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Re: "Severely paranoid delusional schizophrenic spectrum disorder" (and more) disappears from Andy's
(Anonymous) 2015-04-20 11:46 pm (UTC)(link)It's still there right at the very beginning of his "Did you really have a cult?" post, which he links to in his FAQ.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/86490759067/do-you-really-have-a-cult-like-that-tumblr-post
Do you really have a cult, like that tumblr post says that's going around?
Yes, I did, though not on purpose and not any more.
From about age 16 to just under two years ago, I was, bluntly, batfuck crazy. It’s been diagnosed as a form of paranoid schizophrenia closely related to DID (which my psychiatrist thinks in and of itself is a schizoid disorder) and is responding very, very well to medication and treatment. As a result, I believed several things completely and sincerely that were snarky rhino-fisting Jesus on a ham sandwich WRONG. I have discussed some of them before to a lesser extent or alluded to them, but this is the most open I’ve ever been about it in public because, simply, I’m incredibly fucking ashamed of it and it all looks so much worse laid out on paper that I still can’t quite believe that this was ever my unquestioned normal as much and as I thought inevitably and inescapably as breathing (and unfortunately, this is not a full list of my delusions and hallucinations, just the ones relevant to my fucked up friend patterns):
Multiverse theory that included not only levels of existence where all possible histories were true, but where all fictional universes were true, and that certain very special and important stories could be communicated to our world from the world in which they were true
That I could hear, contact, and channel the spirits of beings and people from these parallel dimensions, fictional characters, as well as certain people - living and dead - on our own dimension
That I was sometimes telepathic and would just know what other people were thinking
That I was sometimes pre or post-cognitive
That I was sometimes given knowledge without knowing where it came from, downloaded into my head like the Matrix
That these gifts had been given to me by God with a solemn duty to tell the stories that He had decided needed to be told, to allow these other beings to live and experience our universe through me - especially those who had died young or unjustly - and to try to help as many people as possible.
That this was part of a divine higher plan or purpose for which I had been chosen by God
That the US government and/or various terrorist organizations knew about my abilities and wanted to capture me and perform awful experiments
Are any of these things true? Fuck no. Did I believe them? Oh God yes, to the point where I literally put my life and the lives of others on the line for and because of them more than once. I believe the only reason that things didn’t go much worse is that there is some kind of merciful diety who recognized no ill intent. (Oh, and just to make things more interesting, absolutely zero ability to differentiate fantasies and created memories or scenarios from reality and real memories. We’re still sorting that out…my therapy sessions sound like Peeta Mellark pretty often and I’ve come to the difficult conclusion that at least for the time being, I literally cannot trust ANYTHING I remember from certain parts of my life unless it’s corroborated by an outside source or completely insignificant. )
That’s not to say harm wasn’t done. A LOT of harm was done. As you can imagine, this was NOT A HEALTHY COMBINATION for me or anyone else around me. That I was crazy was what lead to the situation where I did the things I did to my friends and loved ones, but it does not absolve me of doing it nor make it in any way ok. I DID REALLY FUCKED UP THINGS. I’m still untangling all of them, and I’m still struggling even to contact some of the people I’ve hurt because sometimes God, where do you even start and how do you say “sorry I completely took reality up the ass and you with it but I never meant to hurt you and I really love you as a friend.” Whether or not Sam thought he was ganking demons in 5.02, he murdered two innocent non-possessed kids in a convenience store, and that he thought he had no choice doesn’t make them less dead or him any less the one who did it.
If you look at the list above, you might be able to already understand how exactly it went wrong and why so many people describe it as a cult environment, but I want to break it down to demonstrate that yes, I do actually understand what I did wrong and how I’m preventing it from happening in the present and future. This has been a long and difficult process and continues to be ongoing, sorting out pathology (hallucinations and fixed delusions), maladaptive thought patterns and habits from said pathology (some of the paranoias and the excessive people-pleasing and self-hatred to make up for how much I knew I was costing them), things that are just plain shitty tendencies of mine (micromanaging and the world’s worst time management, for example), and things that are actual good qualities of mine that got corrupted and spat on by the crazy (writing talent, leadership, desire to help people, charisma). Maybe it can even help someone who may recognize some of these behaviors in a relationship or friendship they’re in (or even in themselves), and of course, if anyone who knows me currently sees me doing any of these things, PLEASE let me know immediately so that I can get help, but more importantly stop doing it!
The Chosen Few
What I did then: I was constantly evaluating new people for whether they were suitable to let into the inner circle of those who knew about my superpowers and could share the burden of managing them. People weren’t assessed as friends, but as potential team members, and it was deeply impressed upon them what a tremendously important and above all SECRET task it was, with huge emotional weight placed on being part of that group. Leaving was a huge fucking deal. It all revolved around me and whatever plan I had going on, and it was expected to be the most important thing in their lives or at least be worth dropping anything else if they were needed.
Why it was wrong: Regardless of my intention, it was fucking predatory. In picking out people who would believe me and keep my secrets, I was actually targeting people who would be most willing to enter a completely fucked up situation and stay there because the person at the center of it was charismatic and showered them with genuine love…to make up for otherwise being a sucking life-ruining black hole of crazy. And then it was just our little family against the world and anything that anyone said could be dismissed because they clearly didn’t Understand what it was like on the Inside.
What I’m doing differently: “The Posse” unlike previous groups, is not a tight-knit, secretive, or exclusive band. It’s a casual term for about 20-30ish local fannish people who all like to sometimes get together and do stuff, with an elaborate venn diagram of overlapping interests and fandoms. It’s not all about any one person, one thing, no one has to believe anything, people wander in and out for sometimes months at a time, anyone can add to the group, you’re posse just by saying you are. While yes, I have some closer friends, I am doing everything possible to keep the relationships as open and autonomous as possible. I am not pursuing some special magical hyper-friendship soulbond; just having NORMAL FRIENDS is fucking GREAT!
Constants and Watchers
What I did then - When I was receiving messages from other dimensions or channeling spirits/characters, I often had extended blackouts or periods of memory loss. Rather than taking this as the massive fucking warning sign it was, I recruited friends to act as aids. One of them had to be with me at all times, practically 24/7/365 in case I “had a knock” and they were responsible for supervising the episode and then letting me know exactly what happened.
Why it was wrong - I basically turned completely untrained friends into the full time care team for a dangerously unstable hallucinating individual. “Others” could be violent, distraught, disoriented, and were almost completely unpredictable, sometimes putting my friends into dangerous, stressful, and just plain uncomfortable situations that they felt fully responsible for not only managing, but hiding from those who didn’t know “what I was” and reporting back to me when it ended minutes…or hours…or days later.
What I’m doing differently - Thank pharmaceuticals this doesn’t happen any more. If it did, however, I understand that it is under no circumstances something that is in any way right to put on laymen…especially if they think it’s real! Therefore I’ve made sure that my friends know if I start acting strangely or don’t seem to think I’m myself, they need to just keep me safe long enough to get ahold of my parents and/or call for professional help, NOT supervise it, guide it, or make friends with it.
Center of the Universe
What I did then - Friendships were all-consuming. I would drop my life completely to go be with someone. Living together as a group was the ideal - we came as close to communes as we could and aspired to a lifestyle that had minimum outside contact. Everything revolved around me, my powers, what “The Others” were doing/needed, what messages were coming in, and what the latest project was. Family, jobs, money, material goods, health, time, relationships etc. were all expected to be set aside or offered up to pursue the greater goals, and if you balked, clearly you didn’t care about the current emergency or cause and what was wrong with you, this was God’s plan to help the world.
Why it was wrong: I was completely consuming other people’s lives and resources. I thought it was ok because I had given up just as much of my own, but I missed the memo that I had the right to give up MY things for MY crazy, not to compel other people to give up theirs. There was just nothing, nothing remotely ok about this.
What I’m doing differently: I backslid on this one during GISHWHES big time when I accidentally went off my meds, I’ll say that right now. For the most part, though, I think I’m doing really well at not only accepting that all my friends have their own lives and boundaries and that’s ok, but encouraging it. When I thought one of my friends was getting too wrapped up with me, I gave her an ultimatum that if she didn’t start doing more things away from me and cultivate more of a separate life and get therapy specifically addressing her thing for me, we wouldn’t be able to hang out at all.
The Secret of 42
What I did then - I believed I understood All The Things. Whether it was the truth behind historical events, deep religious and philosophical questions, human behavior, complex sociology, conspiracy theories, complex economics, or celebrity tinhatting, I knew The Truth They Don’t Want You To Know.
Why it was wrong - I’m smart. I’m damned smart. Ain’t nobody that smart. If someone is telling you they know all the secrets to the big damned thing, they’re either bullshitting you or their brain is bullshitting them. It’s not true in popup ads and it’s not true in life.
What I’m doing differently - There are things I’m good at, such as cooking, cosplay, living cheap, some kinds of art, storycraft, a lot of school of hard knocks common sense. Those are things I can quantify and teach from my own experience. However, I’m making very sure to state when something is my opinion, experience, or theory rather than just presenting everything I think as fact, and to make very clear where the limits of my actual expertise are and aren’t, as well as to admit when I just don’t fucking know.
Rescue Ranger
What I did then - I had a saving people thing that would have made Harry Potter queasy. If someone was in trouble, I had to swoop in and fix it, which usually meant drawing them in close under my protective wing…and right into the crazy soup.
Why it was wrong - Unsurprisingly, people who are notably not ok are also more likely to be grateful to be part of a small, special group of people who are willing to do anything for each other, value having a Big Higher Purpose, be willing to believe in magic and miracles, and otherwise be extremely vulnerable to cults and cult-like things. Also unsurprisingly, getting involved in something like that when you’re already fucked up only makes it worse, no matter how good the intentions of helping. All I wanted was to make people better. Every so often, I did. More often - and once would have been too many times - I hurt them worse.
What I’m doing differently - I am not a trained therapist, social worker, police officer, or doctor. If you’re in trouble, I will listen, offer you my best advice (which is actually, now that I’m medicated and it’s coming from ME, not my superpowers, sometimes pretty decent or at least hard-won, but I always make sure it’s properly disclaimered) and help you get in touch with professional resources that are actually equipped to solve your problem. Further world and people-saving impulses are channeled through structured activities by established charities like Random Acts.
Inside Man
What I did then - - I believed that I had secret insider knowledge of all sorts of things, especially medicine, government, the military, the legal field, and entertainment industry. Often this came from Others who were in those fields. I would act accordingly, even so far as to perform minor surgery, prescribe medication and courses of treatment, create legal documents, etc. It also lead me to believe I had special relationships with celebrities and to behave inappropriately towards them.
Why it was wrong - Once, I tried to use my “insider knowledge” of the entertainment industry to try to plan a full-scale convention the size of Vegas Con with just a half dozen other people who had never done any such thing, six months, and a budget of a few hundred dollars. Needless to say, it went so badly it’s still notorious over ten years later…but the money and face lost with that was relatively minor considering. I endangered people’s health, finances, legal standings, careers, schooling, and basically everything else thinking I knew shit I didn’t fucking know.
What I’m doing differently - There is a reason that I say over and over and over again on all of my meta that I don’t work for SPN or write for any other TV show or have anything to do with that industry. I am extremely consciencious now of where my actual expertise stands, and to keep my experting within those fields. If I can’t prove why I know the thing, I don’t care if I think I know it, I know I don’t know it. I also make sure to check my behavior with and around celebrities and follow outside cues for the boundaries THEY set while reminding myself that I have no more status with them than any other fan in the same situation.
(TBC...)
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/86490759067/do-you-really-have-a-cult-like-that-tumblr-post
Do you really have a cult, like that tumblr post says that's going around?
Yes, I did, though not on purpose and not any more.
From about age 16 to just under two years ago, I was, bluntly, batfuck crazy. It’s been diagnosed as a form of paranoid schizophrenia closely related to DID (which my psychiatrist thinks in and of itself is a schizoid disorder) and is responding very, very well to medication and treatment. As a result, I believed several things completely and sincerely that were snarky rhino-fisting Jesus on a ham sandwich WRONG. I have discussed some of them before to a lesser extent or alluded to them, but this is the most open I’ve ever been about it in public because, simply, I’m incredibly fucking ashamed of it and it all looks so much worse laid out on paper that I still can’t quite believe that this was ever my unquestioned normal as much and as I thought inevitably and inescapably as breathing (and unfortunately, this is not a full list of my delusions and hallucinations, just the ones relevant to my fucked up friend patterns):
Multiverse theory that included not only levels of existence where all possible histories were true, but where all fictional universes were true, and that certain very special and important stories could be communicated to our world from the world in which they were true
That I could hear, contact, and channel the spirits of beings and people from these parallel dimensions, fictional characters, as well as certain people - living and dead - on our own dimension
That I was sometimes telepathic and would just know what other people were thinking
That I was sometimes pre or post-cognitive
That I was sometimes given knowledge without knowing where it came from, downloaded into my head like the Matrix
That these gifts had been given to me by God with a solemn duty to tell the stories that He had decided needed to be told, to allow these other beings to live and experience our universe through me - especially those who had died young or unjustly - and to try to help as many people as possible.
