I Am Intrigued By This Idea But My Mind Veered Down A Different Path.

I am intrigued by this idea but my mind veered down a different path. 

Father’s tone was even as he explained why this was The Right Thing. His lip was firm even as mine trembled with every breath. “This is the way things are done. Dogs like Fish, well, they get old quickly. Look at how grey her muzzle is. Wouldn’t be right to make her suffer the pain of her old joints just to keep her with us.” Father’s shifting side to side as he says it. Mom said when he was young he had an accident, broke his ankle and he’s never been able to stand on it long since then. You wouldn’t know, it happened before you were born. Same with his hair turning grey and the wrinkles pulling down his face. Mom also said that the empty farm up by Suzie’s place had a school on it where Mom went when she was little to learn. You and Suzie’d spent weeks looking all over that farm for that school. Suzie said maybe it was just really really little, like the size of a bird house but your eyes were sharp enough to spot a Chickadee in a bush two houses away so you were sure you’d have found it by now. If it existed. 

“But I don’t want to!” Your voice is high pitched due to how tight your throat is. Father’s face gets all blurry until you blink your eyes clear. “She’s mine and I wanna keep her.” 

Father sighs and runs his trembling hand through his grey hair. He leans heavily against the wall and lifts his foot up. “Look, kiddo, I know you love her.” His voice is hard, tight but not with fear. He starts shaking his foot and looks over to where the smell of Mom’s cooking is coming from. “But she can’t do what she used to. It’d be cruel to let her try.” He pulls at his shirt, stained with sweat and sticking to him even though he’d only went to work after lunch. “Now are you gonna do this or do I have to?”

He’d asked that same question last week. “You gonna put your toys away or do I have to?” Father’s voice was sharp and hard like it is now. Suzie had been over and you’d chased each other around the yard, Fish nipping at your heels, until you were red in the face with laughter and panting with joy. You’d said “you can Dad” as you sat down to supper with a smile on your face. After supper, and homework done squirming under Mom’s steady eye, you’d pulled your toys out again. Mr. Rabbit’s vest was ripped. Ms. Bear’s eye was missing. The Great and Terrible Mouse only had half a foot. Father watched silently, a small curl at the corner of his lips. Your hands shook then too, throat too tight to say anything. Not that you’d known what to say. 

“I will.” You squeaked out through your almost closed throat. Father held a hand to his ear. “I will.” 

It’s loud enough that Mom hears and shouts from the other room, “What’s that dear?”

Father bares his yellowed teeth at you, mouth curling up. “Nothing dear.” He calls back to Mom. 

The shotgun is heavy against you. You have to bounce it a bit with your hips every time it slides down to far. The metal is cool where you hold the barrel as Father shows you how to load it. He demonstrates the click it makes when it closes then opens it up with a scrap of metal against metal to show you again. Click. Ssshh. Click. Ssshh. Click. 

Fish sits when you ask her to, tail wagging slowly as she waits for you to decide what happens next. Words rush to your mouth and stay there when Father places a heavy hand on your shoulder. “Ready?” You narrow your eyes at the ground, jaw aching as your teeth grind against each other. You nod, a short stiff nod. 

Ssshh. Click. Bang. 

***

You find the book years later. Leather bound, something softer than any cow hide you’ve ever touched. Heavy. Heavier than any other book that size you’ve ever picked up. The writing is a reddish grey that’s faded into the soft yellow of the pages. For some reason it’s easier to read by candlelight than sunlight or any of the electric lights you tried. You flip quickly through it, just as you had when you first found it. As always, the pages stick together in odd asymmetrical clumps. As always, you pause in flipping through the book to reposition it and discover it’s opened to the one page you were looking for. 

