Hi all. I hope it's okay to share this here. I'm new to this whole thing and I just need to let out some thoughts and feelings that have been weighing on me lately. It's been a really difficult year.
Where to start.. Perhaps some context. My partner and I currently live in a small single bedroom studio apartment in the UK. We have just given birth to a beautiful, healthy baby boy who has just turned one month this previous Sunday.
11 Months ago, in June, my partner and I suffered a late miscarriage of our son at 18 weeks. It was devastating and heartbreaking, and holding him in my arms was a moment that I will never forget and will weigh heavily on my heart for the rest of my life. Carrying his coffin through the crematorium and reading the poem I wrote him is something I never thought in my life I'd ever have to do. Then, two weeks later, I lost my job. It was due to a mistake on my part, one I'll always hold my hands up and admit to, but the timing of it couldn't have been worse. It stung.. it still stings, because the job market hasn't been kind to me since. Every single day I'm out looking for work, doing odd-jobs here and there to get by but I've been unable to find a new consistent job, and so we're having to rely on government benefits to get by financially.
Fast forward to now.. we've been blessed with a gorgeous baby boy. But with blessing comes challenge. My partner is battling PPD, struggling with her self-image, and feeling lost in herself. She can't walk past a mirror without breaking down and the stress of looking after him alone when it's my turn to sleep causes the same reaction. Our baby boy has colic and so, to ensure we're actually resting, we're currently rotating in shifts to look after him. We tried the standard 8 hours each and that didn't work out for us so now we're rotating in 3 hour shifts. For 3 hours I'll take him, then we'll both look after him together for 3 hours before my partner then takes him for 3- and then so on. Admittedly, we've struggled to stick to that routine but it's definitely working better than the one before.
I've been doing my best to hold everything together. Since we brought him home I've taken the lion's share of responsibilities so my partner can rest and recover from childbirth, as well as have the time she needs to push through her PPD. I usually let her sleep over the 3 hour mark by quite a fair bit and in the beginning the baby was glued to me to allow her to recover. I was more than happy for this and I want it clear that I'm not complaining. I made that choice and I am happy with it. What I'm venting about here is a bit more complicated.
I don't... feel anything with him. I don't have the connection with my son that everyone else seems to have. It's like I'm babysitting a stranger's child. Am I not supposed to have this overwhelming feeling of love and joy? My partner and each of our parents all have this connection with him. They have so much love and pride when they see and hold him and I.. don't. What I feel is instead a sense of responsibility, a paternal desire to protect and keep him safe.. but I don't feel anything else. I'm always told that it's because my partner carried him for 9 months and that our parents have had children before themselves so they know what it's like.. but I can't help but feel guilty and cruel because of it.
And ultimately, I think that's what it boils down to. Guilt. It's eating me up inside. I feel guilty for not feeling what everyone else seems to feel, for not being able to provide financially, for not always knowing what my baby needs. I miss our lost baby every day, and it's hard not to see him when I look at our new baby. It'll be a year since we lost him in a few weeks and it's a painful reminder of what we lost. I'm terrified of being the type of Dad my Father was, I'm terrified that as he grows older he'll resent me because I was unable to provide for him the way I should. I just.. I've always dreamed of being an this amazing Father and an amazing future Husband to my partner and with each day I feel like it's a dream I'll never achieve.
I know that it's supposed to get better. Everyone says it and I don't doubt it.. but it's hard to see that light at the end of the tunnel. One thing I'm incredibly grateful for, though, is how supportive my partner and I have been with each other. Every trial and tribulation has only ever made us stronger and I fall more in love with her every day. Seeing her be the Mum I always knew she'd be.. it makes everything just a little bit easier. I've told her all of this and she's told me her own woes, and we're doing everything we can day by day- and it's for that very reason that I want to do right by them both.
I'm sorry if this post seems out of place or self-indulgent. I just needed to let these thoughts out into the world, to lighten the load even just a little bit. Thanks for listening, Dads. And sorry if this isn't the right place for it. I'm still learning the ropes of this whole new Dad thing.

TLDR uBPD Mum wrote her twin daughters a birthday poem but sent it twelve days late, full of innacuracies and with a request to visit one of them. The request is for a fictional exhibition in a specific date range. She forwarded her original message to the other twin without to editing out the visit request or making an attempt to cover the fact it was written for the first twin and sent to the other as an after thought.
Context A birthday poem sent to me an hour after it was sent to my twin sister. It was also 12 days after our actual birthday, neither of us heard from uBPD mum on the day (I've asked her not to contact me but she thinks that my sister & I are 1 entity so even though my sister is still in contact with her, mum treats her like she is not). My sister (Twin1) trained in fine art in the city she now works in. She is not currently making art so has no idea what exhibition uBPD mum refers to in the poem. I have marked lies/inaccuracies with an * I've asterisked the line about being a proud mum and gran because if she was so proud, why does she make no mention of wanting to see her 2 grand sons on this trip to the city to see my sister at her exhibition? She hasn't seen her grandsons in at least a year despite visiting near by their city in our small country twice last year. She didn't even tell my sister she was in the area until my sister phoned to wish uBPD mum happy birthday on her birthday February this year.
Poem
Twin1 and Twin2 38 today * That's just not possible no way Where has the time gone Times flies sadly that's so true Doesn't seem that long ago when Myself and Twin2 went to the zoo.
You were and are my sunshine of Hometown on Gala My beautiful twin daughters living in bonnie Hometown Bay A prouder mum I could not be how you both excelled and now you both have your own family You get to experience the love and joy like I had and still have as I reflect on my wonderful family tree When you hurried home excitedly to show all the things you had lovingly made for me
You were always caring and sharing Even at such a young age so helpful too. Remember girls I was on the phone to uBPD Gran When you flushed Twin2 nappy down the loo I was panic stricken and mortified when the neighbour below said it had flooded her too.
I loved my plants* .it was a not easy to maintain with two Mischieves monkeys who tipped them upside down . It was funny but I also did frown Before you knew it we were back to laughing and getting along Happy again and full of song
Love shack was your favourite tune I loved that song too you could sing it to the moon Love shack baby love shack Oh to hear you sing that song would bring It all right back
The time we all got such a fright Twin 1 When you accidentally bumped into a light Well lamp post * Out of the three of us who was startled the most?
You were fine ,you got a war wound scar Was it the left or right side I can't remember I think it was your right eye It was so long ago at the time you were very shy
Twin 2 walked into a gate * I was dumstruck only seconds too late* You got a scar on your eyes too By then I was beside myself and did not know what to do !
Almost in the space of a year You each have a scar by your eye Which side they are on your eye is unclear Now you parents yourself you know what I mean How quickly things can happen Even when your close by to the scene
Bless the wee lady above is in Hometown She used to shout girls you whoo seconds later it was raining milkyways all over you I could only chuckle when I realised I too Along with uBPD dister we went to our neighbour for our daily rations of sweeties too * And to this day I believe my mum never knew.
Remember when you got up early and Oh my you got hold of the butter I think I was in a flutter Butter in the rods of the Wendy house it was everywhere If I recall righghtly it was in your hair.
You used to trick people switching places * Sometimes you did trip up on your laces You tried to fool me but that was not so easy * However tricking your pals and strangers was easy peasy.*
The things you have done this uBPD Mum and gran could not be more proud of you You won a camera for your ambulance picture Twin2 you designed the school logo in highschool too Is there no end to your talents You both excelled and followed your career Which I never regretted not being able to As th minute I knew I was expecting I always prioritised you* and am a proud mum of twins with 5 wonderful grandchildren too*
The trips we went to beech and picnics with aunt The endless pictures are wonderful memories of happy times with you I still have her special multi coloured umbrella Where we often seemed shelter under it too
So many more memories this is some of them I just want to ask you Twin 1 can I come with my friend M or F and see your exhibition* city between 23 rd and 29 th Sept I love seeing all that you can do and have done
Your pictures in the cafe The story about wellies and where they travelled from faraway I believe it was Canada And you made a wellington cast Now it's a focal point for tourists and everyone to see.*
I often look at the screen you both made me made before I moved country All the gifts over the years cards and mementos each one speaks words to me When you gave me the picture and chair for my birthday .
That incredible exhibition in the gallery when you made a clear curtain and even there there is a story
I understand if you say no don't come .I hope and pray one day we will all Be together again surrounded by my family.Until that joyous day comes remember I carry love in my heart for you all eternally❤️

Edit: If you are going to comment on the length of this post, please don't. This is not a simple snark but rather an actual critical think piece about feminism and Taylor Swift.

Introduction

Pertaining to Taylor Swift, "Female Rage" has deviated from its intended meaning after Swift debuted a new performance of The Tortured Poets Department during the Eras Tour. Now, according to Swift's use of the phrase, female rage is interpreted as public backlash against Swift's dating choices rather than as a response to the broader injustices against women and women's rights. This post examines Taylor Swift's flawed feminism, philanthropy, branding, and the controversial trademark petition for the phrase "Female Rage: The Musical". Swift's background as an entertainer, indeterminate politics, and alignment with capitalism over feminism pervades her legacy, again threatening her public tolerance as not just an individual but as a brand.

Once Upon a Female Rage...

If you were cognizant in the early 2010's, you've heard countless jabs at Taylor Swift in the media. Magazines, radio, or online. Music critics did not take her seriously as a songwriter; parents put a woman on an unrealistic pedestal as the ideal role model for their children; she dated too much and used men as lyrical fodder. No matter the story, it inevitably spread, conjoined with everyone's respective opinions, and you'd be left to wonder, "Why does everyone hate this girl so much?"
Taylor's target demographic has always been young or adolescent girls, more so when Swift herself was one. She made music that spoke to the awkward misfit, cultivating a para-social relationship with fans on MySpace, then later twitter, Instagram, and YouTube, where Taylor posted relatable vlogs showcasing the life of a homegrown American girl. Taylor had a delayed public "growing up" and, compared to her female pop contemporaries, Swift never "gratuitously sexualized her image and seems pathologically averse to controversy" (and, apparently, never even had a sip of alcohol until she turned 21). She was more than happy to spin this narrative to allude to an inherent moral superiority above other women in the industry (Better Than Revenge, heard of it?), engaging in the very slut-shaming that she herself endured (the Madonna and Whore archetypes). The victim complex arose with the need to prove Taylor as a different type of pop girl. Based upon her holy and clean image, Swift had been dubbed "a feminist's nightmare", and that "[To Swift] other girls are obstacles; undeserving enemies who steal Taylor’s soulmates with their bewitching good looks and sexual availability." Feminism and Tennessee-Christian country values don't exactly mix, it seems.
Years later, Swift befriended Lena Dunham and thus experienced white feminism osmosis, where Dunham taught Swift that real feminists defend rapists, makes insensitive jokes about rape and abortion, and prioritize all-white casts. Swift then declared herself a feminist in 2014, saying,

"Becoming friends with Lena – without her preaching to me, but just seeing why she believes what she believes, why she says what she says, why she stands for what she stands for – has made me realize that I’ve been taking a feminist stance without actually saying so."