That this was part of a divine higher plan or purpose for which I had been chosen by God
That the US government and/or various terrorist organizations knew about my abilities and wanted to capture me and perform awful experiments
Are any of these things true? Fuck no. Did I believe them? Oh God yes, to the point where I literally put my life and the lives of others on the line for and because of them more than once. I believe the only reason that things didn’t go much worse is that there is some kind of merciful diety who recognized no ill intent. (Oh, and just to make things more interesting, absolutely zero ability to differentiate fantasies and created memories or scenarios from reality and real memories. We’re still sorting that out…my therapy sessions sound like Peeta Mellark pretty often and I’ve come to the difficult conclusion that at least for the time being, I literally cannot trust ANYTHING I remember from certain parts of my life unless it’s corroborated by an outside source or completely insignificant. )
That’s not to say harm wasn’t done. A LOT of harm was done. As you can imagine, this was NOT A HEALTHY COMBINATION for me or anyone else around me. That I was crazy was what lead to the situation where I did the things I did to my friends and loved ones, but it does not absolve me of doing it nor make it in any way ok. I DID REALLY FUCKED UP THINGS. I’m still untangling all of them, and I’m still struggling even to contact some of the people I’ve hurt because sometimes God, where do you even start and how do you say “sorry I completely took reality up the ass and you with it but I never meant to hurt you and I really love you as a friend.” Whether or not Sam thought he was ganking demons in 5.02, he murdered two innocent non-possessed kids in a convenience store, and that he thought he had no choice doesn’t make them less dead or him any less the one who did it.
If you look at the list above, you might be able to already understand how exactly it went wrong and why so many people describe it as a cult environment, but I want to break it down to demonstrate that yes, I do actually understand what I did wrong and how I’m preventing it from happening in the present and future. This has been a long and difficult process and continues to be ongoing, sorting out pathology (hallucinations and fixed delusions), maladaptive thought patterns and habits from said pathology (some of the paranoias and the excessive people-pleasing and self-hatred to make up for how much I knew I was costing them), things that are just plain shitty tendencies of mine (micromanaging and the world’s worst time management, for example), and things that are actual good qualities of mine that got corrupted and spat on by the crazy (writing talent, leadership, desire to help people, charisma). Maybe it can even help someone who may recognize some of these behaviors in a relationship or friendship they’re in (or even in themselves), and of course, if anyone who knows me currently sees me doing any of these things, PLEASE let me know immediately so that I can get help, but more importantly stop doing it!
The Chosen Few
What I did then: I was constantly evaluating new people for whether they were suitable to let into the inner circle of those who knew about my superpowers and could share the burden of managing them. People weren’t assessed as friends, but as potential team members, and it was deeply impressed upon them what a tremendously important and above all SECRET task it was, with huge emotional weight placed on being part of that group. Leaving was a huge fucking deal. It all revolved around me and whatever plan I had going on, and it was expected to be the most important thing in their lives or at least be worth dropping anything else if they were needed.
Why it was wrong: Regardless of my intention, it was fucking predatory. In picking out people who would believe me and keep my secrets, I was actually targeting people who would be most willing to enter a completely fucked up situation and stay there because the person at the center of it was charismatic and showered them with genuine love…to make up for otherwise being a sucking life-ruining black hole of crazy. And then it was just our little family against the world and anything that anyone said could be dismissed because they clearly didn’t Understand what it was like on the Inside.
What I’m doing differently: “The Posse” unlike previous groups, is not a tight-knit, secretive, or exclusive band. It’s a casual term for about 20-30ish local fannish people who all like to sometimes get together and do stuff, with an elaborate venn diagram of overlapping interests and fandoms. It’s not all about any one person, one thing, no one has to believe anything, people wander in and out for sometimes months at a time, anyone can add to the group, you’re posse just by saying you are. While yes, I have some closer friends, I am doing everything possible to keep the relationships as open and autonomous as possible. I am not pursuing some special magical hyper-friendship soulbond; just having NORMAL FRIENDS is fucking GREAT!
Constants and Watchers
What I did then - When I was receiving messages from other dimensions or channeling spirits/characters, I often had extended blackouts or periods of memory loss. Rather than taking this as the massive fucking warning sign it was, I recruited friends to act as aids. One of them had to be with me at all times, practically 24/7/365 in case I “had a knock” and they were responsible for supervising the episode and then letting me know exactly what happened.
Why it was wrong - I basically turned completely untrained friends into the full time care team for a dangerously unstable hallucinating individual. “Others” could be violent, distraught, disoriented, and were almost completely unpredictable, sometimes putting my friends into dangerous, stressful, and just plain uncomfortable situations that they felt fully responsible for not only managing, but hiding from those who didn’t know “what I was” and reporting back to me when it ended minutes…or hours…or days later.
What I’m doing differently - Thank pharmaceuticals this doesn’t happen any more. If it did, however, I understand that it is under no circumstances something that is in any way right to put on laymen…especially if they think it’s real! Therefore I’ve made sure that my friends know if I start acting strangely or don’t seem to think I’m myself, they need to just keep me safe long enough to get ahold of my parents and/or call for professional help, NOT supervise it, guide it, or make friends with it.
Center of the Universe
What I did then - Friendships were all-consuming. I would drop my life completely to go be with someone. Living together as a group was the ideal - we came as close to communes as we could and aspired to a lifestyle that had minimum outside contact. Everything revolved around me, my powers, what “The Others” were doing/needed, what messages were coming in, and what the latest project was. Family, jobs, money, material goods, health, time, relationships etc. were all expected to be set aside or offered up to pursue the greater goals, and if you balked, clearly you didn’t care about the current emergency or cause and what was wrong with you, this was God’s plan to help the world.
Why it was wrong: I was completely consuming other people’s lives and resources. I thought it was ok because I had given up just as much of my own, but I missed the memo that I had the right to give up MY things for MY crazy, not to compel other people to give up theirs. There was just nothing, nothing remotely ok about this.
What I’m doing differently: I backslid on this one during GISHWHES big time when I accidentally went off my meds, I’ll say that right now. For the most part, though, I think I’m doing really well at not only accepting that all my friends have their own lives and boundaries and that’s ok, but encouraging it. When I thought one of my friends was getting too wrapped up with me, I gave her an ultimatum that if she didn’t start doing more things away from me and cultivate more of a separate life and get therapy specifically addressing her thing for me, we wouldn’t be able to hang out at all.
The Secret of 42
What I did then - I believed I understood All The Things. Whether it was the truth behind historical events, deep religious and philosophical questions, human behavior, complex sociology, conspiracy theories, complex economics, or celebrity tinhatting, I knew The Truth They Don’t Want You To Know.
Why it was wrong - I’m smart. I’m damned smart. Ain’t nobody that smart. If someone is telling you they know all the secrets to the big damned thing, they’re either bullshitting you or their brain is bullshitting them. It’s not true in popup ads and it’s not true in life.
What I’m doing differently - There are things I’m good at, such as cooking, cosplay, living cheap, some kinds of art, storycraft, a lot of school of hard knocks common sense. Those are things I can quantify and teach from my own experience. However, I’m making very sure to state when something is my opinion, experience, or theory rather than just presenting everything I think as fact, and to make very clear where the limits of my actual expertise are and aren’t, as well as to admit when I just don’t fucking know.
Rescue Ranger
What I did then - I had a saving people thing that would have made Harry Potter queasy. If someone was in trouble, I had to swoop in and fix it, which usually meant drawing them in close under my protective wing…and right into the crazy soup.
Why it was wrong - Unsurprisingly, people who are notably not ok are also more likely to be grateful to be part of a small, special group of people who are willing to do anything for each other, value having a Big Higher Purpose, be willing to believe in magic and miracles, and otherwise be extremely vulnerable to cults and cult-like things. Also unsurprisingly, getting involved in something like that when you’re already fucked up only makes it worse, no matter how good the intentions of helping. All I wanted was to make people better. Every so often, I did. More often - and once would have been too many times - I hurt them worse.
What I’m doing differently - I am not a trained therapist, social worker, police officer, or doctor. If you’re in trouble, I will listen, offer you my best advice (which is actually, now that I’m medicated and it’s coming from ME, not my superpowers, sometimes pretty decent or at least hard-won, but I always make sure it’s properly disclaimered) and help you get in touch with professional resources that are actually equipped to solve your problem. Further world and people-saving impulses are channeled through structured activities by established charities like Random Acts.
Inside Man
What I did then - - I believed that I had secret insider knowledge of all sorts of things, especially medicine, government, the military, the legal field, and entertainment industry. Often this came from Others who were in those fields. I would act accordingly, even so far as to perform minor surgery, prescribe medication and courses of treatment, create legal documents, etc. It also lead me to believe I had special relationships with celebrities and to behave inappropriately towards them.
Why it was wrong - Once, I tried to use my “insider knowledge” of the entertainment industry to try to plan a full-scale convention the size of Vegas Con with just a half dozen other people who had never done any such thing, six months, and a budget of a few hundred dollars. Needless to say, it went so badly it’s still notorious over ten years later…but the money and face lost with that was relatively minor considering. I endangered people’s health, finances, legal standings, careers, schooling, and basically everything else thinking I knew shit I didn’t fucking know.
What I’m doing differently - There is a reason that I say over and over and over again on all of my meta that I don’t work for SPN or write for any other TV show or have anything to do with that industry. I am extremely consciencious now of where my actual expertise stands, and to keep my experting within those fields. If I can’t prove why I know the thing, I don’t care if I think I know it, I know I don’t know it. I also make sure to check my behavior with and around celebrities and follow outside cues for the boundaries THEY set while reminding myself that I have no more status with them than any other fan in the same situation.
(TBC...)
Re: "Severely paranoid delusional schizophrenic spectrum disorder" (and more) disappears from Andy's
(Anonymous) 2015-04-20 11:46 pm (UTC)(link)(Continued.)
Story Time
What I did then - I believed that my stories and the lives of the Others were of tremendous, even sacred importance. It was my duty and mission to make sure they were told, and the only way in some cases to guide the course of events (for the scenarios that were interactive) and/or put their spirits to rest (for those that had ‘already happened’).
Why it was wrong - I was prioritizing what were effectively role-playing-games-that-didn’t-know-it and elaborate fic writing and world building over actual life, and what’s worse, I thought it was real, treated it as real, and persuaded others to do the same. I had people call out sick to work to help me defeat enemies that only existed in my head because at one point I literally thought that we were going back in time and stopping Hitler. That’s not ok.
What I’m doing differently - Extradiegesis is my new best friend. I have come to understand that my stories are my stories, my characters are my characters. I created them, I didn’t summon them from another realm, and I HAVE CONTROL. If they don’t get written, not a damned thing happens, and it’s never, never ok to put writing fiction for a hobby ahead of any real person.
Secret Keepers
What I did then - There was a tremendous, tremendous pressure to keep my abilities and everything related to them secret. If I was found out, it was made very clear that whomever had been responsible for the breach would be responsible for whatever happened to me, whether I had to disappear and go on the run so that They didn’t get me, whether I had to kill myself rather than fall into Their hands, or whether They actually managed to capture me after all…and all the subsequent torture, imprisonment, and other sundry horrors, including of course what would happen to all those other worlds and people and to the rest of the inner circle if I were no longer able to “help.”
Why it was wrong - This placed a horrific burden of guilt that prevented people from acting on what would have been otherwise extremely smart instincts to GTFO, as well as creating a massively high stakes Us Vs Them situation, requiring them to lie, and requiring them to isolate the truth of how they were living from family and other friends, eventually alienating them. It also fostered a tremendous mistrust of authority figures, especially police, social workers, doctors, and mental health workers…the very people they should have been running to.
What I’m doing differently - Hell yes I still have some secrets with some people whom I really trust. It’s called privacy, and that’s ok and healthy. What I don’t have are catastrophic sword of Damocles arrangements, I don’t expect anyone to live a lie for me or to help me perpetrate same, and I understand that if someone betrays my trust…life will go on, even if it will hurt.