‘To Reclaim What Is Yours: Gone, Not Forgotten, and Not For Long’ shines brightly in the moonlight. The page looks almost white in the bright light of the full moon. Your eyes scan the words, mouth twisting and flickering as they tumble out of you. They fall into the air and the air twists at their presence, starting to tug and pull at your clothes. You stumble slightly at a particularly strong yank and shout the words louder still. The air echos them back, moaning then howling then shrieking them at you. Your ears feel stabbed with the air and you can no longer hear your own voice. Your jaw tenses and you shout louder. The last word kicks you in the teeth as it leaves. 

Bang. 

The air stills. Utterly silent. No breeze. No animals. Not even the sound of your own breathing as your chest aches with your held breath.

Click. 

The sound of metal hitting against metal. You turn around, breath still held tight to your chest.

Ssshh.

 Fish’s tail wags once, slowly. 

concept: story that adamantly refuses to address any of the themes that its topics lead it directly toward

- My earliest memory is from when I was 4/5. I was sitting on the passenger seat of my mom’s green car and she was driving down the gravel road. I can remember exactly where we were which is odd because my memory doesn’t work like that. I remember turning from looking out the window to tell her that when I was in the other place I was allowed to pick any mommy I wanted and I picked her because I thought she needed me. Then I went back to watching the trees go past. I don’t remember how she responded and I know she’s only brought it up once since then when I was in my late 20′s. I was surprised she even remembered because in my memory it feels just, like, a random day and thing. Not at all important. To the point where I’m always a little surprised to remember something so insignificant. 

- I never had an imaginary friend growing up. I used to pretend I had imaginary friend. And I’d get so jealous that other people could just imagine something that wasn’t there. Occasionally my brother’s imaginary friend would come check in on me and reassure me that it was ok not to be able to imagine a friend. This never felt odd to me. It felt odd for my brother when I described the imaginary friend he had never told me about. 

- I don’t believe in psychics. My mom was seeing one to help with her grief about my brother’s death. I picked her up from the psychic once and the psychic insistent I not leave before she told me some things from a past life. I thought it was hokey but agreed to play along because she was helping my mom grieve. She said in a past life I was shot twice in the back. I nodded along but she must have seen I didn’t believe because she offered to show me where. I turned around and she tapped two places on my back. No more pressure then you’d use to press a button on your phone’s keyboard. I nearly collapsed from the icy burning pain of it. Then she said she wasn’t sure if it was the same life or another but my feet had also been cut off. My feet have always felt disconnected from me. To the point where I’d asked a doctor if I had circulation or nerve issues. Dr said no. I don’t remember ever telling my mom about it. The moment she said that my mind was like “yep, that’s what it is”. I believe now. 

- When I was a young teen and hanging out with a friend we found an ouija board. I don’t remember why but I asked my mom if I could play it. That stands out to me because it was a board game and I’d never asked to play those before. I just knew I could. Except I remember knowing that my mom had to give me permission first. Like, I called her from my friends house to ask if I could play a board game. My mom refused. Adamantly. To the point where she talked to my friends parents and said she’d come get me right that instant if they didn’t guarantee I wouldn’t touch it. They must have because she let me stay the rest of the night but they also took the ouija board away. When I asked her about it (in person) she refused to tell me why. I pestered her for days about it. Finally she said that when she used an ouija board for the first and last time (as a teenager) it said something horrible about me. She refused to say anything more since then. And I’m just now realizing I wasn’t even born then. My older brother and sister weren’t either. Well, that just got a little creepier for me. 

 - My sister has this weird empathy bond with my mom. She knows when my mom’s upset. I remember many many times I’d be hanging out with my sister and she’d just stop what she was doing, pull out her phone, call mom and be like “what’s wrong? No, don’t lie to me. What’s wrong?” It ranges from mom having had a nightmare to someone dying. For the longest time it was the one piece of evidence I believed that people could be psychic. 

i just had the weirdest moment, i was feeling my front teeth with my tongue because they’re the tiniest bit crooked, and then i had the thought “i’ll check if they’re also crooked in my other mouth” and then i realized to my shock and confusion that i have only one mouth, leading me to believe that in a past life i was a terrible monster with two mouths

i’m gonna make a movie where two normal ladies fall in love. everything’s chill, no age gap, they’re both out of the closet, their families love them, everything’s fine. the catch is that one lady has a cat and the other lady never figured out what the cat’s name was cause the Owner Lesbian ALWAYS uses a dumb nickname and now it’s been three years and they’re getting married and it’s too late to just ask

This is a song comic so please expand the readmore before you press play if you want to read along with the song!

maybe i'm missing something, but why wouldn't you listen to a doctor's opinion of whether you're in pain or fatigue?