I suppose the male-centric songwriting subject that permeates Swift's discography contained covert feminism and that we just didn't see that. Perhaps, the "Bad Blood" song and music video were written only in jest and not about poor Katy Perry, for Swift, as a feminist, would "never make it a girl fight" or tear other women down (though all Katy did was date your terrible ex-boyfriend and allegedly steal three backup dancers from your tour). In 2013, Swift said, in response to Tina Fey and Amy Poehler's joke towards her serial dating, "There is a special place in hell for women who don't help other women."
There was that time in 2015 Taylor said that Nicki Minaj was "invited to any stage [she is] on" (as if Taylor expects to have access to every stage, award, and platform that Nicki might not otherwise have as a black female artist...yikes!) in response to Nicki's criticism of the white + thin VMA nominations. Later, Nicki responded with confusion, as Swift continued, "It’s unlike you to pit women against each other. Maybe one of the men took your slot..". Of course, this 'beef' was 'squashed' when Nicki performed with Taylor at the VMAs, with Nicki quite literally only having 38 seconds of stage time without Taylor. Maybe all that parading around with a legion of famous white women - similar to the way Taylor might've done with her numerous 1989-era handbags - was in fact a stance against gender inequality, and that this display of "girl power" should be enough to constitute Swift as a feminist icon.
Even while Swift says that Dunham informed her feminist outlook, she dances around the exact contents of those beliefs: "what she believes, what she says, what she stands for" is not exactly insightful towards what beliefs Swift might have inherited. Taylor never broaches women's rights topics such femicide, FGM, forced pregnancy & marriage, sex trafficking, women in slavery, women's financial and political oppression, women's educational rights, women's health, or women's autonomy, so we can assume she only gives a fuck about "girls supporting girls" (whatever that fucking means).
Despite some questionable (and sometimes vindictive) behavior, Taylor as a young woman did not deserve every media lashing that she received. We cannot deny that most headlines and criticisms perpetuated a misogynistic rhetoric which has plagued Swift for a majority of her career. Acknowledging events such as the development of her ED, her sexual assault trial, "Famous" lyric and MV depiction of Taylor, and the explicit Twitter deepfakes, for example, as both disgusting and unfortunate things that happened to a young woman in Hollywood does not negate the fact that Taylor is mostly a performative feminist.

Get Your Fucking Ass Up and Be a Philanthropist, It Seems Like Nobody Wants to Be a Philanthropist These Days

In 2013, Taylor Swift cut the ribbon at the grand opening of the Taylor Swift Education Center at the Country Music Hall of Fame in Nashville, Tennessee. The donation amount - $4 million - was the largest individual artist gift ever donated to the Country Music Hall of Fame, which is, of course, mentioned on Swift's website. The two-story facility features three classrooms, an instrument room, and an interactive children's exhibit gallery. Swift also performed at "All for the Hall" charity shows and has donated numerous artifacts from her career (such as notable guitars, tour costumes, etc) to the museum.
This was over 11 years ago, and it is still the only notable philanthropic contribution Taylor Swift has made.
For a woman of her net worth and stature, and a woman who recognizes the difficulties for women in film and music, you would think that Taylor Swift might establish a scholarship program for women to study the arts or something. Perhaps Swift might even consider becoming a member of organizations that support female artists, or one that supports LGBTQ+ causes (since she is now proudly an ally), yet she remains superficial with her graces. Broader philanthropy, such as donating relief aid to Palestinian women or women impacted by violence and discrimination will probably never receive any financial support from Miss Swift because then she'd be using her money towards philanthropies involving anyone but white entertainers.
She even says herself in Miss Americana, "My entire moral code as a kid and now is a need to be thought of as 'good'." Well, she's certainly thought of as good, though her actions say otherwise. She's more than happy to do a vaguely altruistic song and dance for a clip-worthy interview quote and mass appeasement, then fuck off to one of her mansions on a 20 minute private jet flight, rather than actually contribute to anything pertaining to the causes she has endorsed. Yet, far too many people continue to give a woman such as her their money, time, and energy, and she hoards these resources to herself.

I Like Some of the Taylor's Songs, But What the Fuck Does She Know About Feminism?

Swift continued with her self-proclaimed feminist campaign, positioning herself as a political activist and LGBTQ+ ally in the Miss Americana documentary. The primary focus of the documentary consists of the sexual assault trial, Andrea Swift's cancer diagnosis, Taylor's ED and body dysmorphia, media scrutiny, and, largely, finally speaking up about her politics publicly, mostly her opposition to the 2018 Tennessee Republican senate candidate, Marsha Blackburn, and Blackburn's beliefs. Swift says, following a scene discussing her experience during the trial,

"I just couldn't really stop thinking about it. And I just thought to myself, next time there is any opportunity to change anything, you had better know what you stand for and what you want to say."

We must ask ourselves, though: when has Swift ever spoken up to change anything? Okay, pulling her entire catalogue from Spotify because they didn't pay their artists enough and similarly pulling her catalogue from Apple Music are changes that she leveraged due to her revenue potential and power, but they are not pertinent to the average woman's rights. Moreover, these are issues that directly impacted Taylor's income, which was enough reason for her to protest in the first place. Swift has sold the most units for a female artist in first week sales, is the first female artist with 100k monthly Spotify listeners, is the first female artist to win the Album of the Year Grammy 4 times, and is the first female artist to do X, Y, and Z, all while being inoffensive and family-friendly to boot. The actual Taylor Swift seems unwilling to compromise the brand of Taylor Swift by contributing in meaningful ways to feminist causes, especially if it is for women outside of America and Hollywood.
The reason political anthems such as "The Man" and "Only the Young" of the Lover era feel disingenuous and corporate is because, well, it is. Taylor has taken every opportunity to advance her career or public image at the expense of other women. What is truly genuine to Taylor's outlook on other women is vying for male attention, taking down female competition, and vocalizing feminist injustices only if they directly impact her and her money. Some will argue that it's satisfactory for a woman with such a huge platform to even TALK about feminism, but that just isn't enough. It's even less impressive when you candidly look at the scope of her feminist lens: "If I was the man, then I'd be THE MAN", or "I really resent the ‘Be careful, buddy, she’s going to write a song about you’ angle, because it trivialises what I do", and, of course, "We all got crowns". Feminism, but only when it happens to me. It gets worse when you look at Taylor's track record of copying other famous women and removing other female artists as potential threats to her pop prowess.
It's good for PR to align yourself with certain blanket feminist and political beliefs, therefore good for branding, therefore good for ticketing and merchandise sales, therefore good for business. And Taylor Swift is a business.
She's not a feminist. Taylor Swift is a capitalist.

I Can't Pay Those Sweatshop Workers a Livable Wage or Benefits! How Else Would I Make My Billions?

Recently, Taylor's team filed to trademark the phrase "Female Rage: The Musical" after Taylor said during Paris N1 of the Eras Tour,

"So you were the first ones to see The Tortured Poets at the Eras Tour...or as I like to call it, 'Female Rage: The Musical'."

This trademark petition was filed last week on Saturday, and news comes about just as numerous unofficial fan-made merch designs have cropped up with this phrase plastered on Fruit of the Loom basics. I'm of the opinion Swift's team motioned for a trademark so that they can send out cease & desists to all those that make knockoff merch, which disrupts potential sales for Bravado, UMG's choice merchandising company; however, since it was filed earlier, perhaps Swift has bigger plans with the bizarre use of the gendered phrase. One Swiftie referred to the phrase "female rage" as "a funny Eras Tour joke". Could it be a possible fourth version of the Eras Tour Movie? Whatever the reason, the motion to capitalize off of such a concept is disgusting, but not unsurprising, for a woman that profits on her vain feminism.
Swift, through her company, TAS Rights Managements, has also trademarked over 200 phrases, including "1989", where she owns the property rights to this calendar year on keychains, phone cases, sunglasses, stationary, bags, beverage ware, clothing, entertainment services, your subconscious, and, of course, Christmas ornaments.
The vapid consumerism in Swiftie culture is, frankly, disgusting. Bravado's sustainability statement is non-existent, the quality control is abysmal, and the materials they use are horrible. The materials, such as acrylic and polyester, are made from petrochemicals. This means they are non-renewable, shed microplastics, and are quite toxic in production. The manufacturing process to make all of those lazy-rushed Eras Tour logo graphic tees is a huge blow to environmental well-being. Apparently, though, Swifties don't give a fuck. They sell out products in seconds and either have to face the manufactured scarcity or buy from a scalper that resells for 200% of the already ridiculous retail price. This doesn't include the environmental impact of vinyl records, CD, and cassette production, of which Taylor produces many variants that sell unsustainable amounts.
If we're talking about women's rights violations, why is no one acknowledging the women that work in the inhumane sweatshop conditions that have to pump out fugly t-shirts and hats? The millions of plastic microfiber dander they are inhaling, or the toxic dyes that touch their bare skin? Are they being compensated fairly for their skilled labour and are they in safe working environments? Do these women have minimal bargaining power, and do they have authority over their worker's rights? Is Taylor Swift female raging at their injustices? Does Taylor Swift ever feels bad that her wealth was built on the backs of women of color, disadvantaged by the demands of the global economy and garment industry? Do you think she ever says a little white feminist prayer for them before she goes to sleep at night?
What's even crazier is not that Taylor herself doesn't care, it's that Swifties don't care. There CANNOT BE ethical billionaires. You only make a billion dollars if you are exploiting other human beings for capital gain. Based on public perception of the possible "Female Rage: The Musical" trademark, it seems like Swifties are already asking for merch with this phrase. "If Taylor made it, I'd buy it." Oh, cool. So not only do you champion Miss Swift's avarice and billionaire status, but you also are unashamed to admit to your blind consumption of her music and merchandise, no matter where they might originate in production or sincerity. Just as Swift takes and takes and takes, Swifties' consumerism of Taylor Swift cannot be quelled.
The tortured artist's most vulnerable and sincere poetry...available now in 21 different versions!