Apocalypse Now
What I did then - Everything was always endgame, high stakes, the big one. Something on some plane of reality was always in a state of crisis, and if things seemed ok, it was an indicator that something was about to hit the fan. This made it impossible to plan anything well, and we were always in crisis mode and playing catch up. Insomnia was a fact of existence when my brain was running away with itself, and I would sometimes sleep as little as 21 hours in a week.
Why it was wrong - Without even meaning to, I was literally creating brainwashing conditions for the poor bastards who were trying to be my watchers. Constant stress, absolutely no set schedule, sleep deprevation…and of course, anything at any time could be overridden by an emergency, so if you were looking forward to something important, flip a coin whether you’ll actually get to do it.
What I’m doing differently - Other than of course, the tremendous relief of being alone in my head and on only one plane of reality, I am working very hard to keep a sense of perspective. This is something else I backslid on during GISHWHES. Fandom should be fun. It’s not the end of the world, it’s ok if things go wrong…but things are almost never actually a crisis and should not be treated as such.
Zardoz has spoken
What I did then - I would act on things that the Others had told me, what they told other people, or that I had read in peoples minds, seen in the future, or simply “knew.”
Why it was wrong - Because all of that was complete bullshit with a healthy dose of paranoia. I don’t know where they are now - I know that at least one of them is, sadly, passed away, though I’m making the gesture anyway to make it known to anyone who cares that I am taking responsibility - but if this somehow gets around to any of them: Jason R, Gabriel A, Kyrie A, Cherie D, Leah B, Kaitlin A, and Amber B, I severed our friendships, shamed you to others, and accused you of awful things based on what I now know to be hallucinations, and if you see this and choose to contact me, I want to apologize fully. I also owe apologies to the parents of Amanda K, Kaitlin A, and Kristin N among others, for having made completely unfair judgements of their families that had awful consequences for their relationships.
What I’m doing differently - If I did not see it my damned self on this plane of reality or the person did not directly tell me about it without prompting or leading questions, I’m not acting on it. If I’m going to cut you off as a friend, it’ll be for what you did to me, not what some supernatural entity says you did to them on another plane of reality.
Do You Remember When
What I did then - Because I have an exceptional memory for certain kinds of data, I assumed that my memory was flawless on all things, and I related memories as facts. If something or someone else contradicted me, I declared them mistaken or lying.
Why it was wrong: Because I have a massive problem with differentiating created and real memories, I was often recounting inaccurate information…on top of the perfectly normal iffiness of memory which I never alloted for. As a result, I not only unfairly reconstructed events to fit what I needed at the moment, but I also wound up gaslighting people who knew they remembered A by insisting fervently that B was true and that they couldn’t trust their memories.
What I’m doing differently: Unless I’ve been told the story by a third party or have some outside corroboration, if it’s a long-term event memory, I’m assuming it’s at the very least distorted and weighing whether I use it accordingly. In other words, if my memory of what my grandmother put in macaroni and cheese is inaccurate, no real harm done, so I’ll go ahead and put the peas and tuna in without much investigation. When I remembered a 5th grade friend holding my head under the pool, however, I sought validation from my parents before sharing with others. My default is now that the other person remembers correctly, not that I do.
Master Plan
What I did then: I believed that I was executing a divine plan and therefore if I trusted in God and just did my best, everything would work out in the end somehow no matter how much it seemed like things were going wrong and that He would just send the money, people, or whatever were needed to make it happen.
Why it was wrong: I failed to learn from mistakes, ignored warning signs that things were going wrong, and skipped important steps or details. This often put us in deep last minute hot water or lead to uneccesary complications, and rather than God, the burden often fell on my friends to bale us out…which I then used as proof that see, it had all been ok in the end.
What I’m doing differently: If something isn’t going well, I stop and ask for help and re-assess the situation. If necessary, like with the intended Camp Ouroboros LARP, I quit rather than plow ahead and assume that it will all come together or other people will pick up the slack. While it is ok to leave some details to the last minute, if it’s vital, it needs to not only be known, but have a backup plan.
TL:DR - From about 1999-2011, most (though not all) of my friendships and relationships were tainted or completely consumed by mental illness that caused them to be deeply fucked up and damaging affairs that revolved around my special secret superpowers and the people who “helped me live with them.” Now, all my friendships and relationships revolve around shared interests and activities in the real world that are based on healthy third party parameters with a strong awareness of extradiegesis. In other words, we hang out and watch and talk about TV shows, make stuff, and sometimes go out and do fun things like anyone else. It’s not special, it’s not saving the world (any more than Random Acts, volunteer work, etc)…and I wouldn’t trade it for all the superpowers I ever thought I had.
I also need to acknowledge and thank my parents, Mike and Cyd, for still loving me, taking me back again and again, forgiving me too many times for too many things, and getting me help (and paying for it until I could get insurance and being understanding of all the disaster that recovery can be), Karen for sticking by me but never enabling, Brittany for first showing me that I needed help, Laura, Kristin, and Ed for the intervention and making me start getting it, my care team, Dr’s T, K, J, C, and G, Meg (wings-andgrace), Chris, and Jenn for being the first friends I had to whom I confessed everything and for not walking away when I did, the posse for teaching me what a fucking phenomenally abnosome thing “just friendship” really can be, Misha Collins for giving me hope that I can still be abnosome and brash and eccentric and creative and a leader who wants to help all the people and change all the things, Osric Chau for pinning me down and making me face what I was giving up because of fear of Them finding out how crazy crazy really was and what awful things I’d done, and last but oh so not least, a certain angel for giving me the courage to believe I can openly say just how fucked up I was and still be worth loving as I am now.
Story Time
What I did then - I believed that my stories and the lives of the Others were of tremendous, even sacred importance. It was my duty and mission to make sure they were told, and the only way in some cases to guide the course of events (for the scenarios that were interactive) and/or put their spirits to rest (for those that had ‘already happened’).
Why it was wrong - I was prioritizing what were effectively role-playing-games-that-didn’t-know-it and elaborate fic writing and world building over actual life, and what’s worse, I thought it was real, treated it as real, and persuaded others to do the same. I had people call out sick to work to help me defeat enemies that only existed in my head because at one point I literally thought that we were going back in time and stopping Hitler. That’s not ok.
What I’m doing differently - Extradiegesis is my new best friend. I have come to understand that my stories are my stories, my characters are my characters. I created them, I didn’t summon them from another realm, and I HAVE CONTROL. If they don’t get written, not a damned thing happens, and it’s never, never ok to put writing fiction for a hobby ahead of any real person.
Secret Keepers
What I did then - There was a tremendous, tremendous pressure to keep my abilities and everything related to them secret. If I was found out, it was made very clear that whomever had been responsible for the breach would be responsible for whatever happened to me, whether I had to disappear and go on the run so that They didn’t get me, whether I had to kill myself rather than fall into Their hands, or whether They actually managed to capture me after all…and all the subsequent torture, imprisonment, and other sundry horrors, including of course what would happen to all those other worlds and people and to the rest of the inner circle if I were no longer able to “help.”
Why it was wrong - This placed a horrific burden of guilt that prevented people from acting on what would have been otherwise extremely smart instincts to GTFO, as well as creating a massively high stakes Us Vs Them situation, requiring them to lie, and requiring them to isolate the truth of how they were living from family and other friends, eventually alienating them. It also fostered a tremendous mistrust of authority figures, especially police, social workers, doctors, and mental health workers…the very people they should have been running to.
What I’m doing differently - Hell yes I still have some secrets with some people whom I really trust. It’s called privacy, and that’s ok and healthy. What I don’t have are catastrophic sword of Damocles arrangements, I don’t expect anyone to live a lie for me or to help me perpetrate same, and I understand that if someone betrays my trust…life will go on, even if it will hurt.
Apocalypse Now
What I did then - Everything was always endgame, high stakes, the big one. Something on some plane of reality was always in a state of crisis, and if things seemed ok, it was an indicator that something was about to hit the fan. This made it impossible to plan anything well, and we were always in crisis mode and playing catch up. Insomnia was a fact of existence when my brain was running away with itself, and I would sometimes sleep as little as 21 hours in a week.
Why it was wrong - Without even meaning to, I was literally creating brainwashing conditions for the poor bastards who were trying to be my watchers. Constant stress, absolutely no set schedule, sleep deprevation…and of course, anything at any time could be overridden by an emergency, so if you were looking forward to something important, flip a coin whether you’ll actually get to do it.
What I’m doing differently - Other than of course, the tremendous relief of being alone in my head and on only one plane of reality, I am working very hard to keep a sense of perspective. This is something else I backslid on during GISHWHES. Fandom should be fun. It’s not the end of the world, it’s ok if things go wrong…but things are almost never actually a crisis and should not be treated as such.
Zardoz has spoken
What I did then - I would act on things that the Others had told me, what they told other people, or that I had read in peoples minds, seen in the future, or simply “knew.”
Why it was wrong - Because all of that was complete bullshit with a healthy dose of paranoia. I don’t know where they are now - I know that at least one of them is, sadly, passed away, though I’m making the gesture anyway to make it known to anyone who cares that I am taking responsibility - but if this somehow gets around to any of them: Jason R, Gabriel A, Kyrie A, Cherie D, Leah B, Kaitlin A, and Amber B, I severed our friendships, shamed you to others, and accused you of awful things based on what I now know to be hallucinations, and if you see this and choose to contact me, I want to apologize fully. I also owe apologies to the parents of Amanda K, Kaitlin A, and Kristin N among others, for having made completely unfair judgements of their families that had awful consequences for their relationships.
What I’m doing differently - If I did not see it my damned self on this plane of reality or the person did not directly tell me about it without prompting or leading questions, I’m not acting on it. If I’m going to cut you off as a friend, it’ll be for what you did to me, not what some supernatural entity says you did to them on another plane of reality.
Do You Remember When
What I did then - Because I have an exceptional memory for certain kinds of data, I assumed that my memory was flawless on all things, and I related memories as facts. If something or someone else contradicted me, I declared them mistaken or lying.
Why it was wrong: Because I have a massive problem with differentiating created and real memories, I was often recounting inaccurate information…on top of the perfectly normal iffiness of memory which I never alloted for. As a result, I not only unfairly reconstructed events to fit what I needed at the moment, but I also wound up gaslighting people who knew they remembered A by insisting fervently that B was true and that they couldn’t trust their memories.
What I’m doing differently: Unless I’ve been told the story by a third party or have some outside corroboration, if it’s a long-term event memory, I’m assuming it’s at the very least distorted and weighing whether I use it accordingly. In other words, if my memory of what my grandmother put in macaroni and cheese is inaccurate, no real harm done, so I’ll go ahead and put the peas and tuna in without much investigation. When I remembered a 5th grade friend holding my head under the pool, however, I sought validation from my parents before sharing with others. My default is now that the other person remembers correctly, not that I do.
Master Plan
What I did then: I believed that I was executing a divine plan and therefore if I trusted in God and just did my best, everything would work out in the end somehow no matter how much it seemed like things were going wrong and that He would just send the money, people, or whatever were needed to make it happen.
Why it was wrong: I failed to learn from mistakes, ignored warning signs that things were going wrong, and skipped important steps or details. This often put us in deep last minute hot water or lead to uneccesary complications, and rather than God, the burden often fell on my friends to bale us out…which I then used as proof that see, it had all been ok in the end.
What I’m doing differently: If something isn’t going well, I stop and ask for help and re-assess the situation. If necessary, like with the intended Camp Ouroboros LARP, I quit rather than plow ahead and assume that it will all come together or other people will pick up the slack. While it is ok to leave some details to the last minute, if it’s vital, it needs to not only be known, but have a backup plan.
TL:DR - From about 1999-2011, most (though not all) of my friendships and relationships were tainted or completely consumed by mental illness that caused them to be deeply fucked up and damaging affairs that revolved around my special secret superpowers and the people who “helped me live with them.” Now, all my friendships and relationships revolve around shared interests and activities in the real world that are based on healthy third party parameters with a strong awareness of extradiegesis. In other words, we hang out and watch and talk about TV shows, make stuff, and sometimes go out and do fun things like anyone else. It’s not special, it’s not saving the world (any more than Random Acts, volunteer work, etc)…and I wouldn’t trade it for all the superpowers I ever thought I had.