Okay, I’ve thought about this question for most of a day, because the obvious answer is “….why would I?”, but it’s clearly not obvious to you.

Now, I know exactly what you’re thinking. They’re a doctor. They’re a professional you’ve gone to for help. And pain and fatigue are, like, medical things, right? Going to a doctor about medical stuff and then saying “LOL NOPE” to what the doctor says is like hiring a plumber and then arguing about how to fix your sink, right? If you’re so smart, why’d you call the plumber over?

Okay.

But now imagine your basement is flooding and you call the plumber. While on the phone, the plumber asks you what the problem is and you say that there’s a pipe in your basement that’s burst and it’s now flooded.

And the plumber—still on the phone—says “LOL NOPE.”

And you say, “Excuse me?”

The plumber says, “Look, a flooded basement is a really severe problem, okay? Usually, these calls, they’re a clogged toilet or a leaky u-bend under the sink. Trust me, this is better. Those are a lot cheaper to fix.”

And you say, “I’m sure they are, but I’m telling you, my basement is flooded. I’m looking down the stairs and I can see the water.”

“I’m just saying, there are other things it could be. It won’t hurt anything to eliminate them first,” the plumber says.

And you say, “But I need my basement fixed! Look, I can’t go down in my basement and do laundry right now, and I have important keepsakes down there in boxes… some of them are already ruined, but maybe I can salvage some if we can just fix the problem.”

“Well, then it will be in your interest for me to check your toilets and your u-bends,” the plumber says.

“The problem is not in my toilets or my sinks,” you say. “I am looking at the problem. I called you because my basement is flooded, and I need you to help me fix that.”

And then… now, I’m not assuming you’re female, but I just want to emphasize that this is a starkly though not exclusively gendered phenomenon, so if you’re not female then imagine you are.

“MA’AM,” the plumber says, in a way you recognize. It’s the voice of putting you in your place, the voice of unearned authority, and with this voice, this word, ma’am, is not a title of respect, it’s a reminder and a command. “MA’AM, if you’ll just calm down. I’m sure what you’re experiencing seems terrible to you, but the truth is, it’s probably not as bad as it looks from where you’re standing. And that’s a good thing! Trust me, have been a plumber for 27 years. Now, when can I come over to check your u-bends?”

“It’s not my u-bends!” you say.

“Ma’am, if you don’t want to be helped, I’ll start to think you’re calling for attention.”

You see?

(Now for bonus points, imagine the plumber refuses to help you until you lose a statistically improbable amount of weight just to rule out that this might be flooding your basement, or is acting on the subconscious but deeply entrenched idea that people with your skin color are less susceptible to flooding and in less need of help, or believes that as a feeeemale you’re more likely to be suffering from emotional distress than a physical problem and suggests the preferable course of action would be for you to take a nap every time the supposed flooding in your basement bothers you.)

As I said in that post, pain and fatigue — like dysphoria — are qualitative experiences. This means they happen in your head and they cannot be directly observed or measured by anyone else (which would make them quantitative phenomena). 

The doctor talking to you about dysphoria —or pain or fatigue — is not a plumber in your house, they are a plumber on the phone. The only input they receive about the problem is your account of it. 

And if they’re not willing to listen to what you say and aren’t willing to take you at your word, then all the expertise and experience in the world doesn’t matter. You can have the most powerful calculator in the world but if you type the wrong numbers into it it will still give the wrong answers. Someone can be the best doctor in the world but if they’re ignoring the information they’re not going to give you the right answer.

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