I Am Tortured Poet, Hear Me Whinge

Look - even if Taylor's intention is to characterize TTPD as more "tortured" and "angry", the main thread of the album is "I was ghosted by my decade-long situationship with a controversial indie boy and my fucking stupid fans wrote a 'Speak Up Now' open letter prompting me to drop him" anger, which is adequately expressed in the lyrics and performances. The extent of Taylor's "female rage" on TTPD is on tracks such as "Who's Afraid of Little Old Me?", which contends with relentless media scrutiny; "But Daddy I Love Him", where Swift firmly states she'll date whoever she likes no matter how "Sarahs and Hannahs" may react; and "The Albatross", a track mythologizing her reputation and the consequences of dating her. Of course, these coincide with deep psychological wounds that formed during Swift's early years in the media, and so, from her feminist perspective, these subjects tackle the misogyny and double standards that she faced.
Yet Taylor Swift still has no grounds to be claiming that TTPD best exemplifies female rage and therefore she, in the context of this album, is female rage incarnate. As the daughter of a stock broker and mutual fund marketing executive, Taylor was born into wealth and allowed privileges like trips and subsequent relocation to Nashville all so that she might get a record deal. Her father even invested at least $120,000 into the then-fledgling label, Big Machine Records, which ensured Taylor's place with Borchetta after leaving her dead-end development deal with Sony. The fact that her parents were able to buy her a fucking brand new guitar for Christmas and pay for music lessons says so much about the financial security and safety of her childhood.
Money is privilege and protection, and despite Swift's experiences with misogyny and loser boyfriends, she does not know what female rage is.
Her rage is derived from her frustrations with her obsessive fans pulling the moral superiority card on Taylor in response to her rebound with Matty Healy. That's literally it. She's just pissed that the monster she created is no longer obediant, it's become a feral, sovereign entity that depletes the world of its natural resources and thinks it is more intelligent than it actually is because it's mommy has started to talk to it with big words. Apparently, 'illicit', 'elegy', 'nonchalant', and 'precocious' are considerably big words for the oafish monster, and I find it strange that this level of literacy is present in a group of fans that allegedly have GPAs of 3.5 or higher, but I digress.
Taylor Swift has never been one paycheck away from destitution. Taylor Swift has never experienced racial discrimination. She may have instances of gender discrimination, but she possesses the ideal white, blonde American beauty standard and therefore reaps the benefits of being a conventionally attractive woman. Taylor Swift has sufficient social capital. Taylor Swift is a billionaire woman prolonging her victimhood though she, as a woman, has mostly had control over her image and music (unlike her contemporaries). Taylor Swift is NOT entitled to be championed for her "female rage", nor should she be. Taylor Swift has never even been the struggling artist, for fuck's sake. I don't give a fuck if she's trying to fill the empty lunch tables of her past. Taylor Swift purporting herself, her unpolished album, and her lukewarm feminism as a musical bleeding with female rage is asinine.

Sigh Try and Come For My Job, Poors

Out there in the world right now is a 23-year-old woman, a recent college grad, who works as a barista. She has to wake up and get ready to go into a minimum wage job because she cannot get a job in her field. She doesn't have healthcare benefits or sick time, so she has to go into work no matter how she's feeling. All day long she is berated by vicious customers and creepy men, and, exhausted from being on her feet, she knows she has to go home to her shitty roommate that never does the dishes and her roommate's shitty dog. To comfort herself, she considers getting a treat, but thinks against it when she remembers that matcha lattes cost $15 and they taste like milky dirt. She knows that she needs to buy groceries this week, and so the woman resolves to go home, but notices that her gas tank is low. She goes to put gas in the car, but the pump stops at $27.86 because that's all that she has in her checking account. The woman, bereft and reeling, sinks into the driver's seat. "Well," she thinks, her head in her hands, "at least I don't have Taylor Swift's job. I just couldn't imagine."
Fame is somewhat of a choice. If at any moment Taylor feels that she is misunderstood, misconstrued, or overwhelmed by public opinion, she can LEAVE the public eye - Lord knows she has the retirement fund and residuals to do so. In "I Can Do It With a Broken Heart", the TTPD song about meeting the demands of your career-zenith mega-tour while in the relationship trenches, Taylor ends the song by rambling,

"You know you're good when you can even do it with a broken heart...you know you're good...and I'm good, cause I'm miserable, and no one even knows!...try and come for my job."

Yeah, obviously we wouldn't know, you recently passed the billionaire threshold and are the most famous and in-demand performer in the world right now. Taylor Swift makes an estimated $10 to $13 million dollars A NIGHT on the Eras Tour. Furthermore, the Eras Tour movie grossed $261.6 million globally, (which, as the producer, Taylor takes home 57% of the ticket sales) not counting the streaming revenue from Amazon Prime Video and the estimated $75 million deal that Disney paid to have it on Disney+. We're not even considering the income from cheap plastic popcorn buckets and drink cups plastered with colored squares in her Era-specific likeness.
It's funny. Taylor Swift often said that being famous wasn't hard, that she "isn't complaining". I'm sure it is difficult to always have to present in a good mood, else you'll end up misrepresented in the media, and I'm sure it's invasive to virtually have no privacy or semblance of anonymity. Still, Taylor Swift shows up each night of tour and performs. For a majority of her career, she has penned her sad songs while on the road. Most of "Red", her breakup album, was written in the thick of the Speak Now World tour. Now, some Swifties say they almost "feel bad" for attending the Eras Tour with Swift's revelations in this song, that they have had a 'dimmed experience' upon hearing Taylor's misery whilst performing. Despite the fact that Taylor said that "this was the happiest she's ever been" at Gilette Stadium in May, the lyrics "boohoo, woe is me, smile for the cameras and make the fans happy!!!" are jarring for Eras attendees.
While Taylor Swift was making double-digit millions a night in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil and feeling miserable, Ana Clara Benevides Machado passed away due to heat exposure. The concert promoters, Time For Fun, are now the subject of a criminal investigation due to their lack of adequate hydration and safety. Taylor Swift cancelled the Sunday show that was to follow and offered VIP tent tickets to Benevides Marchado's family, which was a kind gesture, but perhaps incongruous to the incident of which they were offered as consolation. Everyone grieves differently, of course, but I'm not sure attending the very show at the very same venue that my daughter or sister passed away in two days prior, where the singer CONTINUED the show despite her death, would be healthy for closure.
There was no female rage at the show as Swift never saw Benevides Machado pass out. There was no female rage towards the disregard for fans as humans while Swift elected to proceed with her Brazil tour dates despite the country being in historic heatwaves (at risk of overheatting herself). If Taylor Swift was so shaken by touring with a broken heart or a fan's passing, she wouldn't have added an additional North American leg of Eras just two months after the Matty breakup. She's brokenhearted but willing to mend the cracks with your money and move onward with her worldwide female rage induced pillaging.
No matter what happens, even if you die at a Taylor Swift concert, Taylor collects a big fat check and flies away. She doesn't know you as anything other than a conversion rate or earning potential despite what her nearly 20-year long parasocial relationship with fans might otherwise indicate. She knows that, while some Swifties are without disposable income, they feel obligated to spend on a "48 Hours Only!" exclusive vinyl variant instead of necessities because they are so entrenched in Taylor Swift's intoxicating celebrity, they'll prioritize materialistic fandom before their needs. This is good enough for her because this means she can expand her real estate portfolio and finance her cat's lavish lifestyles. They're worth an estimated $100 million dollars. Her three cats could pool their net worth and solve world hunger.
While you and I might be denied bereavement leave and barely surviving the current political and economic climate, Taylor Swift has to, instead of gets to, perform for stadiums at full attendance for three nights in a row across the globe. You and I might be replaced by AI at our longtime jobs, but Taylor Swift is threatened with losing more and more money each time you listen to a "Stolen Version" of her songs. If we don't buy every variant of all of her albums, then who is going to pay for the fucking cats?
It is tone deaf to spend as she spends and lives as she lives in this economy, but this is her reality. She was able to donate $100,000 to all of her tour truck drivers, and that's wonderful, but it leads me to wonder about the ethos of the 2020s where one woman can hoard such life-changing amounts of money. Remember in 2014 when she gave a fan $90 ($120 in today's money) to get Chipotle because she had no fucking clue how much it cost? This is a 34-year-old woman who is increasingly out of touch with the reality for working class people and women in general. Normal everyday adults must wake up and go to their thankless jobs, and yet Taylor Swift, despite all her riches, incessantly references the lows of her life and career as a public figure and entertainer to farm sympathy and drive sales. And still, the corporate women have latched onto "I cry a lot, but I am so productive! It's an art!" as their cubicle battle cry.
Do you think that, from up in her private jet, Taylor Swift gazes at the world through her poetic, tortured eyes, and thinks, "All the little people, in their cars, walking, going about their lives...all those girls that don't support girls...do they know that I've made an album about female rage?"

Conclusion/TLDR

Thank you for reading. I would love to hear your critical insights towards this entire ordeal: TTPD, the trademark, the implications of it all.
TLDR: Taylor Swift is a bad feminist and is delusional to think that the TTPD eras set exemplifies female rage at women's injustice.

I posted in this sub almost a year ago (I believe it was on June 29) looking for encouragement. I felt awful back then. I didn’t like breastfeeding, my LO wasn’t sleeping well, hated car seat and stroller and nursed often. I was out of my mind. Thank you so much for your words of encouragement. We made it to a year of breastfeeding few days ago, LO started sleeping better, car rides are better and I gave up on stroller. Overall, life is so much better, LO is so interesting and communicating and showing his personality. To all mums out there in the newborn phase - you got it!!! You will feel like yourself again. It will pass. Whatever your struggle is. I love this sub and it helped me a lot! Now I am weaning my LO, it went great so far, much easier than I expected and I am proud of both of us.
I will end this with a poem I found. If anyone knows the author, let me know.
“It’s been a year making friends with the moon, but I’d relive each night because I got to hold you.”

Our fights where built from the bricks of the family house we demolished.
The pool you where so desperate to drown in, was really just the kids tears.
They heard us shout.
The day you left was the day you became nothing more than the memory of an old song.
As they replayed a distorted CD through their minds of the lullaby you use to sing to them.
They missed your voice,
No.
They missed half your voice.
They hated the half that had sharp, broken, glass-like edges at the rim.
They hated the way the glass would shatter as you let out a guttural insult at poor old Mum.
And yet i watched as they held onto the half that would tell them 'It's okay Dads here.'
I watched as they preserved it in a locket.
Rusted shut from the broken promises you left.
Soon they'll grow up.
They'll go on a hunt for old dad.
Armed with shotguns and bullets;
Bullets with shells made of contempt.
They'll hit you hard.
But god dammit you'll survive.
Like a deer in head lights, you'll look at them eye to eye.
Frozen in the ice of they're blue eyes that you gave to them.
The same eyes that you should have looked into.
At that Farther daughter dance.
Their graduations.
Marriages.
And an infinity of events.
And like a deer.
You'll run away again;
Deep into the wilderness.
Honestly, I do not relate to this poem, I found the topic deeply sad and so I decided to write a poem on it.
Feedback

1. https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/1cp5uxs/comment/l3m38p2/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button
2. https://www.reddit.com/OCPoetry/comments/1coxgv8/comment/l3m404k/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web3x&utm_name=web3xcss&utm_term=1&utm_content=share_button

They fuck you up, your mum and dad.
They may not mean to, but they do.
They fill you with the faults they had

And add some extra, just for you. 