I also need to acknowledge and thank my parents, Mike and Cyd, for still loving me, taking me back again and again, forgiving me too many times for too many things, and getting me help (and paying for it until I could get insurance and being understanding of all the disaster that recovery can be), Karen for sticking by me but never enabling, Brittany for first showing me that I needed help, Laura, Kristin, and Ed for the intervention and making me start getting it, my care team, Dr’s T, K, J, C, and G, Meg (wings-andgrace), Chris, and Jenn for being the first friends I had to whom I confessed everything and for not walking away when I did, the posse for teaching me what a fucking phenomenally abnosome thing “just friendship” really can be, Misha Collins for giving me hope that I can still be abnosome and brash and eccentric and creative and a leader who wants to help all the people and change all the things, Osric Chau for pinning me down and making me face what I was giving up because of fear of Them finding out how crazy crazy really was and what awful things I’d done, and last but oh so not least, a certain angel for giving me the courage to believe I can openly say just how fucked up I was and still be worth loving as I am now.
Re: "Severely paranoid delusional schizophrenic spectrum disorder" (and more) disappears from Andy's
(Anonymous) 2015-04-20 11:54 pm (UTC)(link)This "schizophrenic spectrum disorder" is itself a revision of an even earlier post, where he claimed to have "schizoid spectrum disorder".
DM's version from July 9th, 2014:
http://delwynmarch.tumblr.com/post/110703877610/lets-play-a-game-of-spot-the-errors
Backup of images:
http://imgur.com/a/iXzxE
DM's version from July 9th, 2014:
http://delwynmarch.tumblr.com/post/110703877610/lets-play-a-game-of-spot-the-errors
Backup of images:
http://imgur.com/a/iXzxE
Andy's mental health is dependent on fandom & Supernatural episodes
(Anonymous) 2015-04-21 06:25 am (UTC)(link)This post followed shortly after the post above (May 1, 2013):
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49396203473/i-miss-the-daydverse-a-lot-any-idea-when-ill
>I miss the Daydverse...a lot. Any idea when I'll see it from you on my dash again?
Anonymous
Tomorrow, it’s the 15th of the BoH, and given the position of that date in the Daydverse, there’s going to be as much content as I can manage from a mentally healthy place. The extent of that is also going to depend also on what tonight’s SPN does to the fandom…and me.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49396203473/i-miss-the-daydverse-a-lot-any-idea-when-ill
>I miss the Daydverse...a lot. Any idea when I'll see it from you on my dash again?
Anonymous
Tomorrow, it’s the 15th of the BoH, and given the position of that date in the Daydverse, there’s going to be as much content as I can manage from a mentally healthy place. The extent of that is also going to depend also on what tonight’s SPN does to the fandom…and me.
Andy claims he rations meds/gave up therapy due to being broke... despite his parents paying for it
(Anonymous) 2015-04-21 06:44 am (UTC)(link)http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49392270474/im-too-far-away-for-the-finale-party-so-i-dont
>I'm too far away for the finale party so I don't want to speak for those that are coming, but if I were close enough I'd certainly be happy to pay towards the dinner/breakfast/snacks there so you can put the extra money you're earning from your folks towards meds. (TOWARDS MEDS, mister, not more help for other people! Adjust your own oxygen mask first, so you can keep helping, right? And you can be modeling good self-care at the same time.)
Anonymous
1. Thank you. You’re a very kind person.
2. My parents aren’t paying me; I’m just kind of “working off” the boost in that week’s food bill.
3. It’s unfortunately more complicated than just doing another commission or two to get my meds back in a good place. That’s why a twenty here or there is better off going to Karen. Just walking through the door of the doctor’s office without insurance is triple digits, and to get my prescriptions re-evaluated and renewed as scheduled…yeah, until job, I’m on no-therapist-and-rationed-meds, which is SUCK. If you’ve noticed my sleeping schedule is fucked as shit and I’m having trouble concentrating on anything longer than a short meta or ask without someone talking to me to keep me occupied, you’re damned right. I got three hours of sleep last night, waking up every ten minutes because I was convinced someone had hacked my blog and posted awful things about me. And yes, I’m using all the free online mental support resources; they’re keeping my head above water. And no, the free clinic options in this area are worth less than nothing and all on waiting lists. This county doesn’t want HEALTHY poors, much less sick ones.
Sometimes I hate America.
More talk of rationing meds here (already posted up the page in the pit):
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/48811356825/my-angel-wings-were-burned-and-restrained
It doesn’t help when I’m currently rationing my meds and hunting for work and being denied and rejected and ignored fifty times a day because I lost my job when someone called my boss with an anonymous tipoff of online lies about me.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/86490759067/do-you-really-have-a-cult-like-that-tumblr-post
I also need to acknowledge and thank my parents, Mike and Cyd, for still loving me, taking me back again and again, forgiving me too many times for too many things, and getting me help (and paying for it until I could get insurance and being understanding of all the disaster that recovery can be)
>I'm too far away for the finale party so I don't want to speak for those that are coming, but if I were close enough I'd certainly be happy to pay towards the dinner/breakfast/snacks there so you can put the extra money you're earning from your folks towards meds. (TOWARDS MEDS, mister, not more help for other people! Adjust your own oxygen mask first, so you can keep helping, right? And you can be modeling good self-care at the same time.)
Anonymous
1. Thank you. You’re a very kind person.
2. My parents aren’t paying me; I’m just kind of “working off” the boost in that week’s food bill.
3. It’s unfortunately more complicated than just doing another commission or two to get my meds back in a good place. That’s why a twenty here or there is better off going to Karen. Just walking through the door of the doctor’s office without insurance is triple digits, and to get my prescriptions re-evaluated and renewed as scheduled…yeah, until job, I’m on no-therapist-and-rationed-meds, which is SUCK. If you’ve noticed my sleeping schedule is fucked as shit and I’m having trouble concentrating on anything longer than a short meta or ask without someone talking to me to keep me occupied, you’re damned right. I got three hours of sleep last night, waking up every ten minutes because I was convinced someone had hacked my blog and posted awful things about me. And yes, I’m using all the free online mental support resources; they’re keeping my head above water. And no, the free clinic options in this area are worth less than nothing and all on waiting lists. This county doesn’t want HEALTHY poors, much less sick ones.
Sometimes I hate America.
More talk of rationing meds here (already posted up the page in the pit):
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/48811356825/my-angel-wings-were-burned-and-restrained
It doesn’t help when I’m currently rationing my meds and hunting for work and being denied and rejected and ignored fifty times a day because I lost my job when someone called my boss with an anonymous tipoff of online lies about me.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/86490759067/do-you-really-have-a-cult-like-that-tumblr-post
I also need to acknowledge and thank my parents, Mike and Cyd, for still loving me, taking me back again and again, forgiving me too many times for too many things, and getting me help (and paying for it until I could get insurance and being understanding of all the disaster that recovery can be)
Andy also claims his parents made treatment a requirement for moving home
(Anonymous) 2015-04-21 07:04 am (UTC)(link)Either Andy's blowup about rationing his meds in 2013 was a farse, or he believes rationing meds & quitting therapy cound as "proper treatment" -- and his parents were willing to allow this to happen, despite making treatment a requirement for moving in with them (and paying for it, see previous post).
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/87937759922/sex-lies-and-mental-illness
I started receiving proper treatment for my mental illness in summer of 2012 when my parents used my return home as leverage, for which I’m incredibly grateful. Yes, I claimed to have been in treatment before. I was briefly in 2007 and briefly in the early spring of 2012, but in both of those cases and in every one that I lied about being in treatment, it was an effort to maintain my two highest priorities in life: to keep “the wrong people” from finding out about my “special abilities” and locking me up for terrible experiments, or to protect my privacy about my gender.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/87937759922/sex-lies-and-mental-illness
I started receiving proper treatment for my mental illness in summer of 2012 when my parents used my return home as leverage, for which I’m incredibly grateful. Yes, I claimed to have been in treatment before. I was briefly in 2007 and briefly in the early spring of 2012, but in both of those cases and in every one that I lied about being in treatment, it was an effort to maintain my two highest priorities in life: to keep “the wrong people” from finding out about my “special abilities” and locking me up for terrible experiments, or to protect my privacy about my gender.
Andy conflates the emotional turmoil he feels over Brittany's murder with watching an SPN episode
(Anonymous) 2015-04-21 07:30 am (UTC)(link)http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49416837465/i-am-not-going-to-be-ok-next-week-the-second
I am not going to be ok next week. The second part of THAT episode on the 8th? When Brittany was murdered on the 7th?
I’m buying an entire bottle of vodka.
I am not going to be ok next week. The second part of THAT episode on the 8th? When Brittany was murdered on the 7th?
I’m buying an entire bottle of vodka.
Re: Andy conflates the emotional turmoil he feels over Brittany's murder with watching an SPN episod
(Anonymous) 2015-04-21 09:50 am (UTC)(link)Similar, this time it includes the death of a child and someone dying of cancer as well.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49645758970/o-death-someone-would-pray-could-you-wait-to
'O, death' someone would pray 'Could you wait to call me another day?'
Canon dates for May 2 in my two big fandoms as the Battle of Hogwarts, the Battle of Druim Cett, Sam’s death, Dean’s demon deal, and Dean’s death meaning that death/dying/loss/grief stuff is all over the place right now.
Season 8 of Supernatural coming to a place in the arc where an extremely skilled creative team is making us have a lot of fear and feelings about possibly losing people we love.
My little cousin drowning.
The second anniversary of Brittany’s murder.
And now I have just been informed that one of our friends has lost her battle with cancer.
Retros here in town has really good fried pickles. If I leave some on the doorstep with fresh-baked cookies, would Death just please leave me the fuck alone? This is not ok. I am not ok.
Tagged: and don't you dare attack me for using fandom words to talk about it, sometimes the most valuable thing about a fandom is it lets you have a common language, where you can talk about intimate and ineluctable things with strangers, receiving their support and knowing they'll understand you, while still maintaining your privacy and the things that can't be expressed much less in public.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49645758970/o-death-someone-would-pray-could-you-wait-to
'O, death' someone would pray 'Could you wait to call me another day?'
Canon dates for May 2 in my two big fandoms as the Battle of Hogwarts, the Battle of Druim Cett, Sam’s death, Dean’s demon deal, and Dean’s death meaning that death/dying/loss/grief stuff is all over the place right now.
Season 8 of Supernatural coming to a place in the arc where an extremely skilled creative team is making us have a lot of fear and feelings about possibly losing people we love.
My little cousin drowning.
The second anniversary of Brittany’s murder.
And now I have just been informed that one of our friends has lost her battle with cancer.
Retros here in town has really good fried pickles. If I leave some on the doorstep with fresh-baked cookies, would Death just please leave me the fuck alone? This is not ok. I am not ok.
Tagged: and don't you dare attack me for using fandom words to talk about it, sometimes the most valuable thing about a fandom is it lets you have a common language, where you can talk about intimate and ineluctable things with strangers, receiving their support and knowing they'll understand you, while still maintaining your privacy and the things that can't be expressed much less in public.
Andy's account of the shooting - 2 year anniversary version, part 1
(Anonymous) 2015-04-22 12:55 pm (UTC)(link)http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49841255611/she-had-on-purple-panties-with-a-little-white-bow
She had on purple panties with a little white bow and one of my white undershirts and one sock. She always kicked the blankets off. She bit her lower lip in her sleep. She slept on her side with a hand under her head and her hair tickled my face and woke me because she’d just gotten it cut and it was everywhere rather than braided at night. When I woke up, I realized I had to pee and tried to climb out the end of the bed so I wouldn’t wake her.
I remember glancing at the cheap little clock on the windowsill with the red numbers made of dashes. 3:03. Nine hours and one minute and two years ago until she’d die in the bathroom where I carefully stepped over the board that squeaked and used the hand sanitizer because the plumbing was loud and a day later the biohazard company would rip out the squeaky board and carry it away in big red bags because it was soaked with her blood.
I wish I’d cuddled tighter when I got back in bed, even if I’d woken her.
Especially if I’d woken her.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49852550927/two-years-ago-right-now-we-made-breakfast-in-the
Two years ago right now.
We made breakfast in the rice cooker. Oatmeal with raisins. She took a shower, put on her favorite purple fuzzy leopard print pajama pants, and her last pair of clean panties; Jelly Belly novelty print. The factory was just down the road; we liked to go try the new flavors and she’d found them in the clearance bin. Said her laundry situation had officially crossed to desperate and grabbed my grey henley.
I was wearing pajama pants, boxers, and a tshirt. I don’t remember anything else about my own clothes. That’s odd.
