I will share the few memories I do have before the fall. This was all started by a woman, Anna Correa, who gave into the desire of sex and the desire to keep the resulting child. She knew, we all knew there were two choices, terminate the pregnancy or leave Crawford, but there was no leaving Crawford, not for us.

We all knew what “leaving Crawford,” meant, the council thought they were sneaky but no! We all saw friends, family, the sick, put up on spikes, hoisted into the air like a flag of rot.

Anna, despite knowing this, seemed to think that she could appeal to the Doctor–oh no–she thought he would be moved by her tears to hide the baby. As if anyone in Crawford, much less a person working for Olsen had anything resembling a heart. When it became clear to her that he wouldn’t hide the pregnancy, so it was either abortion or abhorrent, she stabbed Doctor Logan and took his gun, killing who knows how many before she escaped through the sewers. Leaving the rest of us here to die. The child she carried in her stomach through those sewers, was mine.

She left me here, definitely dead and now there’s no food left, barely any water, so I’m just going to die here. I feel nothing about this, we only really–I don't know–had sex once. She's just another blur.

“Hey!” A whisper sounds behind me

I turn and see Nina, the other person I’m reluctantly sharing this fate with. Honestly there would be some more peace if she wasn’t here. Nina originally was going to leave Crawford, I remember she shook me awake from sleep. She was trying to convince me to come out of Crawford with her and the rest of those leaving through the Sewers. I didn't feel like it, I guess she decided to stay after that.

She still keeps dragging me on these plans. First it was leaving Crawford, then it was going to rations storage (which did work), then it was trying to find an elusive bunker that she was convinced the Crawford Council were hiding in, I don't know or care what it is now, I'm just waiting for starvation to take me.

“What?” I say exasperated

“Why the hell are you out here?” Nina says gesturing around the darkness around us, she seemed a bit uneasy.

I suppose it was slightly dangerous to be out here, still I’m not an idiot, I won’t let them take me off guard like she thinks. She hasn’t left me with more than a few minutes of sweet silence since we’ve been here. Telling stories or jokes that I never listen to She’s smiling like everything's okay, it’s kinda annoying–I don't know maybe she’s planning to eat me to survive. She grabs my arm and drags me back to the old apartment building we’re held up in before any of the liberators come to bite me. What a shame, I could’ve gotten used to staring into the black void above us.

She shoves me onto the bed–feels like sandpaper–Oh god, I can see the look in her eyes, it’s as I expected, she has another plan. I'm too tired for this shit

“What is it this time?” I ask flatly

“What can’t I just talk to my friend?” Nina asks

Friend…that’s a stretch, I don’t think I have or have ever had friends–maybe on a playground–definitely don’t have any in this new world, new world, new, better, shiner, ironic, nothing about this world looks new, how can it be considered new? No, this world hasn’t changed, it’s just as it was before, just a different chord. I can not remember any friends or friendly feelings from before, just a blur of grayness, and noise which Nina appears to be an expert at.

“No…” I say plainly

“Ah aren’t you just pleasant, well three eyes, you’re gonna have to hear me out,”

Three Eyes…that name always makes me flinch. No doubt, the inspiration was my old broken glasses which I wear to have at least one good eye, but when did she start calling me that–strange I haven't heard a name like that since before– I think, I don't know.

“I don’t understand why you started calling me that, you don’t seem like the nickname type,”

Nina’s face looks slightly shocked

“I did-” Nina says before sighing “I don’t understand why you started acting like this but-whatever,”

Nina sighs, I guess she's done with that topic, she gets up and sits in the chair across from the bed.

“Look…I know what you’re going to say but I mean it this time, we need to leave Crawford,”

“No,” I say

“Listen-”

“No! I’m not going to follow you out there just so we can take eight steps and get eaten,” I say

“It’d be better than starving to death in here?”