But they were fucked up in their turn
By fools in old-style hats and coats,
Who half the time were soppy-stern

And half at one another’s throats. 

Man hands on misery to man.

It deepens like a coastal shelf. 

Get out as early as you can,
And don’t have any kids yourself.
Despite the fact that I am not an antinatalist I still like and respect this poem for it's style, word choice and flow. I believe that man does hand on misery to man but the solution for that is NOT to stop having kids, it's to stop being miserable.
We need more therapy. More self-help. More education on how to be a good parent. I find it so strange how parenting is, without question, the most important thing a person can do and yet we don't talk about it. We don't teach ourselves or children how to parent.
What are your thoughts?

This was back in school when I was 15/16ish. I'd moved the area suddenly and had a lot of accommodations so most of the teachers didn't know specifically what was going on in my life but most knew it was pretty messed up and there was an ongoing police investigation. Guess this teacher missed the memo. I was talking about prom tickets and how I collected them as I qualified for free ones. I don't remember exactly how the conversation went, so I'm kinda paraphrasing.
Teacher: "You just need to get your mum to email to claim as many tickets as you need" Me: "Okay... I'll ask my dad to do that." She mentioned a few other things, every time ignoring my subtle corrections and asking me to talk to my mum. After like 4 times I lost my temper and went. "Alright, since you insist - I'll drive for two hours, find my highly abusive mother in police custody and reconnect with her just to ask her permission for some prom tickets! Oooor... I could ask my dad at home." She just went completely silent and a couple nearby teachers gave her judgemental looks and I walked away.
Teachers should honestly know better than to assume all kids have parents, especially both. There was another time like a month after I moved where we had an english class assignment to read and write poems about our mother. On mothers day, so it was already a pretty sore day for me. I just left. Should've written some poems about how she beat me for laughing wrong to teach them not to do this shit.

Hey guys, wasn't really sure what sub to post this on but I really need advice on some things if anyone has any personal experience relating to being an 'influencer' or sharing content online I suppose.
Context:
I (F,19) started a YouTube channel last year in October, I am a musician and I post cover songs and original music on my page, that is all. Since my first upload, I've gained almost 2k subs and have gotten a lot of great support from my little community. I receive a lot of really kind comments from individuals, some are sometimes a little strange, complementing my appearance a little excessively (woman moment, cheers internet) but it's usually very easy to tell when it's harmless.
Recently, I received a strange comment from a subscriber who wrote
"I got a funny feeling that we're gonna meet soon- don't get me wrong here, I have no intention of stalking you- I just kinda know things sometimes. If we do, the answer is yes.".
This scared the shit out of me so I dug a little deeper using his username and thankfully found out he lives on the other side of the world. But it scared me enough to speak to my mum about it.
Today, about 20 minutes ago, I received another comment from a subscriber who often comments on my videos. Usually, I chuck them a like and a thank-you and move on with my day but today he commented on the same video about three times over the course of a few hours, one of which was him telling me he bought a guitar because of me.
Out of curiosity, I checked his page and found he's been writing poems. I clicked the most recent video, posted 2 hours ago, with some random, strange video title, and saw that he had written and read a poem. About me. This weird, metaphorical BS about my 'soundwaves' never not pleasing his ears and all this other creepy crap. He finalised the poem with "I love you. (my name)." and I have been uncomfortable since.
WHAT DO!?!?
I just need some reassurance or advice or whatever anyone can give me about the best course of action here. I will be blocking people like this from my page but it still scares me that I will not know if and what they are continuing to post about me.
I am also afraid if I block them it will show them that I am aware of their existence, and only going off of what I've seen on TV and online, but doesn't my awareness of their existence encourage them?
I understand that this is something that happens when you build an online persona, but I did NOT sign up for this. I don't want to quit doing what I'm doing because as I said there are so many good people on there who support what I'm doing, but more importantly it's helped ME get through lows and I honestly depend on this platform for my future in songwriting.
Thankyou :)

This whole post will probably sound selfish as fuck but I’m pissed at him.
Why the fuck am I a solo parent now? Neither of us had family, we knew that, we knew that us 3 were it. We had each other, we started a family. He brought the better money in, I was originally only going back part time. The baby is constantly sick from starting nursery, I started a new job last Thursday and twice I’ve had to leave to pick him up. No contract jobs are getting back me either so I’m on a 0 hour and don’t even know if they’ll offer me hours next week because I look unreliable.
I’m sleep deprived because he doesn’t sleep, I already struggle and it’s guaranteed by the time I fall asleep I’ll be back up within an hour to settle him. He’s allergic to loads so food shopping is even more expensive than normal, I’m having to work full time to make sure I can afford to run the house and buy him everything he needs, don’t qualify for any bereavement benefits.
I can’t not work, I’m literally broke. I love our son please don’t get me wrong but this is hard work, I never get a break, I never get to shut off, when he’s with other people I’m constantly thinking is he ok, what if they accidentally give him something he’s allergic too. The only person I could completely shut off from being mum was him, When he had the baby I got a break.
I’m tired, I’m constantly dealing with a sick baby, this wasn’t the fucking plan. And in a few years I’ll need to explain that his dad is dead and when he’s old enough to understand that his dads dead because he took his life.
Fuck everything right now

I would like to leave this after this incident last night 01/02/2024
I know you read this Reddit
For the purpose of this message I will put aside my opinions of whether or not I like you as a person as honestly I only know how you put yourself across online and what you have or have not done in your past.
However I would like to talk about the present.
Last night cannot happen again! TikTok is not the place to self harm or attempt, threaten or put upon the watchers suicide that it utterly abhorrent behaviour. I have never seen something so selfish and self centred with no thought for the thousands of people watching in that moment.
I will add context here:
In August 2021 my friend did not arrive for work and I had to take a call from the BTP in this moment my life changed and you do not choose what you are party too or witness. The day before he died by suicide by train in the months that followed I had to provide statements, see if I could find things at work that would provide DNA, sit in court and listen word for word step by step of what happened on that day and his last moments including a run down on the cctv and train drivers account. What I am saying here is please be aware of who is watching as people who have been through this trauma have a natural inclination of care and to want to help and this is why they will have stayed to watch. They will have remembered what happened.
I lost another friend 6 months before this I won’t go into too much detail here however following the two events I went for nearly two years to a support group for survivors of those bereaved by suicide. I will tell you now elphaba there is no greater pain than sitting in a room and seeing the pain of those left behind after and their stories that they choose to share the blame they may put on themselves the pain the sadness the questions for your mum to watch this and others is just cruel.
I am not sure if what happened following with the hospital is true but please call the crisis team advocate for treatment not a&e that isnt the place. Their referal for therapy will take too long. You need help now. Take a break from media. Go stay with your mum. Dont be alone.
https://www.papyrus-uk.org
https://www.samaritans.org
https://www.mind.org.uk
https://www.mentalhealth.org.uk/explore-mental-health/a-z-topics/alcohol-and-mental-health#:~:text=Alcohol%20affects%20the%20part%20of,anxiety%2C%20regardless%20of%20your%20mood.
It may be how you feel then your feelings are valid then the place to go for this is not TikTok and it is certainly not acceptable to take your feelings out on the people watching to hold them accountable for how you feel. Manage your behaviour manage your feelings take accountability for your own health. Ask for help! Your mum ringing you and reaching out and you ignoring her there is no thought to how she is feeling miles away with their child on a screen looking like that. How would you feel on her shoes?
If anyone responds please be kind for the purpose of how this message is intended.

It’s close to leaving and all the peril and tribulation of that. I am full of gratitude to have you beside me, even in spirit dreaming alongside me. Keeping me out of complete desolation. nothing brings immediate comfort like you. You bearing this bleak fate we’re both under, I know the little secret threads that weave your story with mine, even if I don’t know the whys. I feel I could weather even sleeping in the park if I was with you, tucked under some blanket just lying in the park, sally says sleeping under the open air is the way to healing, that the darkness whispers to you all the answers you might need. I start to miss those days of all night walks, liminality, far flung in parks mumming to myself about the origins of everything, singing in french, enchanted air, enchanted breath, a region of moonlight and chaos. There’s something romantic about sleeping in the park with your lover. Oh the earth was made for lovers.
I’ve closed down everything tho in my terror, I don’t want to be that wild faun when I’m under so very much instability and constant horreurs. I only want a little hideaway with you then and my books, a place for my dreams. How people don’t know the loveliness they have of being settled in so safely. So safe. I have been so manic and adrenalised from worry for so long, and bearing the brink of death always that I can’t even remember the feeling. But at least it made me a tragic and passionate figure. Surprisingly my dreams are not dark but neither are they fair.
Each hour here is so precious, precious life, this place where the world has its turning, where the mythology of my life is understood and I don’t have to explain myself and explain myself. I exhaust myself explaining. People are clamouring to get out and I only wish I could stay in. I miss the green gold of your eyes, if you were on this ward now you would set back every fear, instil me with so much wisdom, promise, love and hope. Why is time moving so swiftly, it’s unbearable, people don’t realise, every second seems to be moving too quickly, I try to grasp every hour, you feel yourself running out of time. I love you I know you wait for me. I’m glad I wrote you this letter, it reminds of that creativity poem by Bukowski he says you keep writing even when your worlds stark or on fire.