We sat on the end of the bed and discussed the day. If we got everything totally ready for Monday’s trip to the courthouse and our plans for the big hike later before lunch, we could go hiking or to the library and then do laundry that evening. We should totally take the long side road to Fairfield proper and maybe get one of those burritos we’d had two days before from the lunch counter at the back of the Mexican grocery store and split it for dinner. Along the way, we could stop off at the little roadside stand of the farm that grew cherries and almonds and olives and apricots. We were almost out of olive oil and we could see whether she preferred one of Brittany’s neck massages or me painting her next seasonal sign in barter this time as we had done before.
Morning stuff.
We had tea with our oatmeal; PG Tips with a little bit of sugar and a splash of dollar store almond milk.
She got out the forms she’d need for the courthouse about having served the papers on Jason and handed them to me. I had better print handwriting. She cleaned up breakfast while I filled in the stupid stuff: case number, plaintiff name, case number, defendant name, case number, courthouse address, date, case number. They want you to write the case number on everything.
She got back and sat behind me on a pile of pillows, pulled me half into her lap, plopped her chin on the crook of my neck and shoulder, looked down over it and put her fingers in the small of my back. I have a little knot of scar tissue there that makes it hurt sometimes. She started rubbing that almost absently while she told me what to write in all the other boxes and lines.
She had less than three hours to live.
We had no idea.
I would not have wasted it on case number and courthouse address.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49857291227/two-years-ago-right-now-the-forms-were
Two years ago right now.
The forms were finished and zipped into the organizer for the court paperwork. We had maps and a dozen tabs about visas open and three tabs about backpacking on nothing. Now that the judge had said that this was almost certain to be over and in her favor in a matter of weeks, we had decided to take a year or two and hike the world on as little money as possible and take the time to get our heads together and decide what we actually wanted to do with our lives rather than make any knee-jerk expensive decisions. We were looking at whether there was any way to streamline applying for the visas to each country individually if we didn’t know exactly when we’d be there or for exactly how long. I’d made a bunch of notes; so had she.
The computer was propped up on a dollar store mesh inbox organizer thing to stay cool. We were kind of puppy-piled on the corner of the bed. Her legs were on top of mine and my lower right leg had gone numb, but I didn’t want to ask her to move because I was trying to postpone the awful pins and needles feeling.
Jason’s father called her briefly. He apologized for the night before and asked if he came up with the money Jason had offered, would she just walk away? She said no, and said there were three reasons. The first was that would just mean Jason had victimized his father as well, making him pay for Jason’s assholery, and especially because she knew he’d have to sell his precious collection of antique woodcarvings to get it. The second was that 10,000 was a mere 5% of her property. But the third and most important and the reason she wasn’t just saying fuck it in the first place was that she did not want Jason to get away with it. Take a girl at 19, abuse her for years while she builds a business and makes savvy real estate deals in both your names, and then when she walks away from the abuse, illegally keep everything and be an asshole to her until she lets you have it no matter what the law says. She was absolutely certain that if he got away with that once, he’d do it again, but if it cost him, he might think twice.
She didn’t even go into the fourth reason - which I thought mattered but she didn’t - that as long as it was like this, she was fucked. She had nothing, absolutely nothing, but on the books, she was wealthy and owned property. Which mattered for taxes, loan applications, any form of assistance, credit rates, credit checks, and even, yeah, visas. If she either really had nothing or really had something, it’d be fine. But if the official world expects you to have money and you don’t, you’re really fucked.
It was a short conversation. Maybe three minutes? We resumed looking at visa requirements for Turkey. No, I don’t think he knew.
We certainly didn’t.
Two years ago right now, we had exactly an hour left.
(Note: Andy's claim that Brittany made "savvy real estate deals" is contradicted in this article about the shooting - http://tf-talk.dreamwidth.org/600.html?thread=449880#cmt449880)
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49858489523/two-years-ago-right-now-we-had-sent-an-email-to
Two years ago right now.
We had sent an email to a friend of Brittany’s who was a travel agent. We had sent a few more emails to friends who were one way or another helping us figure things out for the hike. We had finalized the list of what vaccines we would need to get or update, and where they were available in the Napa area. We’d found a really, really cute little one-bedroom caretaker’s cottage through a friend of a friend that was considering workswap on a tiny organic vineyard, and we had called and talked to the owner about using it as a gap residence between the case settling and starting the hike.
I had a commission I was working on for a client who was starting a yoga studio and wanted some artwork, and Brittany had a client call and schedule a massage for the following day. I would later have to call that client for her and cancel. For obvious reasons. Though it was very surreal doing that from the police station.
We figured if we kept working at this pace, super-efficiently, we’d be done by one, easy. We decided to take our bikes with us as an option if we wanted to roam further afield or the weather turned.
Two years ago right now, we had half an hour left.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49859498127/two-years-ago-right-now-i-texted-my-client-that
Two years ago right now.
I texted my client that I’d be happy to meet her Monday morning at 9:00. The Starbucks in the shopping center with the Safeway across the street would be fine, the one next to the Hawaiian BBQ joint. Brittany got up and rummaged around for some clean-enough jeans and a bra and tossed them on the end of the massage table. She couldn’t find her other sneaker. I said it was probably under the laundry. She stuck out her tongue and said she’d wear some of mine.
I got an email from the cottage person, like they said they’d send. I called her over to look at it. Exposed beams, hand-worked stucco, leaded glass Tudor windows, wrought iron details, stone floors and countertops. A one-room studio, but damn. Gotta love Napa.
Two years ago right now, Jason was printing out his suicide note. They found a lot of loose ammunition that suggested he’d loaded and unloaded the gun multiple times. It was a Glock 19 9mm with an extended magazine. He’d bought it perfectly legally in Arizona where they didn’t make him wait and didn’t care that he’d been in and out of mental hospitals or that he was in the middle of a court case with a woman who had filed domestic abuse charges against him or that he had a restraining order against him from the court.
Two years ago right now, we had fifteen minutes.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49859976476/two-years-ago-right-now-she-asked-me-if-i
Two years ago right now.
She asked me if I wanted some tea. I said yes please, and we discussed what kind, agreeing on vanilla chai green tea. Not too much caffeine, we were awake enough and didn’t need the jitters. She unplugged the electric kettle and left the room to fill it in the bathroom sink. She shut the door with her foot. I don’t know why. She wouldn’t have, usually. It may have saved my life by putting that extra step between him and just blowing me away.
Jason parked the truck and entered the back yard. Lucky, the golden retriever, knew him well and didn’t bark, even though according to Lucky, rogue squirrels, shadows, or light breezes required at least a half hour of full-throated screaming to alert us to their threat.
Two years ago right now, we had less than a minute.
(Note: Andy has claimed elsewhere than Jason entered the room and pointed a gun at his face, which jammed. He then claimed Jason left the room, and at which point Andy either barricaded the door, or locked it, or both. If those claims are true, Brittany closing the door here would not affect the outcome of Andy surviving the shooting.)
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49860142280/two-years-ago-right-now-she-was-murdered
Two years ago right now, she was murdered.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49860459838/two-years-ago-right-now-it-was-theoretically
Two years ago right now.
It was theoretically over. The last two shots had been fired. Jason was dying. Brittany and the other housemate was dead. There was a bullet in my ankle, and I was on the phone with the dispatcher who was coordinating with the SWAT team who were about to enter the house.
Two years later, right now, it is not over.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49862349777/two-years-ago-right-now-i-was-sitting-on-the
Two years ago right now.
I was sitting on the curb across the street from the house that still had a dozen SWAT team members inside. I was still in zip cuffs. I had seen one figure come out on a stretcher and go in an ambulance that had left. Deep down, I knew that Brittany was dead. They hadn’t been making any medical efforts on her. But a part of me refused to accept that yet, and I was making ridiculous justifications to myself. The medics had come later for her. My sense of time was fucked. They’d taken her out the back and I hadn’t seen. I heard “only survivor” and refused to let it mean anything.
People in uniforms were everywhere, reporters starting to appear at the edges of the yellow lines of crime tape, neighbors I knew well and vaguely milling around the outer rings of this weird circus in displaced and frightened confusion and flashing into and out of view at windows in flickers of curtains and blinds.
Some of them shouted questions at me. Some of them shouted other things. There was an assumption that if I was in cuffs, I was the shooter. I am slight of build, 5'7", and had painted finger and toenails in bright colors because she’d felt silly and I’d let her paint them. I got called some really lovely names, including a lot of expressive conclusions about my gender and/or orientation and/or relationship with the various deceased that ran a broad gamut. I ignored it. My hair was turquoise, and I wished I had a hat. I felt like they wouldn’t be able to see me then.
They had swabbed my hands for gunshot residue. My ankle was starting to hurt; a dull, throbbing ache. It was still bleeding. The medic had taped a gauze pad over it, but that had soaked through. There was a little puddle under my heel. I was barefoot. Ants were poking at the edges of the blood puddle.
I poked the ants with my other toes.
Two years ago right now, I was in shock, I think.
I think a part of me still is.
She had on purple panties with a little white bow and one of my white undershirts and one sock. She always kicked the blankets off. She bit her lower lip in her sleep. She slept on her side with a hand under her head and her hair tickled my face and woke me because she’d just gotten it cut and it was everywhere rather than braided at night. When I woke up, I realized I had to pee and tried to climb out the end of the bed so I wouldn’t wake her.
I remember glancing at the cheap little clock on the windowsill with the red numbers made of dashes. 3:03. Nine hours and one minute and two years ago until she’d die in the bathroom where I carefully stepped over the board that squeaked and used the hand sanitizer because the plumbing was loud and a day later the biohazard company would rip out the squeaky board and carry it away in big red bags because it was soaked with her blood.
I wish I’d cuddled tighter when I got back in bed, even if I’d woken her.
Especially if I’d woken her.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49852550927/two-years-ago-right-now-we-made-breakfast-in-the
Two years ago right now.
We made breakfast in the rice cooker. Oatmeal with raisins. She took a shower, put on her favorite purple fuzzy leopard print pajama pants, and her last pair of clean panties; Jelly Belly novelty print. The factory was just down the road; we liked to go try the new flavors and she’d found them in the clearance bin. Said her laundry situation had officially crossed to desperate and grabbed my grey henley.
I was wearing pajama pants, boxers, and a tshirt. I don’t remember anything else about my own clothes. That’s odd.
We sat on the end of the bed and discussed the day. If we got everything totally ready for Monday’s trip to the courthouse and our plans for the big hike later before lunch, we could go hiking or to the library and then do laundry that evening. We should totally take the long side road to Fairfield proper and maybe get one of those burritos we’d had two days before from the lunch counter at the back of the Mexican grocery store and split it for dinner. Along the way, we could stop off at the little roadside stand of the farm that grew cherries and almonds and olives and apricots. We were almost out of olive oil and we could see whether she preferred one of Brittany’s neck massages or me painting her next seasonal sign in barter this time as we had done before.
Morning stuff.
We had tea with our oatmeal; PG Tips with a little bit of sugar and a splash of dollar store almond milk.
She got out the forms she’d need for the courthouse about having served the papers on Jason and handed them to me. I had better print handwriting. She cleaned up breakfast while I filled in the stupid stuff: case number, plaintiff name, case number, defendant name, case number, courthouse address, date, case number. They want you to write the case number on everything.
She got back and sat behind me on a pile of pillows, pulled me half into her lap, plopped her chin on the crook of my neck and shoulder, looked down over it and put her fingers in the small of my back. I have a little knot of scar tissue there that makes it hurt sometimes. She started rubbing that almost absently while she told me what to write in all the other boxes and lines.
She had less than three hours to live.
We had no idea.
I would not have wasted it on case number and courthouse address.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49857291227/two-years-ago-right-now-the-forms-were
Two years ago right now.
The forms were finished and zipped into the organizer for the court paperwork. We had maps and a dozen tabs about visas open and three tabs about backpacking on nothing. Now that the judge had said that this was almost certain to be over and in her favor in a matter of weeks, we had decided to take a year or two and hike the world on as little money as possible and take the time to get our heads together and decide what we actually wanted to do with our lives rather than make any knee-jerk expensive decisions. We were looking at whether there was any way to streamline applying for the visas to each country individually if we didn’t know exactly when we’d be there or for exactly how long. I’d made a bunch of notes; so had she.
The computer was propped up on a dollar store mesh inbox organizer thing to stay cool. We were kind of puppy-piled on the corner of the bed. Her legs were on top of mine and my lower right leg had gone numb, but I didn’t want to ask her to move because I was trying to postpone the awful pins and needles feeling.