“Not when you consider that the result would be the same out there,” I say “There's nothing food left here or out there,”

“That’s just the thing, there’s one more building that we haven’t checked, maybe it’s a-a-an emergency rations supply,”

She sounds like she’s making it up as she goes along–just a train of words–god I’m hungry though–no there’s no food left in Crawford–hurts. It’s too much work, it would just burn off the calories I still have left. I don't know…I was planning just to starve as I said.

“You know I’ll just keep pestering you until you give in,” Nina says with a knowing smirk

“If I do it, will you let me die in peace at last?” I say after a long sigh

Please say yes–please–I’m tired of this place. Whether it's here or out there, I don't care as long as it comes soon. She thinks for a moment before she says

“Fine,”

***

Me and the noise beside me are walking–stealthily–God it’s cold–hungry. Nina is still talking, the same girl who said I was being stupid for coming out here quietly last…What is she even saying? I zoned out the moment the path became clear.

“Gabby,” Nina says “You and Gabby used to talk all the time,”

Oh right, Gabby was her brother, I guess I used to speak with him. I don't know what about–Food? The weather? Again, just a blur, TV Static when I try to remember sound, gray when I try to remember colors.

“Hey!” Nina says

“Huh?”

“I asked if you remembered that,” Nina says irritated

“Sorry, what was it?” I say, I knew whatever it was, I didn't remember but I still asked

“It’s–mmh nevermind,” She says annoyed

Okay…that's one way to achieve silence.

We step towards the abandoned building, and the door is wide open.

“This place has already been looted,” I say immediately turning around to leave

“Wait just a minute asshole,” She says “Do you have anything resembling an imagination in your dome?”

“I’m not going to search an empty–woah!”

She drags me in by the arm inside–that hurts–I don't feel like pulling away, where we see a bunch of open crates.

“Open means looted,” I sigh exhausted

“You don’t know that!” She asserts “Maybe they left a can or two in the rush,”

She goes to examine the crates closely. If you look into the bottom of an empty crate, no amount of looking closely is going to make anything appear. Still she manages to make this extending staring feel slow and rushed at once. So I watch her look through these crates as I fidget with my revolver.

“Huh…” Nina says “They’re empty,”

“Like I said,” I say

Nina went to speak but we heard the horrid groans…coming from the only door in. There were a lot of them–what now?

“Run!” Nina said

I bolt after her, there’s no way out–I know that. She knows that, where are we even going? I suppose to buy us these precious, pointless seconds, before we’re turned into bloody spam. I don't know, I guess this is it. And Nina, as the dead limp closer towards us, still searching desperately, naively, for an escape

I chuckle to myself, this is such an absurd scene to me.

“Down there!” Nina says pointing down

I follow her finger and sure enough, there was a hatch, camouflaged into the wood. Nina gets on one side and I the other and we lift the heavy piece of wood, one of the corpses is reaching for my shoulder when we both propel our lower bodies into the opening.

I hear another voice, not Nina’s–goddamnit, who is it? Saying that same name.

“Three eyes, Three Eyes, wake up,” It says it in the same tone of a mother waking their child up for school

There's warmth around me, a hug, snuggly, tightly.

“Three Eyes!”

“Three Eyes!” Nina says, shaking me, with that look of concern, as if there was anything worth caring about anymore.

My head aches, like there’s a dent in it from that wood hatch hitting square in the head–goddamn that hurts–and Nina is looking at me doing this thing she always does–smile—smile the moment she realizes that everything is “Fine,” it always feels so smug.

“Thank god, that damn thing hit you in the head and knocked you out. There's a basement exit just over there. God that was a hard hit, I wonder if you’re going to get a bump like in Tom and Jerry do you remember those-?”

“Let’s just get back home…” I say blankly

She shuts up quickly–and nods solemnly, maybe just maybe, I will finally die.

***

I lay in bed clutching my stomach–this hunger–it’s over for me. I am going to die in this bed, I refuse to get up–no!--I am going to lay here and let my stomach consume the rest of me–there was nothing left anyways.