Preamble:
History of anxiety since 18 (~2008) but could do most everything. Manifested as health anxiety that definitely induced avoidance but gradually that kinda faded into a nebulous "you're all good so long as there's like one other person in the general area". That meant I could do most things. Work full time. Travel. Flew to Florida twice myself in 2019. Trains into the Highlands of Scotland to skim stones on Loch Ness. Still didn't like being alone but I could hack it with a little tension. Maybe an odd bit of apprehension.
Enter agoraphobia.
2020 brings about lockdown and I'm really apprehensive about the world ending scenarios playing out in my mind. I have my first real panic attack in years around September 2020, stop going on trains around November 2020, stop leaving town around December.
Stuck in a single town for a full year.
It's 2021 and I can still walk around freely. The rule is as long as there's people around I'm safe. So I'm safe to walk around the shops and such.
Wedding invitations. Suddenly. And I feel a great sense of obligation. By May 2022, I overcome. I'm travelling to and fro and through various towns. I have too as well because I move back into the family home in town A and work in town B. I'm nervous. But I gradually expand. Always with someone. Driving around. Then on trains. Short distances. It's fine.
Then I move to town B where my job is. This closes the circuit of recovery and my world gets small. I stop leaving town B again. I start to feel panicky in the shops, so I stop going to the shops.
By 2024 I haven't left Town B for TWO YEARS. I lost the confidence to walk into the shops. But, I gradually got that back. Facing the discomfort. Acclimatising until my mind focused on other things. Still, that was only going into ones I could drive to or walk to that were very very near. I couldn't leave town B or walk around it. It had an adjoining town that was super close and I eventually could drive there with company. Even so, I felt super ill at ease there in that adjoining town!
Main Point:
It's today, April 28th 2024. I've exhausted my mum, partner and bank account. See, the company I work for closed and I had to give up my flat. I had to go HOME to town A. But I just couldn't do it. These are just pixels on a screen to you but if you know the feeling, you know the feeling. I. Just. Could. Not. Do. It. Airbnb after Airbnb, partner crying because she has exams and is exhausted with me, mum is 70 and getting pale with stress begging with me to come home. Fuck!!! What the fuck am I going to do?!??!! Be homeless? Lose my family? Fuck!!!!
Here's the reassurance for you. I made it home today. I had the most extreme expression of anxiety you can imagine. Oh. I had plenty OCD. Expensive OCD. But I gradually met the discomfort of the OCD and felt comfortable ignoring it little by little. But THIS... getting home today was truly marvellous. It is astounding. Its like a dream come true.
How it happened? I booked a private ambulance. I'm broke BTW but it cost like £450. When the company I worked for closed they gave me £2900. Probably have £100 left. But I don't care. I'll sign on and find a job. I feel amazing right now. ANYWAYS... the private ambulance wasn't enough to settle my nerves. I was shivering over night. I woke up early. It was arriving at 10.30am and nothing was perfect. I needed to buy spicy sauces to distract myself and get my favourite sandwich and petrol for my mums car to follow the ambulance (and she needs to bring a dog because that's relaxing somehow) and a ahhhh!!!! And then it arrived early and I still had OCD things in my mind but shit. Okay. I'm sat in the ambulance now. Paramedic, driver, girlfriend, mum leading way in her car.
Fuck. I want out. "Can we just stop please. Guys just five minutes." They didn't stop. I thought I was gonna crumble so so so badly. "Okay. Fuck it." I tried to submit myself to it.
Head down. Into phone. Not working. Okay. I'll talk. And I did talk. Basically a full on podcast with A LOT of emotional range! Haha But after 5 mins, while my heart was beating fast, it was all background and didn't feel overwhelming at all.
The day before I had a massive pang of adrenaline and it was so awful and I was reeling and I felt fragile and yadda yadda yadda... turns out it is ALL bullshit.
I started feeling good again in about 5mins. It was only a 15min journey in total. And I feared it for two years and spent thousands avoiding it. So don't think I'm some lucky person with amazing composure. No. Anxiety doesn't get worse than this. And I beat it today. Well, won a battle. But a huge one.
After a big dose of adrenaline the memory remembers, it's like memory steroids. And I'm glad because I feel great. You have no idea. Its like being saved from the worst delusion.
My situation was so dire. I worked so hard not to travel. I was stressing out all my loved ones. I felt everything. I toyed with diazepam and propranolol and sought out advice here to help me take them but in the end I did it without medications. And it was awesome.
Anyways I'm going to enjoy the sunshine. Anxiety is bullshit. You're amazing, I'm pretty amazing, let's all be amazing.
I'll continue to post about my progress over the next four months. Goal: take to a stage in Glasgow and recite a funny poem in front of an audience.

And so the tale unfolds, with ham and cheese, White bread, a start, a gentle breeze. Mum and Dad, with smiles so bright, Send you off to school, a shining light.
Zip lock bag in hand, the sun ablaze, Lunchtime tag, a carefree maze. Life's secrets hidden, yet to be known, Too nimble, too quick, they let you roam.
But then the bell, reality's keen call, High school's embrace, a different thrall. Mates by your side, a bond so true, Puberty's dance, a change you knew.
Eighteen years pass, a time of growth, Yet questions linger, a thirst for both. What lies ahead? A path unknown, Uncharted waters, where dreams are sown.
First car acquired, mates gathered near, Real life's embrace, a feeling clear. But fate's a fickle mistress, a twist of the hand, A speeding fine, a lesson unplanned.
Week for free, to labor and pay, A debt to society, a price to sway. Yet points accepted, jail's dark embrace, Curiosity's lure, a dangerous chase.
Years roll by, the line a tempting dare, A path that flips, a life no longer fair. Life's fine balance shattered, dreams astray, A journey lost, where hope once lay.
So heed this tale, a cautionary rhyme, Life's path is fraught with pitfalls, it's not all prime. Choose wisely, tread carefully, my friend, Lest you stumble and your journey end.
In halls once filled with love, now tears abound, As family's home moves on, emotions unbound. Memories flood, a bittersweet refrain, Of ham and cheese, a comfort lost to gain.
Kneeling low, I weep in bitter pain, My world distorted, my future an empty plain. The bag, once small, now looms large in sight, A siren's call, a pathway to the night.
One becomes two, two becomes three, Before I know it, 'Hey mate, you free?' A dealer's voice, a whisper in the void, As life's facade crumbles, my soul destroyed
At six A.M., a phone call to a friend, But darkness flows, where drugs have made their end. Green zip-lock bags, a de toadly powder's hold, Charisma up, my spirit now sold.
In bed I lie, sleep's grasp I cannot find, Depression's grip, a suffocating bind. A week's toll weighs, my body racked with pain, Yet still I chase the high, the elusive gain.
Countless souls have fallen in this trap, A harmless lap, a fatal slip, a nap. 'You should be dead,' the doctor's grim decree, Obsessed & consumed, a deadly spree.
Tears flow like rivers, endless and deep, For family lost, for dreams I cannot keep. In this abyss, I'm lost and all alone, Addiction's victim, my spirit overthrown.
My shadow's form, so grim, so weak, The life I yearn for, distant and bleak. I crave for change, yet my path is rough, Tears in my dog's eyes, a heart filled with enough.
Each day he wakes to see his father's fight, Not knowing if the next will bring him light. A zip-lock bag, a haunting tale of woe, From lunch to ruin, a path I've come to know

• The path forward is super positive, just a poem I've been working on this last year... No need for concern :)

.

My gf of over 10 years has been diagnosed with a non-curable cancer. She has few months. It all happened very quickly and there is nothing we can do. I’d like to get the advice of ppl who had been in this kind of situation both as partner and child of a dying mum. I’d like to understand how children of 5/6 years react and cope, what kind of memories and activities can help my daughter (who still does not understand what is going on). I am planning on contacting a therapist with experience in children and bereavement. Also, for ppl who lost their partner in similar circumstances, are there any regrest for things you did or did not do whilst your partner was still alive? We were not the perfect couple, but we really cared for each others and we make two very good parents; of course this is bringing us close again, but in a painful way. Any suggestion and perspective are welcome.
Just fyi: we live in europe in a country that is not the one where we were born.
Thank you

REMEMBER ME? THE GANG BLAMED GIRL?!!! lmao it's so funny when you guys read gang blamed as gang banged lmao. I'm 15.
Anyways sooo.... remember me Talking about my crush? I kinda confessed and we stopped talking for 5-6 weeks I forgot and then I got into a yee yee ahh e-dating RS (I was fucking around). Turns out the guy's father is apart of the group that I don't like and so I broke up, I didn't like his ass anyways he was too fucking cringe with his flirting skills. (No shit there are guys who still use UwU to rizz up girls. I wanted to die plus I was only looking for an escape) So a day before I broke up with that mf(guy B) I sent my crush I'll call him A, I texted Guy A about what I should do bec I didn't wanna hurt guy B either but I knew that he was fucking with some other girls behind me bec yes I do know. Got some connections with him on Facebook and one of the girls I knew said he was her bf. 🤠 Soo...I told about Guy B to Guy A and he's like do whatever you want.
And tbh I didn't even break up with Guy B, he broke up with me 🥰 which I am glad he did bec I kinda dodged a whole bullet.
Anyways after that Convo, me and Guy A started getting closer again and we would call for at the very least 2 hours a day; every day. And about 3 days ago I went to go explore an abandoned park with him (although the park was closed off and we didn't do shit). We went to a public park instead and also went through the zoo besides the park. And we had fun lol. And well that was my first time sneaking out to somewhere without my mum's perm with a fucking guy, and I also drank my first alcohol with him. AND ALSO SMOKED MY FIRST CIG WITH HIM (I do vape so...yeah).
And I cried bec I was kinda drunk and he comforted me and stuff. But like I don't wanna take things as "he likes me back bec he comforted me" no, bec he's genuinely a good person and he just wanna help. He kinda told me about his sensitive info to me and shed some tears in front of me. And we laid on the grass together while looking at the sun above us. We listened to songs, poems and talked about life. And I am so desperate for this but god I've never thought of a guy as a marriage partner ever but this guy? I COULD MARRY HIM NO SHIT. HE'D BE SUCH A GREAT DAD TOO MK???
But after that day, he got distant and said he wasn't in the mood to talk. 💋 He's on his period or whatever but I am too and it's kinda bothering me but mann.....we haven't called for 2 days. 2 whole days. That mf. Im just gonna leave him alone tho. But God in the time he hasn't talked to me I've just been writing love poems and watching stupid romance movies.
AND ALSO IF A GUY SAYS "Yk the movie La La Land? That movie reminds me of us" WTF DO I DO. BEC I KNOW VERY WELL HOW THAT MOVIE ENDED. ugh. But like i want us to end in the way that Mia and Seb could've ended; like the alternate ending. 😭
Mk that's it.

So I had dinner with my parents and my mum was reminiscing on my behaviour as a baby and how there were signs of autism that she hadn't realised. (This was a funny topic for us)
In the last few years my relationship with my mum had had a rough patch and we'd grown a bit distant but now I want to reconnect with her.
With this conversation I realised how much effort she put in for my needs. (Such as writing a full on chart for the different sounds I'd make since I was non verbal at 2 years old) and this gave me a new perspective on it.
I have a poem recital soon and asked her to come because the poem I wrote was about her and now because of work there's a chance she can't come and she feels super bad. I feel very guilty because of this now because she's actually a great mother.