Jason’s father called her briefly. He apologized for the night before and asked if he came up with the money Jason had offered, would she just walk away? She said no, and said there were three reasons. The first was that would just mean Jason had victimized his father as well, making him pay for Jason’s assholery, and especially because she knew he’d have to sell his precious collection of antique woodcarvings to get it. The second was that 10,000 was a mere 5% of her property. But the third and most important and the reason she wasn’t just saying fuck it in the first place was that she did not want Jason to get away with it. Take a girl at 19, abuse her for years while she builds a business and makes savvy real estate deals in both your names, and then when she walks away from the abuse, illegally keep everything and be an asshole to her until she lets you have it no matter what the law says. She was absolutely certain that if he got away with that once, he’d do it again, but if it cost him, he might think twice.
She didn’t even go into the fourth reason - which I thought mattered but she didn’t - that as long as it was like this, she was fucked. She had nothing, absolutely nothing, but on the books, she was wealthy and owned property. Which mattered for taxes, loan applications, any form of assistance, credit rates, credit checks, and even, yeah, visas. If she either really had nothing or really had something, it’d be fine. But if the official world expects you to have money and you don’t, you’re really fucked.
It was a short conversation. Maybe three minutes? We resumed looking at visa requirements for Turkey. No, I don’t think he knew.
We certainly didn’t.
Two years ago right now, we had exactly an hour left.
(Note: Andy's claim that Brittany made "savvy real estate deals" is contradicted in this article about the shooting - http://tf-talk.dreamwidth.org/600.html?thread=449880#cmt449880)
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49858489523/two-years-ago-right-now-we-had-sent-an-email-to
Two years ago right now.
We had sent an email to a friend of Brittany’s who was a travel agent. We had sent a few more emails to friends who were one way or another helping us figure things out for the hike. We had finalized the list of what vaccines we would need to get or update, and where they were available in the Napa area. We’d found a really, really cute little one-bedroom caretaker’s cottage through a friend of a friend that was considering workswap on a tiny organic vineyard, and we had called and talked to the owner about using it as a gap residence between the case settling and starting the hike.
I had a commission I was working on for a client who was starting a yoga studio and wanted some artwork, and Brittany had a client call and schedule a massage for the following day. I would later have to call that client for her and cancel. For obvious reasons. Though it was very surreal doing that from the police station.
We figured if we kept working at this pace, super-efficiently, we’d be done by one, easy. We decided to take our bikes with us as an option if we wanted to roam further afield or the weather turned.
Two years ago right now, we had half an hour left.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49859498127/two-years-ago-right-now-i-texted-my-client-that
Two years ago right now.
I texted my client that I’d be happy to meet her Monday morning at 9:00. The Starbucks in the shopping center with the Safeway across the street would be fine, the one next to the Hawaiian BBQ joint. Brittany got up and rummaged around for some clean-enough jeans and a bra and tossed them on the end of the massage table. She couldn’t find her other sneaker. I said it was probably under the laundry. She stuck out her tongue and said she’d wear some of mine.
I got an email from the cottage person, like they said they’d send. I called her over to look at it. Exposed beams, hand-worked stucco, leaded glass Tudor windows, wrought iron details, stone floors and countertops. A one-room studio, but damn. Gotta love Napa.
Two years ago right now, Jason was printing out his suicide note. They found a lot of loose ammunition that suggested he’d loaded and unloaded the gun multiple times. It was a Glock 19 9mm with an extended magazine. He’d bought it perfectly legally in Arizona where they didn’t make him wait and didn’t care that he’d been in and out of mental hospitals or that he was in the middle of a court case with a woman who had filed domestic abuse charges against him or that he had a restraining order against him from the court.
Two years ago right now, we had fifteen minutes.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49859976476/two-years-ago-right-now-she-asked-me-if-i
Two years ago right now.
She asked me if I wanted some tea. I said yes please, and we discussed what kind, agreeing on vanilla chai green tea. Not too much caffeine, we were awake enough and didn’t need the jitters. She unplugged the electric kettle and left the room to fill it in the bathroom sink. She shut the door with her foot. I don’t know why. She wouldn’t have, usually. It may have saved my life by putting that extra step between him and just blowing me away.
Jason parked the truck and entered the back yard. Lucky, the golden retriever, knew him well and didn’t bark, even though according to Lucky, rogue squirrels, shadows, or light breezes required at least a half hour of full-throated screaming to alert us to their threat.
Two years ago right now, we had less than a minute.
(Note: Andy has claimed elsewhere than Jason entered the room and pointed a gun at his face, which jammed. He then claimed Jason left the room, and at which point Andy either barricaded the door, or locked it, or both. If those claims are true, Brittany closing the door here would not affect the outcome of Andy surviving the shooting.)
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49860142280/two-years-ago-right-now-she-was-murdered
Two years ago right now, she was murdered.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49860459838/two-years-ago-right-now-it-was-theoretically
Two years ago right now.
It was theoretically over. The last two shots had been fired. Jason was dying. Brittany and the other housemate was dead. There was a bullet in my ankle, and I was on the phone with the dispatcher who was coordinating with the SWAT team who were about to enter the house.
Two years later, right now, it is not over.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49862349777/two-years-ago-right-now-i-was-sitting-on-the
Two years ago right now.
I was sitting on the curb across the street from the house that still had a dozen SWAT team members inside. I was still in zip cuffs. I had seen one figure come out on a stretcher and go in an ambulance that had left. Deep down, I knew that Brittany was dead. They hadn’t been making any medical efforts on her. But a part of me refused to accept that yet, and I was making ridiculous justifications to myself. The medics had come later for her. My sense of time was fucked. They’d taken her out the back and I hadn’t seen. I heard “only survivor” and refused to let it mean anything.
People in uniforms were everywhere, reporters starting to appear at the edges of the yellow lines of crime tape, neighbors I knew well and vaguely milling around the outer rings of this weird circus in displaced and frightened confusion and flashing into and out of view at windows in flickers of curtains and blinds.
Some of them shouted questions at me. Some of them shouted other things. There was an assumption that if I was in cuffs, I was the shooter. I am slight of build, 5'7", and had painted finger and toenails in bright colors because she’d felt silly and I’d let her paint them. I got called some really lovely names, including a lot of expressive conclusions about my gender and/or orientation and/or relationship with the various deceased that ran a broad gamut. I ignored it. My hair was turquoise, and I wished I had a hat. I felt like they wouldn’t be able to see me then.
They had swabbed my hands for gunshot residue. My ankle was starting to hurt; a dull, throbbing ache. It was still bleeding. The medic had taped a gauze pad over it, but that had soaked through. There was a little puddle under my heel. I was barefoot. Ants were poking at the edges of the blood puddle.
I poked the ants with my other toes.
Two years ago right now, I was in shock, I think.
I think a part of me still is.
Andy's account of the shooting - 2 year anniversary version, part 2
(Anonymous) 2015-04-22 12:56 pm (UTC)(link)http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49866948523/two-years-ago-right-now-i-had-been-let-go-from
Two years ago right now.
I had been let go from Queen of the Valley emergency department. They had ordered an X-ray of my ankle, but once they determined the bullet wasn’t near anything that threatened life or limb and that I had no insurance or ability to pay, they discharged me. They never even removed the gauze pad the medic had put in place or physically looked at the wound. Even the police officer who had been assigned to escort me to the hospital was rattled and said it wasn’t fair.
I was taken to the police station in the front seat of the squad car. I was limping a little bit. My ankle had started to be seriously uncomfortable. About a 5, and swelling like hell. It was the size of the calf of my other leg. They took me to the interrogation room. Asked if I wanted anything. I asked for a sandwich, a coffee, a first aid kit, and some painkillers. They brought them, went through my rights, told me they would be recording, that I wasn’t being charged with anything and wasn’t suspected of anything at the present time, but if I falsified my testimony, that would be a crime in and of itself.
I agreed that I understood. I asked about Brittany. They told me she was dead. I had known, but that made it real. I didn’t have time for it to be real. I needed to be articulate, thorough, strong. I know they would have let me not be. I needed it for me, not them. The alternative was too frightening to name.
So I said “that’s too bad” and took four Advil dry and held a can of cold soda to my ankle until the tuna sandwich had come from the Subway across the street. We talked about background during that time. How I’d met Brittany, what I knew of her relationship with Jason when I first met her, a little bit about Harry Potter. The recorder was running, but it wasn’t the real thing yet and we all knew it. They were good to me.
I finished my sandwich, chugged the soda, opened the Johnson and Johnson first aid kit they’d brought me and apologized that they weren’t able to do more. I peeled off the gauze pad. The hole was smaller than I’d thought, and it began bleeding again. Drops at first, big and fat and spattering on the floor in a pattern like a constellation against the black tile. Blood is thick. You could hear the drips. Plot plot plot. I probed the wound carefully, palpating the bullet. It became a thin trickle, not enough to be dangerous, too much for individual drops.
I started talking then. Really talking. About the shooting itself. Whether I was distracting myself from what I was saying by what I was doing to my ankle or the other way around, it didn’t matter and was probably both. I thought they were fireworks. Wipe it with the alcohol. That’s why I called 9-1-1. The skin was torn in a T-shape. Wrap another alcohol wipe around the end of the q-tip. There’d been some kids at the end of the block with firecrackers earlier in the week. Clean under the little skin flaps. I thought shit, they’ve gotten some big ones. Wanted to call before someone blew their - oh motherfucker that stings, sorry - blew their fingers off. Take the tweezers and get a little shred of blue fabric out where I can see it in the wound.
Two years ago right now, I started trying to clean up the mess.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49869153100/two-years-ago-right-now-i-had-cleaned-the-wound
Two years ago right now.
I had cleaned the wound and closed it with two butterfly strips and a drop of superglue. I had tried to get the bullet because it was so close to the surface, but it had fractured, and when I used the tweezers to try to get it, a piece of it broke off and the rest went deep and got swallowed by my ankle. Three gauze pads had been folded up and taped in place, and both the Advil and endorphins had kicked in. The puddle of blood covered most of the tile. That sounds like a lot, but it was maybe at most half a cup. A few paper towels covered it, but the rest would have to wait until we were done and they could use proper biohazard precautions.
I’d like to say that it was just that I’m that badass and brave. The truth is, it was like watching myself. Over there, things were not ok. Over there, my ankle was very, very unhappy. Here? Here was numb and yet crystal clear, and I’ve rarely been so effortlessly composed and on top of things. I was told I’d be unable to return to the crime scene until at least the next day and would be put up in a hotel for the night if I couldn’t find somewhere else to stay overnight. I asked to borrow a phone. I called some local contacts and my best friend. Got the balls rolling. Went back to the interrogation room and kept talking.
Two years ago right now, I did what I had to do.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49906982267/two-years-ago-right-now-i-was-finally-done-at
Two years ago right now.
I was finally done at the police station. They had offered me another sandwich, more Advil, more coffee, more soda. I had said no. I was too far away from myself to want it, and I was concerned that if I had it, I might come back. The gauze was still white. It needed to stay that way.
The detective apologized for not stopping me when he saw the time, but he said it was the most comprehensive, detailed, articulate testimony he’d ever heard about something like this so soon from someone actually there. I remember making a noise a lot like laughing and saying “I’m a novelist. I write death.”
He said “most people don’t want to be in the story, though.” That’s one of those things I kept in a mental file folder because it’s quotable and profound and you can do a lot with it if you put it at the right place in the story, ironically enough. I haven’t used it, though. Until now. I realized the only story it belongs to is mine, and I am in my own story, like it or not.
There was no one local enough who could put me up, so they said they’d put me in a hotel for the night. On the way there, they got a call from an officer. They’d cleared my cell phone, made copies of the data. I could pick it up. They detoured, got my phone and my ID. Everything else was still part of the crime scene.
I went to the hotel. They checked me in. Used that word again; Survivor. I didn’t like that word, but I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t limping, but they kept looking at my ankle and then at each other and frowning and asking me if it was ok. I kept saying yes.
I had nothing to unpack in the room. Turned down an offer to order me a pizza. Took off the gauze and the butterfly bandages and looked at the ankle carefully. Took a picture in the hotel bathroom on my phone. It was so little.
Put the gauze back on and went and sat on the bed and plugged in my phone. A. Anderson. First name in the contacts that was someone who wouldn’t have been informed by the police. I didn’t want people to find out from the news. I’d heard the things those reporters were hearing.
Send. Hi, this is Andrew, Brittany’s roommate? Yeah, sorry about the hour. I hate to do this, but I have some very bad news….
Two years ago right now, I would keep doing that until one in the morning. From her massage client to her fandom friends to her godmother.
I’m still the one telling people. Who else really can? I’m the Survivor.
Two years ago right now.