Oh but of course, I can’t have peace even in this moment. Nina barges in not thinking to knock.

“Look-” Nina says

“No…you promise you’d let me die,” I whine

“Out of all things, that’s what you remember? Get up!” She says

I ignore her, maybe if I try hard enough she will blend in with the sounds of my breathing–God please just give me some peace. Nina pulls me off the bed by my leg.

“What is wrong with you?” She finally asks “Why are you so ready to just give up,”

“What are you talking about? I just don't want to do this anymore,” I say

“Is this about Anna?”

At the mention of that name, it feels as though all my cells still.

“No,”

“It is, isn't it?” She says insistently

“She was a warm body, I only did it because it was a way to pass the time,”

Nina looks horrified at my words, there's a stretch of silence threatening to snap like pulling on two ends of a hair. For once the silence doesn't feel like peace, this familiar tension.

“I don't recognize you anymore…what happened? You….you…” She says before erupting “You did love her…let's get that out of the way first. You weren't a dull asshole when you came into Crawford, and you sure as hell weren't one before,”

I open my mouth to speak but she shuts me down

“Shh! You’re going to hear me this time, drift off again, I’ll slap you into last month, then maybe you’d be you again,”

I shut my mouth, I don't know why she's this angry over me of all people.

“Do you even remember how we met?”

“W-what? J-just before Crawford right?” I didn’t intend to, but my tone sounded unsure

“No!” She says, grabbing her head and groaning “It was in the playground in Davant Park, you were a nervous wreck, curled up into a ball so much that I thought you were crying. I ran up to you and asked what was wrong, and you froze like you had never heard someone speak before. I sat there with you, for the rest of the day just talking, you had a stutter that tripped over M’s, Y’s, and W's,”

I flinched, like wiping a fogged window to see another person on the other side. Like dad used to, he used to prank me like that–it scared the shit out of me back then–I’d fall back onto the floors with my mom laughing–No! Why am I shaky? Why can’t I stop? Color in my mind?

“W-what else do y-y-y-you know?” I ask eagerly

Nina’s eyes widened

“What else do I know…what do you mean?”

“About…m-me?”

“Well…” She says pausing for a moment “Your father owned Japanese restaurant called ‘Natsukashi,’,”

“Natsukashi…” I say, it's name numbing my mouth

“When I asked why he called it that,” Nina continues “you told me it means ‘nostalgic,’ in Japanese, he would say that he wanted to recreate the feelings of a restaurant he used to go to back in Japan called…I don't remember the name but…I asked him just a few months before the outbreak if he had succeeded, and he said with a smile ‘I don't know, I was busy making new memories, that old place was seeds,”

Finally, a picture is in my mind. No, not the blurs–a picture–clear and focused like a photo. My father teaching me how to make noodles from scratch, and I failed a million times. Each time he just smiled and said “Next time,”, his cologne stung the nostrils but had a subtle sweetness to it, almost berry-ish. I remember Nina’s face when I convinced her to try wasabi for the first time, I’ve never seen someone reach for milk that quickly before. I remember my mother socialized with the customers a lot, everyone spoke about “Mrs. Takaichi,” with such fondness, as if she was the community's mother.

“I remember…when your mom died, the entire community came together to say goodbye. For years after on her birthday, people wore Teal ribbons,” Nina says

That feels like a stab, tears still are trying to erupt–No! I can’t–my father, I’ll never understand how he was able to continue despite how sad he was–he loved her!--“In her memory son, we’ll live,” No!

“You moved forward,”

The storm freezes.