Hey, looking for thoughts and advice, but a little background first.
Long one but this is 5 years in the making so please bare with me, your advice is really appreciated!
My ex and I seperated 2018 and problems really only escalated from there. Limited access where I'd been the majority carer. Eventually a court ordered 5050 in 2019 having agreed on paper 7 months prior but never progressed to.
Fast forward a few months and a member of my exs family is arrested, charged and later convicted of some serious offences preventing access to our daughter (local authority instruction supported by me and fought by my ex). My ex pushed for contact via court order later that year which was predictably overturned but realising this the battle ground changed to a demand for full custody and a very serious attempt to discredit me professionally, psychologically and as a parent.
The stated rationale, our daughter's true wishes and feelings at 6 years old. She was reported to have said she wished to live with her mum only and see dad on specific special occasions if she felt like it because she was fearful of dad (no specific reason and refuted by family members, friends and her teachers) (These are now verbatim apparently my daughters stated words 2024 and the shared cause for her to be withheld from my care/ visitation/any form of contact).
In the second proceedings, 5050 was preserved, slap on the wrist for my ex and a warning about coercive language and a warning not to pursue psychoanalysis of our daughter and to go to family therapy, acrimony being the root cause of any unrest. My belief was always that a better parental relationship will foster a happier child. My ex refused to attend.
The last 16 months since was punctuated by increasingly alienating measures (ear piercings 1 week after court /medical appts and procedures without joint consent / removal of my details from GP record / enrolled in psychotherapy without consent (found out 1 week ago it has been going on for almost a year on a weekly basis and kept a secret) / our daughters competitions with me deprioritised, those with my ex prioritised).
Cue now: I returned from holiday with our daughter 13 days ago, she transferred to my ex and has not returned since. A string of new abuse allegations we communicated to me via a social worker supposedly made by our daughter 1 week prior to our holiday which she was very happy on. These allegations are just not possible, I live with family at home for this reason so there are witnesses so unless her closest relatives after her parents are abusing her too it can't be true. The SW position is that we must simply all be abusing her in the same manner.
Despite a very good relationship with my daughter, widely accepted by friends and family and parents, I have been told I actually have a very poor relationship and my daughter is"sick and tired of me", "totally fed up" ,(by the SW). I am told it's not the end and one day I might see my daughter again if she wants maybe at 18 when she is more confident (The SW).
For now I am told contact will resume on her birthday/ xmas day and Easter but only if our daughter wants to and remembers. She must not be prompted. No access by phone or other means on any other days than those listed and they must be directed by our daughter alone (she does not have a phone). If she is forced or made to be convinced or coerced A section 47 fact finder is to be launched and mother reprimanded if she is responsible.
The SW believes our 7 year old cannot lie and her mother is an honest person who would not dream of cercing a child in her opinion.
I really wish I was making this up or I'm guilty of hyperbola but its not and I'm living my nightmare. Despite court documents, 200gb of photos and videos, reports from friends family teachers and coaches who see it daughter and I regularly I have been told this is the new reality.
Yes I checked she is a registered social worker and I've been to the council premises.
I've filed for an emergency hearing which has been listed but the judge has already made a no contact order i.e. no reinstatement of the current CAO suspended by the SW until the SW explains herself to the court. Cafcass do not needto make a report as previous timings have said I am a good supportive parent.
I have offered to go to the police to levy my own charges and be investigated. The SW said its not necessary. I've engaged the SW with "self help" to be cooperative and seen the SW's counsellor who was appalled at what has happened but has no power to alter the SW position, only advise her. I've been told not to make a formal complaint about the SW and await court.
It seems this was all sparked by my ex making domestic abuse charges against against me (we do not talk in public - her choice - so contact is all by email). The police reviewed and said all emails were appropriate and non threatening and about child matters only (I was not even contacted about this). My ex then went to a Domestic Abuse charity who referred her case directly to social services and here we were. I'm not able to see the referral without a court order.
The SW has told me I'm not allowed on school grounds (I was part of the pta 2 years ago and do drop offs 2 days a week and pick up once per week, my parents the others.
My ex has told the SW our daughter will soon be removed from her school. Stability etc?? SW had no issue with this or the fact I was not informed.
Rather than berate the SW which is all too easy, practical advice would be hugely welcome. The SW has our current CAO and has ignored it including deliberations about this very matter recognised in 2023.
We have had SWs on 2 prior occasions which I have directed the SW to (she has still not investigated). Similarly the SW was not interested in evidence of alienating behaviours 2023.
Ive simply been labelled guilty of abuse and my daughter's wishes deemed to be her own without due investigation or need for burden of proof.
My parents are bereaved, grieving what they see as the inevitable loss now of an alienated child
I am reeling envisaging years of no contact without cause and wondering what to do next besides keep filing.
I have a legal brief already. What else is there to cover ground on in this position?
Has anybody experienced something so incredible and any advice on what else there is to do?
Thanks everyone!
p.s. I should say I saw a barrister last year envisaging a worst case scenario (here I am) and they felt as there was only evidence of process and not result, the iron would be best struck when and if our daughter was ever withheld without intent to return

How can I reassure my dad that I'm not suicidal? I often think I would rather be dead than live through this grief but (hear me out) I have so much love for my parents and I cannot bear the thought of them suffering the loss of a second child. In fact I'm terrified of dying which is not something I've ever been afraid of before. I'm scared that I'll die before my parents and I desperately don't want to cause them any more pain.
Sometimes I'll be asleep and not respond to my name right away and my dad will panic and start shaking me. Today I sent him what I thought would be a comforting poem about my sister who died and he thought I'd done something to myself and had a full on breakdown. I only know because I heard it over the phone when he didn't realise I'd picked up his call and my mum had to calm him down. I couldn't stop shaking and my heart was racing with how scared I was for him.
I know he's absolutely devastated and my sister's death has left him utterly heartbroken. I just want to comfort him and let him know I'm not going anywhere because I love him too damn much. He's always been very protective of us too so I feel like he thinks he failed as a father but I don't want him to be afraid for me for the rest of his life. It doesn't help that I live two hours away from my parents so I'm sure he's constantly worrying. I feel so bad for him it hurts.

