“I have a feeling that you’re riding for some kind of a terrible, terrible fall.” —The Catcher in the Rye
I crashed. Of course I crashed. I woke this morning and the bright, yellow sun was blazing already. I felt leaden and full of fear like wings flapping; I’ve read bloggers calling them birds and moths lately and that’s just what it feels like. Someone else posted a photo of shirts saying, ‘anxiety is my cardio’ and true enough, it’s bloody exhausting.
It’s February, you see, and so the third anniversary of my mother’s death is coming up. Lots of bad stuff barely buried there. Synapse will be here with me for it. Might have to relax the rules and just get drunk or something. Eighteen days to go.
One of many, many things I loathe about death, is all of the conversations it cuts short, the mutual interests. Albums get released, books published and I grow angry. It’s horrible, sitting alone with a pile of stuff that should be shared. Music is a bloody nightmare, we shared a lot. Books too. Our tastes varied enough to avoid the book thing much of the time, but music, forget it. I’ll start off just listening to stuff I love that she didn’t (hip hop, for example), but soon enough, the guitars and ballads creep home. “You’re into harmony,” she said to me once, “that’s what you’re about.”
Someone I thought of as incredibly fine told me yesterday that she gets angry and wants to slash her wrists some days.
My lazy pasting of stock images continues. Hypo me sez it’s the next big thing, real me says jaaa I’ll just do this for a little while, then…oh look! A butterfly!
yes I know,but I dont wanna be a fucken omelette!
‘out of the frying pan’ doesn’t apply.
It’s like…they fuck you,but they dont let you come.
Hypo me almost started a whole new blog for it, BUT I DIRRENT, SEE HOW I HAZ LEARNED! *cough* I hate myself and I want to fry*… Truth be told, it’s a mixed episode, and you guys know that’s less than no fun. The little hypo patches in it are getting me through the day without cracking up completely though.
Look it was either this, or I was just going to blog about tattoo ideas and Bowie’s last album. Actually that might have been better, but I honestly can’t concentr…WOW BUTTERFLY!
* ten points to Gryffindor if you got that.
So, my post whining about not ever had a couch for therapy sent my thoughts off along strange pathways about the physical environments of psychological therapy. So I slapped a bunch off stock images together and had a little fun*.
* yes fun – twice in one week! Man I love hypomania.
In 1903, 58 children living in almshouses throughout New Hampshire were admitted to an asylum. They were considered a danger to society and sentenced to a life of isolation and total segregation. This was during a time when certain individuals and entire families were stigmatised as “feebleminded”. Over the course of the next ninety years, this institution served to segregate the children and adults who were rejected by family, friends and the community. (Intro to the documentary)
Trigger warning for a photograph I included, of ‘patients’ in execrable conditions. I haven’t written much about the horrors endured at the school, but there is a link to further history and info right at the bottom. Actually, if you’re not in good shape today, please don’t read this.
It started out as the New Hampshire School for the Feebleminded, and was later renamed the Laconia State School. This 2009 documentary shocked me rigid and perhaps callously, not primarily because of the appalling abuses, but for the 88 year timeline. It’s a complex and detailed analysis, unlike many other such documentaries, which tend to simply recount the horrors, then imply a sort of Renaissance of healthcare and thought, followed by the closure of the institution, causing patients to find themselves, shocked and bewildered and back in what is always termed ‘the real world’, when it could be far more accurately defined as freedom.
Continue reading Lost in Laconia
Tis but a short linkdump this week – and not a sweet one. I’ll add trigger warnings to items I haven’t snarked at, mkay? Barring that, I’m in bad tempered bastard mode – lock up your sheep post haste and with alacrity. Actually let me add my pick of the nose week right here.
Continue reading the untamed snarkdump