“W-What do y-y-you m-mean?” I ask “Dad…he was the one who–”

“No! It was both of you, you both found ways to move one to be happy–No, happy isn’t the right word,” Nina says “You were never going to be happy about her dying…Hell being continuously happy may not be possible, but you moved forward, you two saw that your lives still had meaning, like her life did, like her life still does! Because you two were strong, please Hiro! I can lose another friend, but not before he dies,”

Forward, that word, forward. “Life is about looking everywhere, backwards, left, right, but is only about moving forward,” that was Gabby’s advice to us. He said “I’d hate to see a great kid like you lose their light,”. Gabby was like the brother I never had, he gave me advice about girls, he helped me with my homework, taught me how to ride a bike, how could I forget that, these painful insignificant things–that word doesn’t feel right anymore. How dare I even think of calling these beautiful, painful, blissful, tortuous memories insignificant. A single blotch of paint against a white wall, will always draw your eye, no matter how small. We’re small, against this world, this universe, and whatever the fuck other forces are at play, but all of these things miss us. If the universe doesn’t care about us, it’s because it’s missing out.

“And when we came to Crawford,” Nina says

“No!” I say pleading

“No, you need to hear this,”

“Nina please, I can’t–”

“Your father was killed because he was too old,” Nina says “Every familiar face you knew, including my brother, was killed. I had started giving up, as many others were, but you…you kept your head up. Don’t get me wrong, you cried more than the rest of us, you stayed in your bed for days on end after your father died, that’s not true hopelessness, hopelessness is not even crying because there’s nothing. Your cheeks were never dry, and that showed me that you were still alive,”

It makes no sense, memories that make me want to sob, they’re still making my heart pump–it just may stop.

“Then you met Anna,”

The chaos stills within.

“You saw her bouncing a ball off a wall out of boredom, and you had said…hehe–stupid–you said that ‘Imagine if God decided to do that to our planet,’, real smooth talker. And she laughed, she laughed at your awkward, dorky ass,” Nina says “Eventually, you two got closer, a real…whirlwind romance if I’ve ever seen one, I envied you guys because the only dudes left were burly dudes and girls–” Nina clears her throat “You. Guys. Were. Conjoined! You guys never went an entire day without seeing each other, it was always ‘Three Eyes,’ this and ‘My Muffin,’ that,”

Her hair…Anna’s hair, Crawford soaps were always scentless, but she always had a faint flesh scent which relaxed me because I knew she was close. She used to tickle me for making smartass remarks about how she exhaled air through her nose while kissing like a bull. I want it back so bad, all of it! Wait, Three Eyes, yes, of course, that wasn’t Nina’s name, it was Anna’s.

“I had warned you…not to be stupid,” Nina says “You and her, but…you two didn't listen,”

“You're what?” I asked

“I'm pregnant,” Anna said

Perhaps I should've panicked, perhaps I should've told her immediately that she needed to see Doctor Logan, perhaps I should've been logical. Every piece of evidence had told me that Crawford's walls would be the only thing I would live among for the rest of my days. Yet, I sank to my knees and kissed her naval, crying tears of joy.

Anna ran her fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp gently.

“I love you Three Eyes…no matter what…” Anna said "We'll figure something out, our baby, us, it won't be taken by this hellhole,"

Whirlwind romances are often mocked, considered something from a bygone age. However, this was the truest thing I had felt in this world. In that moment, love had caused me to abandon all logic–the two words always felt related because “Lo,”. This thing that felt as though everything in my life had led to, my horizon…my muffin. I had forgotten.

I sit at Nina's legs quietly sniffling and trying not to cry. Nina gets on her knees and looks me right in the eyes–I just realized, I haven't done this since after the fall, why did I let this happen? Why did I disgrace the memory of every person I ever loved: Mom, Dad, Gabby, Anna…Anna, my muffin, are you still alive? Is our baby still safe in your stomach? Please god…

“I can't believe I did this…” I say “To you, to everyone we knew,”

Nina put her hand on my shoulder. She could've hit me and I wouldn't have blamed her.