I had been let go from Queen of the Valley emergency department. They had ordered an X-ray of my ankle, but once they determined the bullet wasn’t near anything that threatened life or limb and that I had no insurance or ability to pay, they discharged me. They never even removed the gauze pad the medic had put in place or physically looked at the wound. Even the police officer who had been assigned to escort me to the hospital was rattled and said it wasn’t fair.
I was taken to the police station in the front seat of the squad car. I was limping a little bit. My ankle had started to be seriously uncomfortable. About a 5, and swelling like hell. It was the size of the calf of my other leg. They took me to the interrogation room. Asked if I wanted anything. I asked for a sandwich, a coffee, a first aid kit, and some painkillers. They brought them, went through my rights, told me they would be recording, that I wasn’t being charged with anything and wasn’t suspected of anything at the present time, but if I falsified my testimony, that would be a crime in and of itself.
I agreed that I understood. I asked about Brittany. They told me she was dead. I had known, but that made it real. I didn’t have time for it to be real. I needed to be articulate, thorough, strong. I know they would have let me not be. I needed it for me, not them. The alternative was too frightening to name.
So I said “that’s too bad” and took four Advil dry and held a can of cold soda to my ankle until the tuna sandwich had come from the Subway across the street. We talked about background during that time. How I’d met Brittany, what I knew of her relationship with Jason when I first met her, a little bit about Harry Potter. The recorder was running, but it wasn’t the real thing yet and we all knew it. They were good to me.
I finished my sandwich, chugged the soda, opened the Johnson and Johnson first aid kit they’d brought me and apologized that they weren’t able to do more. I peeled off the gauze pad. The hole was smaller than I’d thought, and it began bleeding again. Drops at first, big and fat and spattering on the floor in a pattern like a constellation against the black tile. Blood is thick. You could hear the drips. Plot plot plot. I probed the wound carefully, palpating the bullet. It became a thin trickle, not enough to be dangerous, too much for individual drops.
I started talking then. Really talking. About the shooting itself. Whether I was distracting myself from what I was saying by what I was doing to my ankle or the other way around, it didn’t matter and was probably both. I thought they were fireworks. Wipe it with the alcohol. That’s why I called 9-1-1. The skin was torn in a T-shape. Wrap another alcohol wipe around the end of the q-tip. There’d been some kids at the end of the block with firecrackers earlier in the week. Clean under the little skin flaps. I thought shit, they’ve gotten some big ones. Wanted to call before someone blew their - oh motherfucker that stings, sorry - blew their fingers off. Take the tweezers and get a little shred of blue fabric out where I can see it in the wound.
Two years ago right now, I started trying to clean up the mess.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49869153100/two-years-ago-right-now-i-had-cleaned-the-wound
Two years ago right now.
I had cleaned the wound and closed it with two butterfly strips and a drop of superglue. I had tried to get the bullet because it was so close to the surface, but it had fractured, and when I used the tweezers to try to get it, a piece of it broke off and the rest went deep and got swallowed by my ankle. Three gauze pads had been folded up and taped in place, and both the Advil and endorphins had kicked in. The puddle of blood covered most of the tile. That sounds like a lot, but it was maybe at most half a cup. A few paper towels covered it, but the rest would have to wait until we were done and they could use proper biohazard precautions.
I’d like to say that it was just that I’m that badass and brave. The truth is, it was like watching myself. Over there, things were not ok. Over there, my ankle was very, very unhappy. Here? Here was numb and yet crystal clear, and I’ve rarely been so effortlessly composed and on top of things. I was told I’d be unable to return to the crime scene until at least the next day and would be put up in a hotel for the night if I couldn’t find somewhere else to stay overnight. I asked to borrow a phone. I called some local contacts and my best friend. Got the balls rolling. Went back to the interrogation room and kept talking.
Two years ago right now, I did what I had to do.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49906982267/two-years-ago-right-now-i-was-finally-done-at
Two years ago right now.
I was finally done at the police station. They had offered me another sandwich, more Advil, more coffee, more soda. I had said no. I was too far away from myself to want it, and I was concerned that if I had it, I might come back. The gauze was still white. It needed to stay that way.
The detective apologized for not stopping me when he saw the time, but he said it was the most comprehensive, detailed, articulate testimony he’d ever heard about something like this so soon from someone actually there. I remember making a noise a lot like laughing and saying “I’m a novelist. I write death.”
He said “most people don’t want to be in the story, though.” That’s one of those things I kept in a mental file folder because it’s quotable and profound and you can do a lot with it if you put it at the right place in the story, ironically enough. I haven’t used it, though. Until now. I realized the only story it belongs to is mine, and I am in my own story, like it or not.
There was no one local enough who could put me up, so they said they’d put me in a hotel for the night. On the way there, they got a call from an officer. They’d cleared my cell phone, made copies of the data. I could pick it up. They detoured, got my phone and my ID. Everything else was still part of the crime scene.
I went to the hotel. They checked me in. Used that word again; Survivor. I didn’t like that word, but I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t limping, but they kept looking at my ankle and then at each other and frowning and asking me if it was ok. I kept saying yes.
I had nothing to unpack in the room. Turned down an offer to order me a pizza. Took off the gauze and the butterfly bandages and looked at the ankle carefully. Took a picture in the hotel bathroom on my phone. It was so little.
Put the gauze back on and went and sat on the bed and plugged in my phone. A. Anderson. First name in the contacts that was someone who wouldn’t have been informed by the police. I didn’t want people to find out from the news. I’d heard the things those reporters were hearing.
Send. Hi, this is Andrew, Brittany’s roommate? Yeah, sorry about the hour. I hate to do this, but I have some very bad news….
Two years ago right now, I would keep doing that until one in the morning. From her massage client to her fandom friends to her godmother.
I’m still the one telling people. Who else really can? I’m the Survivor.
Andy's account of the shooting - 2 year anniversary version, part 3
(Anonymous) 2015-04-22 12:59 pm (UTC)(link)Ask that provides some more info:
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49872123285/j-f-c-andy-i-knew-that-the-american-health-system
>J F C Andy! I knew that the American health system was problematic but they didn't help you at all? Then the police just let you bleed and take it out yourself and didn't help you either? That's just sick! How is this allowed?
Anonymous
1. If you are not in any significant danger, the hospitals here have no obligation to treat you. The bullet was not in a place where it risked my life or even crippling me as it was, and the bleeding was relatively minor and certainly not remotely life threatening. So yes, I was just told to leave. It’s not even sadly that bizarre that they didn’t look under the gauze. Since it wasn’t bleeding through that badly, they wanted the x-ray first before they shifted anything, and the x-ray showed there was no need to treat me at all.
2. I didn’t take it out myself. I tried, and it fractured and I only got a fragment. The rest of it was taken out two weeks later by a surgeon…another story in and of itself.
3. I’m pretty sure, when I look back, that the cops had no idea the extent that I was digging around in it and I know they didn’t know how much I was bleeding. I had asked if I could “clean it up and stuff.” They were on the other side of the table and from where I had my leg crossed on my lap, they couldn’t see the ankle itself or my hands on it. Yeah, I took about 15 minutes, but given that I never looked up and what I was talking about and the monotone, I think they just assumed I was kind of fiddling with it, probably taking my time because of how much the alcohol stung. From where they were sitting, they’d have only seen the little alcohol swab packets piling up, the bloody swabs and q-tip, and the empties from the butterfly bandages, gauze pads, etc, all of which are perfectly reasonable to let someone do for themselves. And again, I wasn’t giving any reactions that would have indicated there was more going on. In retrospect, they seemed startled when they came around the table to give me the bathroom break and let me use the phone and saw the blood, but they did play it off very low key and just “we’ll put some paper towels down, clean it up later, no big deal.”
4. Basically, the ER were dicks and our healthcare system IS fucked, but the cops were awesome and it’s not their fault that in my current headplace, amateur field surgery seemed like a reasonable idea.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49872698460/im-so-so-so-sorry-is-writing-about-what-happened
>I'm so so so sorry. Is writing about what happened like a coping mechanism for you? It's strange to me, because my coping mechanism is to completely block and repress memories, or I feel like I'm going insane. it's painful to see you remembering things in details and I just want to give you the biggest tightest of hugs and not say anything until this day ends.
Thank you for your compassion, and I’m sorry that this is upsetting for you. Sincerely, I am, and I don’t hold it against any of the people unfollowing me today.
It is absolutely a coping mechanism. Part of it is that working through it in linear time like this forces it to make clear sense of first A, then B, cause and effect, etc. Putting it in a detailed, orderly line lets me see that it’s not just a freak finger of God THING that happened. It takes sensations and memories that are powerful in awful ways against me and in which I was helpless and turns them into word-structures that *I* choose and *I* have power over. It makes it make sense, which lets me cope with it, and it makes it a narrative, and that makes it make more sense and lets me cross-reference it to other narratives and use lessons from them to help me deal and feel a sense that I’m not alone nor do I have to stay alone and fester inside it because narratives make the unfathomable communicable and thus relatable and thus surmountable. Furthermore, putting it in public lets me see that it makes sense to others outside my head, and that gives it an external validation of reality that is really important for someone with a history of hallucinations.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49872123285/j-f-c-andy-i-knew-that-the-american-health-system
>J F C Andy! I knew that the American health system was problematic but they didn't help you at all? Then the police just let you bleed and take it out yourself and didn't help you either? That's just sick! How is this allowed?
Anonymous
1. If you are not in any significant danger, the hospitals here have no obligation to treat you. The bullet was not in a place where it risked my life or even crippling me as it was, and the bleeding was relatively minor and certainly not remotely life threatening. So yes, I was just told to leave. It’s not even sadly that bizarre that they didn’t look under the gauze. Since it wasn’t bleeding through that badly, they wanted the x-ray first before they shifted anything, and the x-ray showed there was no need to treat me at all.
2. I didn’t take it out myself. I tried, and it fractured and I only got a fragment. The rest of it was taken out two weeks later by a surgeon…another story in and of itself.
3. I’m pretty sure, when I look back, that the cops had no idea the extent that I was digging around in it and I know they didn’t know how much I was bleeding. I had asked if I could “clean it up and stuff.” They were on the other side of the table and from where I had my leg crossed on my lap, they couldn’t see the ankle itself or my hands on it. Yeah, I took about 15 minutes, but given that I never looked up and what I was talking about and the monotone, I think they just assumed I was kind of fiddling with it, probably taking my time because of how much the alcohol stung. From where they were sitting, they’d have only seen the little alcohol swab packets piling up, the bloody swabs and q-tip, and the empties from the butterfly bandages, gauze pads, etc, all of which are perfectly reasonable to let someone do for themselves. And again, I wasn’t giving any reactions that would have indicated there was more going on. In retrospect, they seemed startled when they came around the table to give me the bathroom break and let me use the phone and saw the blood, but they did play it off very low key and just “we’ll put some paper towels down, clean it up later, no big deal.”
4. Basically, the ER were dicks and our healthcare system IS fucked, but the cops were awesome and it’s not their fault that in my current headplace, amateur field surgery seemed like a reasonable idea.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/49872698460/im-so-so-so-sorry-is-writing-about-what-happened
>I'm so so so sorry. Is writing about what happened like a coping mechanism for you? It's strange to me, because my coping mechanism is to completely block and repress memories, or I feel like I'm going insane. it's painful to see you remembering things in details and I just want to give you the biggest tightest of hugs and not say anything until this day ends.
Thank you for your compassion, and I’m sorry that this is upsetting for you. Sincerely, I am, and I don’t hold it against any of the people unfollowing me today.
It is absolutely a coping mechanism. Part of it is that working through it in linear time like this forces it to make clear sense of first A, then B, cause and effect, etc. Putting it in a detailed, orderly line lets me see that it’s not just a freak finger of God THING that happened. It takes sensations and memories that are powerful in awful ways against me and in which I was helpless and turns them into word-structures that *I* choose and *I* have power over. It makes it make sense, which lets me cope with it, and it makes it a narrative, and that makes it make more sense and lets me cross-reference it to other narratives and use lessons from them to help me deal and feel a sense that I’m not alone nor do I have to stay alone and fester inside it because narratives make the unfathomable communicable and thus relatable and thus surmountable. Furthermore, putting it in public lets me see that it makes sense to others outside my head, and that gives it an external validation of reality that is really important for someone with a history of hallucinations.
http://www.timesheraldonline.com/general-news/20110510/police-release-more-details-in-green-valley-triple-shooting-suicide-case
Police release more details in Green Valley triple shooting-suicide case
Police on Monday identified the other two Fairfield residents who died during what police are calling a triple shooting-suicide Saturday at a Green Valley home.