CHAPTER 1
A gloomy rain fell down from the steely grey clouds above England, creating puddles in pot holes and mud pits in mounds of dirt. The small english town of Derry had been flooded before, and the townspeoples fears of another had put everyone on edge. Nobody dared utter the word though, their superstitions wouldn't allow that. People in Derry were well known for their superstitious and cagey behavior, but this was not entirely unwarranted. It wasn't just a flood here and there once in a while in Derry, they had a long and colorful past with all types of disasters, some man made, others acts of god.
There was the great black spot fire of 1979, in which a white supremacist group burnt down a local disco predominantly visited by Derry's small black and latino community, accidentally torching half the town down in the process. In 1952 there was the expansive national ASDF league shoot out, which lasted a total nine hours in the Derry town square before the police finally got the upper hand and killed every gang member on sight. But the most horrific of all was in 1925, when the Derry ironworks exploded, killing all it's workers as well as everyone participating in the annual Derry christmas parade nearby, most of which were children.
These were just a few of the horrific events Derry township had gone through, and bizzarely, no matter how gruesome each event was, none were ever on the news or remembered too well. That was just how Derry worked, despite it's reputation as a sleepy, dreary town where nothing much ever happened, tragedies were rampant. So you couldn't quite blame the people for being superstitious and scared, especially in autumn when the weather was at it's absolute worst. It was late autumn now though, there was only about four more days till winter, and the worries of floods would soon turn into worries for blizzards, and people were certain the worst of the worst had already came and went.
On this fine rainy saturday in a white two story house, Tom Denbrough was sitting upstairs, doing what he did everyday, writing songs. He'd been wrestling with an awful case of influenza the past few days, hocking up phlegm and wiping snot from his nose every few minutes 'til it was rubbed raw. He had not much energy for anything else because of it, all he could muster the strength to do now was lay in his checkered, tissue covered bed sheets, and wait for his mother to bring him chicken noodle soup and sprite to ease his churning tummy.
It wasn't too bad though, a lot of people can't stand being alone, but Tom often thrived in solitude. Ever since he was a kid he'd taken a liking to it, he was "introverted" as some one would like to say, but back then introverts were seen as more of a problem than just a thing you could be. It felt odd for him to say "ever since he was a kid" as if he wasn't still a kid now, but he technically wasn't. He'd bid farewell to such a label by september, and swapped out the childish number twelve to the unlucky number thirteen, and Tom still wasn't so sure if he was happy with that.
He didn't quite feel like an adult, and people still had yet to treat him as such, but Tom had his own suspicions about that. He knew there was more reason than just him still being a minor, because the truth of the matter was that everyone enjoyed babying him because of his condition.
He was disabled, dis-abled, the word making him feel weird even now. Before Tom was called such a thing he had considered the word disabled to exclusively mean people in wheelchairs, missing legs, or some of the really out there stuff like conjoined twins. He never pictured disabled meaning some on like him, a boy with a bad stutter but a healthy body and brain. Perhaps that was closed minded of him, but alas, Tom was only thirteen, and his scope of reference for the world was much smaller than he pretended it to be.
Even the doctors in Derry didn't treat him all that compassionately, insisting to both him and his mother that he must have been "slow" in some way, but just hiding it, no matter what he or his parents said. It took Tom fighting tooth and nail just to get out of special Ed. which was basically just four kids in a classroom asked to do elementary level shit because the teacher did not believe they were capable of more. He still had to go to regular speech therapy though, which Tom loathed since in all his years of going it seemed to have done him no favors.
He still stuttered, barely getting through sentences without stumbling over at least one word, and getting even worse whenever he felt nervous or scared. That was probably the worst part about it, Tom had never liked being emotional or letting people know he was affected by things, especially when kids at school enjoyed getting a rise out of him. His panicked little drawn out "bu-bu-bu-bu-" sounding like sweet music to his tormentors ears. It was nearly possible for him to hide his feelings or keep his cool whenever he was scared, because that stupid god damn stutter was like a built in lie detector.
He didn't know where the stutter had came from, there were theories here and there, but none of them ever made him feel better. The most likely one involved a car rear ending him when he was only a toddler, knocking him into a coma but miraculously not killing him. He was in it for only a few weeks, but emerged with his stutter, which of course young and niave Tom didn't understand would cause him so much trouble later down the line.
Because Tom didn't like to talk much, he spent a lot of time writing music in his room, his lyrics were all very hamfisted and schlocky, but for a thirteen year old boy they were quite good, and would only get better the more with age. He loved music, lived and breathed it, specifically the sounds of motown records, funk, rap, rock and roll, all the sorts. He had to keep that all a secret from his mother though, she was a musical elitist of sorts. She went to a fancy schamncy music school and had been teaching piano to students for years, so she had a hard time enjoying anything that wasn't classical or something their grandma would listen to.
When Tom went out to buy a bass he had to mow a crap ton of lawns and convince his dad to keep it a secret from mom, but it was well worth all the effort. He only got to play it when she was away at work, never daring to smuggle it out of the house and go busk unless some one decided to be an asshole and tell her. But he loved his bass more than anything, he even gave her a name, since Tom figured all rock stars named their instruments. He chose Susan, after the families first and only dog they had when he was little, and it seemed to stick. Ever since then Tom had remained adamant that you couldn't play an intrument with out giving it a name first.
Even though he enjoyed writing music, and it was the thing that made him the most happy, there was still a slight underlying sadness to it whenever he'd play. He'd lwanted to be a rock star ever since he first heard Van Halen and fell in love with the sound, but with that dream also came the knowledge it'd never happen. Afterall, who the hell would wanna hear him on a record? Stuttering all over the place, stumbling over words, heck, people would send in complaints that how their brand new records were scratched and skipping. There was nobody like him on the radio, and that painful truth kept him from ever singing to anybody but a very small and select audience. And by audience, he meant his stuffed teddy bear and little brother, absolutely no one else.
Speaking of which, his very small audience was on his way up stairs, stomping like a clydesdale despite their mothers constant reprimands about it. Jon knocked on Tom's bedroom door, then immediately pushed it open without being invited in. He was only six, so things like boundries and personal space were not so ingrained him. Neither was self conciousness, maliciousness, or the ability to not be incredibly annoying, but Tom tried very hard to not hold that last one against him. He scanned the room with wide and curious eyes, like he had just stumbled upon a new and foreign world despite being in here many times before.
He loved Tom's room, he loved it more than his own. He thought it was so cool and groen up how he had band posters on his walls. There was a ton of other cool stuff too like a nintendo 64 he'd sometimes let him play, a drawing desk, and a heap of awesome clothes he said he could have when he got bigger! It was a lot cooler than his own bedroom, which was fairytale prince themed and had his half finished lego projects strewn all about, but he still liked his room well enough.
Tom looked up from the note book he was currently writing on and wiped his nose with his shirt sleeve. "Whuh-what d-do you want?" Asked Tom, a little curt. He was good at being polite and caring to Jon most of the time, he was only six afterall, he couldn't go around screaming at him, but it was harder to be patient with him when he was working on something.
Jon ran up to Tom, as if right on cue and looked up to him with needy adoring eyes that seemed to soften his attitude. "Toooom, I'm very sad..." Jon complained, and Tom rolled his eyes. He forced a smile and put the pencil he was writing with down "Oh yeah? are you actu-u-ually sad or just buh-bored?". Jon giggled at how blunt he was being "I'm sad and boreeeed.". Tom leaned closer to Jon's face, but not too close since he was still sick and didn't want him to catch it. "Sad peop-puh-puh-ple don't giggle, moron." He said, booping Jon on the nose with his index finger, causing him to erupt into another giggle.
If their mother was here in the room with them she'd no doubt say "Thomas! Stop calling your brother a moron!" Then lightly smack him on the back of the head, not enough to actually hurt but enough to knock some sense into him. Jon didn't mind it at all though, he saw it as just his brother being silly with him, and he'd always call Tom names right back. "You're a cheesehead." Jon said, biting down on his tongue and smiling. "You're a buh-buttbrain." Tom retorted. "You're a cakesniffer!" Jon exclaimed. "You're an A-ho-hole." Jon went silent at that. That was a no no word, well, not quite, but almost. Mom and dad were very strict about no no words, although he heard Tom say them all the time over the phone when he wasn't supposed to be listening.
Suddenly, another wave of laughter came from him, so loud and hearty he had to hold his belly like santa while he laughed. "You're an A-hole!" Jon said, still laughing. The two boys then launched into a big silly argument of who was the bigger A-hole, eventually ending with Tom proclaiming Jon's A-hole was bigger than the entire continent and both the boys giggling like mad. "Now guh-go away puke stuh-stain, i'm sick and I don't want you to catch it." Tom said, smiling and gently shooing his brother away. "Waiiiit! Peas Tommy, play me a song!" Jon begged, putting his hands together like he was praying.
"It's p-puh-please, not peas, Jon. B-besides, I can't sing, my voice is too hoarse and my stuh-stuh-stuh-" Tom closed his eyes and took a moment to collect himself. "I'm terrible singer." He continued. "No you're nawt! you're an amazing singer! Peas, just one song?" Jon pleaded. "Play me the one about the kid who grows up to be a superhero! Peas peas peas peaaaasss?". Tom shook his head "No can do, kid. Go b-buh-bug some one else before you catch my-" he sneezed into his elbow, grossing his little brother out. "Eugh... cold." Tom grumbled.
"There's nothing to do thoooouuugh." Jon complained, crossing his arms in a huff. "Why don't you go bug mom or dad?" "Mommy's practicing piano and daddy's trying to get the electricity back on..." he mumbled, a little sad. The constant rain and thunder had knocked out a lot of the houses in their neighborhood's power and still had yet to kick back on. The Denbrough boys were quite lucky to have their father with them, he was amazing when it came to things that involved a screwdriver or a wrench, and you'd never guess it by looking at him.
He'd hardly wear anything but Hawaiian pineapple shirts and socks with sandals, but he was still a very smart man none the less. He worked for their town's electrical company, and Tom could still remember the look of pride he had during career day in primary school when he told everyone his dad was responsible for keeping the town's power in check. It was quickly dashed when some asshole decided to ruin it by asking if his dad slept on the job and zapped him on accident and that's why he "Couldn't talk right.". The worst part of it was that Tom was pretty sure he didn't mean for it to be an insult, and was just genuinely asking it out of ignorance. He deeply hoped wherever that kid was now, he was in great pain.
Their mothers piano playing should have been obvious to Tom, it was loud and carried it's way all through out the house, even up the stairs, but it seemed to be just background noise at this point. He hadn't noticed it until now, but his mother was playing much faster than usual, she was in the "zone" so to speak, and wanted to hold onto that for as long as she could, so both Jon and Tom were shit out of luck. Tom sighed "Jeez." He leaned back into his pillows and thought for a moment, shoving all the gross snot filled tissues and crumpled up rejected lyrics from his first few failed attemps at writing a new song.
Jon awkwardly shifted around on his feet, swinging his arms side to side as if waiting for further instruction on what to do. "It's a damn sh-shuh-shame that it's raining so bad or else you could play outside." Jon nodded, and sighed, genuinely disappointed by the amount of rain. Suddenly, Tom snapped his fingers and rose up from his bed "H-hold on- I just remembered s-omething.". He quickly grabbed a folded up newspaper that his mom had left on his night stand for him to read, then ripped out one of the pages.
"What are you doing Tom?" Innocently asked Jon. He straightended it out and folded it into a triangle shape, sticking his tongue out like he was hard at work. "I'm muh-makin you a p-puh-puh-aper boat, just like dad taught me how to do when I was s-six." He explained. Jon's face lit up "Wow, really!?" he waddled over to the bed and smiled. "Yep, dad and I used to sail these all the time. Do me f-f-fuh-fav-or and go in the basement and bring back some puh-puh-puh-puh-" Tom paused again and forced another smile. "Paraffin. It's in a little b-box that says gulf." he finished.
"You mean... in the basement?" Jon mumbled, suddenly a little intimidated. "Yes, you're not scared are you?" His brother asked, half amused and half concerned. On one hand, it was very cute that Jon felt the need to impress him and pretend to be tough, on the other, he was barely not a toddler anymore, and Tom didn't wanna scare him on purpose. Jon shook his head "No i'm not scared, being scareds for babies. I can do it.". "O-o-okay, but j-just in case... here." He handed him a walkie-talkie, the kind they'd usually use to communicate whenever they'd pretend to be soldiers on the battlefield together during summer.
"C-cuh-call me if you need me." he instructed, and Jon nodded again. He skipped happily to the door, only stopping whe Tom called out "And remember Pa-pa-pa-pa-pa-". "Paraffin, I know!" Jon cheerfully replied, figuring if he didn't say it Tom would be stuck on the p's forever. He shut the door and hopped down the stairs, leaving Tom to his very important task of sitting in bed and sneezing. He only waited 'til after Jon was gone to let his smile drop and chastise himself for not actually saying the word. He'd never show Jon just how much he loathed his stutter, especially since Jon found it cool and Tom didn't wanna ruin the magic of it.