“You were–are the strongest person I've ever met. Every punch life has thrown at you, you always moved forward…it took losing everything you ever knew and the love of your life for you to finally break. But…when you cracked I--I didn't realize it before, but when you…decayed and gave up, that tenacity in you, that resolve, that is what makes life worth living, so when you gave up, all I could think to do was act like you,”

Tears–nothing but tears–I erupt of ugly sob as I try to hold it back and at that very same moment, the person who had every incentive to give up on me, hugs me, as if that was the cure for it all. It wasn't but maybe a cure isn't what anyone needs. I sob into her neck, she rubs my back in alternating circles.

When my tears finally dry, I wipe my face.

“Let's go…” I say with resolve

Nina smiles

“Fuck yeah..”

I quickly gather the few belongings I have.

“So which manhole are we going to?” I ask

“Furtherest North,” Nina says “That leads directly outside of Crawford and just outside of an old high school, even if its locked the front door is made of glass so we could get in and figure out the next phase of the plan,”

“Very like you to think only two steps ahead,” I tease moving towards the door with her

“Hey my brain has to focus on what to do if those two steps go wrong,” She laughs, the most sincere and whole I had heard her

“You used to say that with Chess, yet I always beat you,”

“Ugh don't remind me, that game was created for people who want to feel smart,” She says rolling her eyes

We make our way down the steps and she slowly opens the door, Nina immediately shuts it. What?

“What's wrong?” I ask

“The horde is out there…shit!”

“What now?” I say immediately “Should we wait?”

“No, we shouldn't wait much longer, you're…hungry, we can't risk you becoming anymore weak than you already have,”

I didn't think I had lost that much weight…hope Anna will still have me, or maybe she'll start throwing me against the wall.

Nina mutters something to herself moving her neck to and fro with her eyes closed “Right…Left….Left….Forward…Fence,”

She repeated that louder

“What?”

“Right, Left, Left-”

“I heard you what does that mean-” I ask before being cut off

“Shh, Right, Left, Left, Forward, Fence,” Nina says “That's where we need to run the moment we get out this door. Right immediately when it's open, then turn right–you get it,”

“Oh…wow…you're certain those are the right directions,”

“I know it's hypocritical…but I may have wandered out here too,” Nina says with a mischievous smirk, similar to the one she used to give when getting me involved in her schemes as kids.

“You…motherfucker,” I say trying not the laugh

The laughter dies down when we both hear the groans outside.

“It's not a big horde,” Nina says

I nod, there's nothing on the other side of this door that's worse than starving in here. Nina turns the nob and we both bolt out. Nina was lying through her teeth about the amount, it looked like Woodstock but with corpses.

I instantly turn right as I hear them making their growls of recognition. Then immediately I see the leftwards alley and turn into it. Nina is ahead of me–her track days must be coming in handy. I may be running my energy out but I can still hear several of those things behind me. Worst part is I can't tell if how close they sound is by how loud they are or how close. The next turn is coming.

Left, Nina is glancing behind me to see if I'm still keeping up. The crowbar I plan to use to pry open the manhole is hitting my thigh with every step.

“Don't look back just keep looking ahead!” I say

She listens and the next left. Wait, no, she's still glancing. Even if I was in danger, her stopping would kill her too. But no, just forward, keep moving forward, no matter what even if we die the moment we get out of the sewer.

We see the fence, it was open but didn't look secure. Nina stops just in front of it

“Hiro, go in!”

She doesn't need to tell me twice, I walk in only to hear the fence close behind me. I turn back and I see Nina with a weary smile…no.

“Nina! What the fuck are you doing!” I shout

“Shh, you don't want out friends to take down the fence do you?”

I see them approaching in the distance

“Stop playing around!” I say

Then Nina rolls down her sleeve and shows a bite mark. I can't breath--No!--When did this happen? Was it–it had to been during out looting–No, even before that, earlier tonight, when I was just staring at a pile of bodies, it must've happened before that. No! Why didn't she tell me–No, thats a stupid question, of course I was just an asshole who gave up because it was too hard for me. She went through this alone.

“Nina…no…no you gotta come through!”

“Hiro I'm–” Nina says

“I don't care!” I say crying again, taking uneven inhales “You don't deserve to die in…here in Crawford…I do,”

Nina smirks, and caresses my fingers gripping on the fence

“I love you Hiro,” She says

“But, no…I can't have you tended to me while I slowly turn into one of those things, and what…have you shoot me? I want you to remember me, with color in my skin…I'm going to go back to the apartment, and lay down, and wait to die…I may even take your bed,” She giggles as she tosses her bag over the fence

“Nina wait just one second!” I yell as she runs off, she stops and turns back

This guilt is strange, I feel it overflowing like my body is about the burst, yet the only words I can think to say are

“I'm sorry…for being a ‘dull asshole,’...I love you too,” I say trying not to cry “Please, if you're feeling scared or lonely in your last moments…remember the good times…and the bad…I'll…I'll never forget you…I'll see you soon,”

Nina's eyes widened before she begins chuckling while snorting again “Technically, I was a dull asshole for longer than you, thank you…for getting me out of that, it's no way to live,”

She ran off, I want to sob, I want to sob like a damn baby, but not yet–almost there.

I grab our bags and make my way to the manhole. I take the crowbar that was been beating me in the thigh earlier and pry the lid open, a smelly hole in the ground has never looked more appealing–gross–. I look back and see the horde approaching–shit! I go down, almost missing the first rung of the ladder.

I finally get to the bottom and sit down, exhausted. And I sob again. Saying Nina's name under my breath. What did Nina say? That I have such resolve. I don't think so, even back then. It feels much easier to sit here and starve, but I won't because to Nina, to Mom, to Dad, to Gabby–I won't let their memories die again. And Anna, my Muffin and my baby, I haven't even been able to think about the baby. They both may be dead too, but maybe not. If they are, how will I keep going after that? Was this all a bad idea? Did Nina truly believe what she was saying, or did she just not want me to believe it? I don't know, I feel like I've been saying those words a lot “I don't know,”, maybe that's truly the only rational response to any question, I don't know.

I stand up, picking up the crow bar and bags, preparing to navigate whatever's head. Will I survive? Will it be worth it? Will I get bit the moment I find my way out? I don't know, but I'll only earn the right to give up when I'm dead, until then, just move forward.

I've begun working out recently, however, I find myself disillusioned by the culture around exercise which I see as shallow, materialistic, and vapid. I view exercise through the "my body is a temple," or "the strength of a hero," lens, the poetry of it if you will. Honestly fiction has inspired me to workout more than anything. However this isn't essiental, I just want to hear ideas around exercise that aren't trying to sell me protein powder, anything with soul.

I started pursuing medication at the start of this year, I started on Ritalin and went up to 10 MG before now switching to Vyvanse at 30 MG. I thought it was working well, but something was off, as first I didn't quite now what it was, but I knew something was missing even though I was more productive than I had ever been in my life.

Only when I sat down to watch a show I liked, did I realize, I was emotionally blunted. The same tingling in my heart when watching a good anime, of experiencing the joy of imagination, watching a show or movie, of learning, it was gone. All the productivity and focus wasn't out of joy, it was avoiding boredom. My brain couldn't stand to be understimulated, but at the same time it couldn't feel the joy, wonder, or even pain of truly Living.

I want to focus, I want to get things done, but I also want to feel joy, despair, wonder, and suffering, I want to feel meaning. I want to draw and write and feel purpose from that. I want to study and learn more about this beautiful and miraclous world and the minds and imaginations that live within it. I want to experience more art. I want to learn to play chess. But all of this is meaningless if I feel nothing, Dr. Viktor Frankl knew that suffering was better than being numb. Do I really need to sacrifice myself to be focused, why does this need to so hard?