When he first learned how to talk he'd constantly immitate it, which naturally caused their parents some fear that the stutter was genetic or could be "caught" so to speak. Jon had no idea how much Tom hated his stutter, how it made people see him, how it actively dashed his dreams. Sometimes at school he'd get so flustered he'd have to clutch his desk and try so very hard to form a sentence and it still wasn't cohesive.
He was not and never would be just Tom Denbrough to his classmates, or even his teachers, although they'd never admit that. He was Stuttering Tom, Tuh-Tuh-Tuh-Tom to the particularly cruel ones, and Tom hated it. The absolute worst part of being in a situation like Tom's was no doubt the inability to open up about how much you dislike yourself. After all, preteen boys are already closed off, especially so in a small rural town like Derry where the homophobes outnumbered the gay community ten to two, but Tom had it the worst.
Nobody wants to be the guy to come out and say you think stuttering makes you a freak, all you'd really do is bring other disabled people down and raise up the dickheads who instilled that self hatred in him to begin with, but that's how he felt ans he couldn't help that. He was sure that's how his parents felt too, they did love him dearly and saw to almost all his needs 24/7, but they were still eagerly waiting for him to stop the stutter, and had so for a long time.
The doctors told him it'd only stick around for a few years after he got over the shock of the coma, but that date came and went, and still, Tom's stutter remained. You could tell they were both disappointed, and he truly could not blame them, because he was disappointed too. He didn't know what was wrong with him, or why he never got better despite countless visits to the speech therapist, but he began to wonder if there was something incredibly wrong with him. Everyone felt that way, even if they pretended like they didn't, everyone except for Jon that is. Jon adored him with or without the stutter, and Tom was supremely thankful for that.
While Tom continued to chastise himself, Jon hopped down the stairs joyfully. So joyfully, he nearly forgot that he'd be going down to the cellar, where dreams and little boys would surely go to die. He dashed through the house, past his mom's prized women's bowling league trophy's, past the grand piano, and past their big fancy living room he and Tom would solve puzzles in.
He threw open the cellar door and stared down at the abyss in front of him, fianlly letting the fear and anxiety settle in. Rickety, paint chipped stairs with large empty gaps of space between them disappeared off into the darkness of the room, the power still not back on despite their fathers best efforts. The bottom of the basement had been flooded at some point during one of the worse storms of the season, and the smell of soaked moldy wood and muddy water grossed Jon out quite a bit.
He stood there for a moment, a creeping sense of dread tugging at his chest like a dog on your pant leg. He was waiting for something, a large claw or alien tentecale to reach out from the dark and rip him to bits, but there was nothing. He must have been standing there for a while too because suddenly the walkie-talkie blared to life with Tom's voice, and he jumped back in shock.
"What's t-taking so long?" Asked Tom, and Jon nervously swallowed. "I stopped in the kitchen for a snack." He lied, he knew you weren't supposed to do that, lying was probably the worst thing you could do to your family. Well, that's what Jon thought was the worst at least, He was a little bit too young to know about some of the truly awful stuff some people do to their own kin. Familicide, Sexual abuse, beating, his parents and Tom had been working hard to keep his innocence. Derry was a hard place to do that in, it seemed like every couple of years some one went crazy and killed a lot of people. Jon had even heard bits and pieces of such things being whispered by his mom to his uncle over the phone, but for the most part, his childhood had stayed in tact.
"You know if muh-mom sees you snacking before din-din-er she'll have a cow." said Tom. "I know, i'm sorry." Jon mumbled. "It's whatever dude, just hu-hurry, and do-don't forget to grab to some muh-muh-muh-matches and one of those wax burner thingies.". "Okay, i'm doing it now." He said, then stuffed the walkie-talkie back into his pants pocket, but he was not, in fact, doing it now.
He still stood at the top of the stairs, terrified by the prospect of going down below, and still waiting for the inevitable mutated bat creature to emerge and drag him down into the depths of their flooded basement. Then, just as he was thinking about turning back, his own thoughts began to taunt him. "Come oooon Jon, you're not a baby are you? Only babies get scared by stuff like monsters and the dark. Do you want a boat or not?" He thought. "No." He replied and clenched his fists, grumbling into the darkness "I'm not a baby. I can do this.".
He took one step down the creaky stairs, frightening himself by the surprisingly loud noise they made, but calmed himself. He reiterated "I am not a baby." under his breath over and over again, as if it was a powerful spell that could keep all of the monsters away. It reminded him of how, whenever Tom's stutter would get particularly bad, his mom would have him recite these poems that were meant to help him focus and form sentences again. Sometimes they'd help him alot, but they could never make the stutter go away completely.
That was kind of what was happening now to Jon, he was still very much scared, so scared that if something popped out at him right now he may very well wet his pants, but the words coddled him and made him feel like he could press on. He hopped off the last step and into the flood, the water so low it could not even reach the six year old childs ankles. He turned his attention to a large rickety shelf under the cellar stairs and inspected the contents.
There were many items on it, shoepolish, old dish rags, wrenches, flashlights with no batteries, a can of turtle wax. For some reason, out of all those objects the turtle wax was what caught his attention, even more than the Paraffin and matches he came down here to get. The company's logo on the front was what really seemed to draw his eye, it was nothing special really, hardly as interesting of a mascot as a Tony the tiger or even a Ronald Mcdonald, just a tiny albino turtled posing proudly above the words turtle and wax. But Jon just couldn't stop staring at it for some reason. A spontaneous pang of familiarity hit him in the chest, as he racked his brain to try and remember where he had seen a turtle like that before.
Was it a dream? It felt too real to be jusr a dream, but much too distant to be a memory. He'd have to think about that later when he had the time, right now he had a mission to do. He snatched up the box, matches, and wax burner then bolted for the steps as fast as he could. Now that he had gotten what he came for he wasn't gonna waste any time down there. He ran as fast as his little legs could, begging god or whatever diety was listening to please not let anything grab his ankles as he ran back up the stairs.
The damp darkness of the cellar was suffocating and opressive, and Jon feared once he got back to the candle lit parlor room, that would be when the creature laid his slimy hands on him and pulled him back. He had made it though, despite all odds he was alive and still had yet to be digested by some hungry beast living under the stairs. He slammed the door and pressed his back against it, panting from how fast he was running as the fear of the dark slowly disappeared until the next time he had to confront it.
His mother suddenly stopped her piano playing to look up at him from across the room, somewhat worried, but highly annoyed by her son's slamming of the door. "Johnathan Bowley Denbrough, what have I told you about slamming that door?" She scolded, but not too harshly as her son was clearly frightened. He swept his bangs out of his face and panted a little more "Sorry mum." he muttered. She shook her head dismissively and went right back to playing Für Elise, which actually helped ease his anxiety.
He headed back up stairs and quickly placed all the stuff on Tom's night stand, eagerly watching as he melted the wax with such hypnotic glee he couldn't help but bounce a little. Tom dipped his finger in the wax and spread it over the paper boat, turning the boat from a nice white to an odd yellowy brown color. Jon got a little too close for comfort, putting his head over his brother's shoulder and breathing quite heavily on him, and yet, Tom still didn't seem to get annoyed.
The only time he'd really ever get annoyed with Jon's behavior was when he'd repeat stuff and ask incessant questions, which he had slowly learned over the years not to do for his brother's sake. They were seeing to each other needs, and it wasn't wasn't just because Tom didn't wanna get in trouble or Jon didn't wanna get yelled at, but a genuine shared affection for one another.
Jon dipped a finger into the wax and began to spread some on it's side with him, smiling and perfectly content. "C-careful you little cootie, you'll make it too heh-heavy and it'll flop on it's side." Tom gently reprimanded. "Oops.." he said, taking his hand away and letting the rest on his finger dry until he could peel it off. "It's oh-kuh-kuh-kay, just take it easy." He said, giving his brother a reassuring headpat to show there was no hard feelings.
Once the wax was spread, Tom took a sharpie from a Disneyland branded cup he used to store his pens and markers and then uncapped it with his mouth. He wrote "S.S. Jon" on the side in cursive font, and even drew a little stick figure captain waving on top of the boat, which Jon found very silly. He handed it to him, gingerly and carefully like it was a one of a kind art piece that belonged in a museum. "She's all ready Captain." he said, raising his hand to his forehead and doing a two finger salute. Jon giggled, but tilted his head in confusion "She?" he wondered.
"You always call boats a sh-she Jon." He explained, and Jon's mouth fell open like he just learned some amazing untold truth about the universe. He clutched the boat in his hands and grinned, looking up with pure adoration and love for the thirteen year old sitting on the bed. Then, quite randomly, Jon lunged right at him for a big hug, startling Tom.
"Agh! What the heck are you doing?! You're gonna g-geh-get sick!" He shouted. Jon laughed then kissed Tom on the cheek, something he hadn't done since he was three. "Eugh, now you're d-d-definetly gonna get sick. Get off me." He lightly scooched him off and Jon looked back to him, still smiling, and still very thankful. "Thanks Tom Tom, thanks alot." He said, and Tom shrugged.
"It's fine, just don't come crying to me when you get the flu and start vu-vomiting your g-guh-guh-uts out.". Tom paused to loudly cough, momentarily drawing some concern from his brother. "And p-p-put on a rain coat when you go out, I d-don't want you getting soaked." He wheezed, huddling under the covers. "Okay!" Jon cheerfully replied, closing the door and heading to the down stairs closet where they kept all the coats.
He put the small baby blue rain slicker on over the baggy sweater he was wearing and finangled with the buttons for a while, still not all that good at hand eye coordination dude to his young age. When he finally managed to get most of them through the holes, he pumped his fist in celebration, and even did a spin. On his way out the door he stopped to grab a pair of black galoshes that still had some mud left on them. He and Tom had went outside together a week ago and simply neglected to clean them since, then, as if in an act of karma for being so lazy, Tom caught a very bad cold the following day.
Jon waddled out the front door into the cool autumn air, making squeaky squishing noises with each step from the rubber soles of his boots. He took a few steps off the porch, only to be greeted by a sudden but gentle breeze hitting the side of his face and pushing his hair around. The now weaning rain fell down from the sky and onto poor little Jon's head, tapping politely on his hood as if to say "Hello Jon! It's your buddy, the rain! Let me in!". He walked a little bit further until he was at the edge of the driveway, then turned around to look back up at his house. It was a moderately above average two story home, nothing special, but to Jon it might as well had heen a castle. His bedroom was right across from Tom's on the second floor, although his over looked the back yard and Tom's overlooked the drive way.
He was peeking through the bay window his bed was by now, standing up on his knees and peeling back the curtains to watch him walk away. Since the house was still dark from the power outage, Tom was barely visible to him. He looked like a floating disembodied head, something Jon found both silly and a little spooky. He jumped in place and waved wildly at him, as if he thought Tom might possibly be able to miss the toddler dressed in a bright blue rain slicker and boots. Tom smiled then lifted up the walkie-talkir in his hand to his mouth "B-be careful. There's alot of w-weirdos out there.". Jon rolled his eyes, still smiling, but a tiny bit annoyed.
He took out his own walkie-talkie from his back pocket and pressed the button to respond. "You sound like mum." he joked. "C-can it." Tom said, a little flustered, especially since he knew it was true. Depite their differences, Tom had always been more like his mother than his father, and the opposite had been true for Jon. He giggled at his embarrassment, "I'll stay safe, don't be such a cry baby, Tom.". "Hey, I resent that label, I'm a cry man." And now they were both snickering over the radios.
"I'm serious though, stay safe." Tom reiterated. "Ok ok- I will- I love you." Jon said, and Tom went silent for a moment as he did not know how to respond. Jon was lucky enough to still be at the age where you could tell another guy you loved them and no one cared, and Tom desperately wished for him to stay like that and never get to old for saying I love you. Lord knows he was forced to out of it a long time ago, and he'd all but forgotten how to do it.
"I- uh- uhm-" Tom hesitated for a second, even with out all the macho man bullshit he had to go through at school, Tom had a hard time letting others know how he felt. Trying to hock out the words was like trying to hock out a pill you didn't mean to take. He swallowed "I lo-love you too." He spat out, and Jon seemed content with that.
He cheerily skipped down the street with his walkie-talkie in one hand and Paper boat in the other, splashing in rain water with each stomp. Tom fell back down onto his bed and sighed, totally exhausted. He wanted to take a long nap now, and he seemed quite over due for one judging by his throbbing head ache. His mothers constant repitition of Für Elise didn't really help that at all, if anything it made it worse. God, if he could have just a single moment of silence he would be happy as a clam.
What Tom didn't know though was that this song's meaning was about to be forever changed for him, from just an annoyingly pompous piano tune to a song that even twenty seven years later could still send him into a trance. From that day forward, anytime he heard those first few notes he'd always have the exact same haunting thought. "That's it, that's the song. That's the song mom was playing the day Jon passed away.". And as it turned out, that rainy view of Jon from his bedside window would be the last time he'd ever see his brother again.