An artist I hold close to my heart is the late great Daniel Johnston. For those who don't know, in the 80s and 90s, Daniel Johnston rose the prominence in the underground scene. He was know for his DIY aesthetic, lofi recording, and almost childlike innocence and naivety in his songs. Privately Johnston suffered with severe mental health issues including BP disorder (This sub won't let me spell it out) and had been institutionalized. However, both back then and definitely today, Daniel is revered by many artists in both the underground and alternative community, Kurt Cobain infamously wore a T Shirt of Daniel's album cover, Lana Del Ray and Mac Miller both contributed 10,000 dollars to produce a documentary about him, and Tom Waits, an artist of a different generation from Daniel, is a fan.

Recently, I came to a bitter realization, if Daniel had been born 30 or 40 years later, I believe he likely would've been a lolcow. I saw someone make the arguement that Daniel had a sincerity that many other lolcows don't have, I don't think it would've mattered, even with lolcows who have genuinely done bad things, it's always clear that the people who attack them always feel like they struck gold when they have a reason to tear them to shreds. Not to mention, sincerity and wonder is so often mocked online that Daniel may have even been a worse target for it. I also think of Tiny Tim, who was kind of the equivalent of a lolcow for his time, he was called crazy for his entire life, but it almost seemed less exploitative than the lolcows of today, he still had success that modern lolcows never even get close too.

So my question is this, have we actually progressed in terms of accepting those who are different? Why wasn't Daniel dragged through the mud as much as those we see today? I'm sure he did face some form of degradation but not to the extent that some of these modern lolcows are.

Since I've started pursuing medication back in February, it's been life changing, I've begun to see what a difference it makes. I started on Ritalin, but now have been on Vyvanse which is even better.

The problem is now that I've gotten a taste of what its like to have a brain that is a bit more balanced, it makes those moments where it's not even worse. I'm still trying to get the dosage right, and within my first week or so on Vyvanse, my brain has already began to acclimate, so it's starting to be hit or miss, some days it's better than others. I lived with these symptoms my entire life, but now that I know what it's like for them to be more manageable, they feel nightmarish.

I long for the days I can hear myself think, where I can remember things, where life feels more alive than just a fuzzy haze, no longer relying on cheap dopamine just to feel something, I feel alive by studying, by drawing, by shows and movies. Video games, shows, movies, and definitely books all feel so much better, as I feel more like I'm actively engaged as opposed to just receiving stimulation, all of which I'm rarely able to analyze or understand or even remember. I'm able to articulate myself, and think. Life, both good and bad days don't feel empty anymore. The world feels less overwhelming because I no longer feel like everything I need or want to do is screaming at me at once for my attention, I'm able to put things down without feeling like it will lead to a catastrophe. I've realized that I was never dumb, and that was so healing as someone who has been called that before. When the meds don't work, I feel the truth of the old mind. It feels like I'm watching my life before me as a sort of passive observer. Everything is blurry, everyone is shocked by my lack of awareness (I recently opened a strangers car door because I forgot what my father's car looked like). Both my internal and external worlds often feel like a blur with periods of clarity.

Before this was easier to accept because it was all I ever knew, now, it feels like I'm trapped. Those days where my brain feels blurry, I've literally screamed internally at my mind to work. I'm at the mercy of my dextroamphetamine, dopamine, and norepinephrine exchange. I've believe firmly individual willpower, Determinism has always been horrifying to me, but I've always been trapped. I feel like I'm screaming beneath a gray lake of thick water, only sinking further as a struggle.

I just want to find the right meds, the right dose, the right way, so I can move forward with my life at long last, but I only ever have one good week then a handful good days sprinkled through the rest of the month, I won't get anywhere like that. Not only that but my mother is berating me for saying my dosage isn't working, because she says that if its affecting my appetite, that means its enough.

I don't wish for life to be easy, I don't even believe happiness is the goal of life, I just want to be able to have control over what I do, I want to be able to actually articulate myself, I want to Live.