Anthony Chambers, 41, and Brittany Quinn, 27, were shot and killed just after noon inside the home they shared with Jason Eisenberg, 37, and an unidentified 27-year-old, in the 5200 block of Venus Drive.
An autopsy on Monday revealed that Quinn was shot multiple times and died at the scene along with Chambers, who died after suffering a gunshot wound to the chest and to the head.
Police said that Eisenberg, the suspected shooter, also shot the 27-year-old in the foot through a closed and locked bedroom door before turning the gun on himself and taking his own life.
Authorities said Eisenberg had been in a common-law marriage with Quinn that ended two years ago. Although the two had never been married, they bought the home on Venus Drive together in 2008.
The two were also business partners in Skyhouse Media, a marketing company that specialized in television commercials in which Eisenberg did commercial voiceovers.
Ken Ingersoll, owner of Gracie's restaurant in Vallejo, met Eisenberg several years ago after hiring the company to do a commercial for him.
Since then, Eisenberg had done two commercials for Ingersoll and was in the middle of writing the script for a third. Ingersoll said that after Eisenberg's relationship with Quinn ended, he seemed "distressed." Ingersoll added that "it was clear that he was not managing the breakup well."
After their relationship ended, Quinn and Eisenberg did not agree on specifics regarding their joint assets and police said she had moved out of the home.
Court records show that Quinn sued Eisenberg last Wednesday for equity in their house and to be the sole owner of another home in Sacramento County. The year before, Eisenberg sent what Quinn believed to be a notarized document transferring the title of a home in Sacramento to her. However, Eisenberg then removed Quinn from the $158,400 home equity line of credit. Quinn is still listed on the mortgage loan for $47,999.
Eisenberg also opened a restraining order case against Quinn last November.
The next month, police said Quinn obtained a civil court order allowing her to move back into the residence. However, since that time, they continued to disagree about their property, assets and living arrangements, authorities said.
Police said Chambers and the other 27-year-old victim who lived in the house were friends of the two, but not involved in the legal disputes.
On Friday, police responded to the home after a disturbance broke out when Quinn served Eisenberg with a civil lawsuit over money she said he owed her. However, once police arrived at the home, Quinn told officers she did not feel threatened and because no crime had been committed, no report was taken.
Police release more details in Green Valley triple shooting-suicide case
Police on Monday identified the other two Fairfield residents who died during what police are calling a triple shooting-suicide Saturday at a Green Valley home.
Anthony Chambers, 41, and Brittany Quinn, 27, were shot and killed just after noon inside the home they shared with Jason Eisenberg, 37, and an unidentified 27-year-old, in the 5200 block of Venus Drive.
An autopsy on Monday revealed that Quinn was shot multiple times and died at the scene along with Chambers, who died after suffering a gunshot wound to the chest and to the head.
Police said that Eisenberg, the suspected shooter, also shot the 27-year-old in the foot through a closed and locked bedroom door before turning the gun on himself and taking his own life.
Authorities said Eisenberg had been in a common-law marriage with Quinn that ended two years ago. Although the two had never been married, they bought the home on Venus Drive together in 2008.
The two were also business partners in Skyhouse Media, a marketing company that specialized in television commercials in which Eisenberg did commercial voiceovers.
Ken Ingersoll, owner of Gracie's restaurant in Vallejo, met Eisenberg several years ago after hiring the company to do a commercial for him.
Since then, Eisenberg had done two commercials for Ingersoll and was in the middle of writing the script for a third. Ingersoll said that after Eisenberg's relationship with Quinn ended, he seemed "distressed." Ingersoll added that "it was clear that he was not managing the breakup well."
After their relationship ended, Quinn and Eisenberg did not agree on specifics regarding their joint assets and police said she had moved out of the home.
Court records show that Quinn sued Eisenberg last Wednesday for equity in their house and to be the sole owner of another home in Sacramento County. The year before, Eisenberg sent what Quinn believed to be a notarized document transferring the title of a home in Sacramento to her. However, Eisenberg then removed Quinn from the $158,400 home equity line of credit. Quinn is still listed on the mortgage loan for $47,999.
Eisenberg also opened a restraining order case against Quinn last November.
The next month, police said Quinn obtained a civil court order allowing her to move back into the residence. However, since that time, they continued to disagree about their property, assets and living arrangements, authorities said.
Police said Chambers and the other 27-year-old victim who lived in the house were friends of the two, but not involved in the legal disputes.
On Friday, police responded to the home after a disturbance broke out when Quinn served Eisenberg with a civil lawsuit over money she said he owed her. However, once police arrived at the home, Quinn told officers she did not feel threatened and because no crime had been committed, no report was taken.
http://www.sfgate.com/crime/article/Fairfield-killings-blamed-on-soured-relationship-2372236.php
Fairfield killings blamed on soured relationship
A double-murder suicide in Fairfield was the result of a long-standing dispute involving a romance and business partnership that went sour, police said Monday.
Jason Eisenberg, 37, shot and killed his former girlfriend, Brittany Quinn, 27, and his roommate, Anthony Chambers, 41, before turning the gun on himself, said Officer Cleo Mayoral, a police spokesman.
Eisenberg also shot and wounded another roommate, a 27-year-old man, through a locked bedroom door during a rampage shortly after noon Saturday at 5245 Venus Drive, police said.
Eisenberg and Quinn broke up two years ago, Mayoral said. The two had also been business partners, and after their relationship ended, they argued in court over finances and real estate, police said.
Quinn moved out of the home shortly after the breakup but obtained a civil court order in December that allowed her to return, Mayoral said.
The tension between Eisenberg and Quinn continued to build, with the two disagreeing about "property, assets and living arrangements," Mayoral said.
On Friday, Quinn served Eisenberg with a notice that she was suing him over money she believed he owed her, Mayoral said. Eisenberg killed her the next day.
Chambers and Quinn were pronounced dead at the scene, and Eisenberg died at a hospital. A gun used by Eisenberg was recovered, Mayoral said.
Chambers and the victim who survived were friends of Eisenberg and Quinn but were not involved in their disputes, police said.
Solano County Superior Court records show that Quinn filed her suit Wednesday. She filed another suit in September, but that case was dismissed, records show.
Eisenberg had also filed a civil case against Quinn alleging domestic violence, records show. Eisenberg's attorney, Wayne Knight, declined to comment Monday.
Fairfield killings blamed on soured relationship
A double-murder suicide in Fairfield was the result of a long-standing dispute involving a romance and business partnership that went sour, police said Monday.
Jason Eisenberg, 37, shot and killed his former girlfriend, Brittany Quinn, 27, and his roommate, Anthony Chambers, 41, before turning the gun on himself, said Officer Cleo Mayoral, a police spokesman.
Eisenberg also shot and wounded another roommate, a 27-year-old man, through a locked bedroom door during a rampage shortly after noon Saturday at 5245 Venus Drive, police said.
Eisenberg and Quinn broke up two years ago, Mayoral said. The two had also been business partners, and after their relationship ended, they argued in court over finances and real estate, police said.
Quinn moved out of the home shortly after the breakup but obtained a civil court order in December that allowed her to return, Mayoral said.
The tension between Eisenberg and Quinn continued to build, with the two disagreeing about "property, assets and living arrangements," Mayoral said.
On Friday, Quinn served Eisenberg with a notice that she was suing him over money she believed he owed her, Mayoral said. Eisenberg killed her the next day.
Chambers and Quinn were pronounced dead at the scene, and Eisenberg died at a hospital. A gun used by Eisenberg was recovered, Mayoral said.
Chambers and the victim who survived were friends of Eisenberg and Quinn but were not involved in their disputes, police said.
Solano County Superior Court records show that Quinn filed her suit Wednesday. She filed another suit in September, but that case was dismissed, records show.
Eisenberg had also filed a civil case against Quinn alleging domestic violence, records show. Eisenberg's attorney, Wayne Knight, declined to comment Monday.
Andy the Enlightened White Man criticizes SPN bloggers for faking love for "darkies"
(Anonymous) 2015-04-22 09:51 pm (UTC)(link)Andy responds to a WOC who politely criticizes a post of his shaming SPN bloggers for not focusing more on characters of color. Andy explains that he's actually criticizing white fans who aren't as enlightened as he, whom he claims are faking their love for "darkies":
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/50414766396/feministsupernatural-andythanfiction-i-see-a
I can only speak for me, but the reason I don’t RP about Rufus or Cassie or, hell, really anyone but Kevin, (I say RP instead of write fics because I can’t currently write fics longer than a drabble) is because rarely will someone play them with me, and /never/ will I be given feedback or notes.
When I post about the lack of POC in SPN they get far less notes than those about gender or sexuality.
Also, the show may have an occasional good story line about POC, but honestly, other than Kevin, it’s very rare that it isn’t stereotypical. Also, there’s less than 10% non-white characters. That’s not main characters, that’s ALL SPEAKING Characters. And almost all of them are evil.
Also, you’re making the assumption that those who talk about these issues are white. Can I honestly ask how you know? I’m a white-passing POC, but I’m still a POC, for example. Were my sidebar image of me up, most people would assume I am white, but I’m not.
I honestly think this is one of numerous cases where white fans should shut up and listen to what POC say. Like, inheritedloss is a WOC and she’s made posts about racism in SPN. Check her out. She’s pretty nifty.
I’m not making the assumption that those who talk about these issues are white. I am calling out a SPECIFIC kind of blogger that I see a LOT; White social justice type fans who make long, aggrieved, self-righteous posts about the racism on the show and how they shall flog themselves with a wet vermicelli noodle and martyr upon the altar of PoC representation.for alas and alack they doth demand more PoC and swear they would love them forever and always for they do so adore the little darkies…and then are exactly the fucking reason that you can’t find anyone to RP PoC, who don’t give feedback or notes, and who completely ignore the PoC already on the show.
Which is not saying at all that there are “enough” PoC on the show or that TPTB shouldn’t include more good PoC even if the mainstream fandom IS ignoring the ones they have. It’s calling out the hypocrisy of those who soapbox that they are being a particular part of the solution while ignoring being part of the problem.
(Note: At this point, Andy has posted a creepy personal apology to Osric for his racist attitude against his character, Kevin, but has done precious little SPN meta on anything but Destiel, Dean, Cas, or storycraft.)
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/50414766396/feministsupernatural-andythanfiction-i-see-a
I can only speak for me, but the reason I don’t RP about Rufus or Cassie or, hell, really anyone but Kevin, (I say RP instead of write fics because I can’t currently write fics longer than a drabble) is because rarely will someone play them with me, and /never/ will I be given feedback or notes.
When I post about the lack of POC in SPN they get far less notes than those about gender or sexuality.
Also, the show may have an occasional good story line about POC, but honestly, other than Kevin, it’s very rare that it isn’t stereotypical. Also, there’s less than 10% non-white characters. That’s not main characters, that’s ALL SPEAKING Characters. And almost all of them are evil.
Also, you’re making the assumption that those who talk about these issues are white. Can I honestly ask how you know? I’m a white-passing POC, but I’m still a POC, for example. Were my sidebar image of me up, most people would assume I am white, but I’m not.
I honestly think this is one of numerous cases where white fans should shut up and listen to what POC say. Like, inheritedloss is a WOC and she’s made posts about racism in SPN. Check her out. She’s pretty nifty.
I’m not making the assumption that those who talk about these issues are white. I am calling out a SPECIFIC kind of blogger that I see a LOT; White social justice type fans who make long, aggrieved, self-righteous posts about the racism on the show and how they shall flog themselves with a wet vermicelli noodle and martyr upon the altar of PoC representation.for alas and alack they doth demand more PoC and swear they would love them forever and always for they do so adore the little darkies…and then are exactly the fucking reason that you can’t find anyone to RP PoC, who don’t give feedback or notes, and who completely ignore the PoC already on the show.
Which is not saying at all that there are “enough” PoC on the show or that TPTB shouldn’t include more good PoC even if the mainstream fandom IS ignoring the ones they have. It’s calling out the hypocrisy of those who soapbox that they are being a particular part of the solution while ignoring being part of the problem.
(Note: At this point, Andy has posted a creepy personal apology to Osric for his racist attitude against his character, Kevin, but has done precious little SPN meta on anything but Destiel, Dean, Cas, or storycraft.)
Andy and Shakespear both wrote fanfic, therefore they are both "content creators"
(Anonymous) 2015-04-22 10:19 pm (UTC)(link)http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/50339426738/ffs-you-are-not-a-content-creator-you-wrote-a-hp
ffs you are not a "content creator" you wrote a HP AU gtf over yourself.
Anonymous
Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss are writing an Arthur Conan Doyle AU fanfic. Jeremy Carver and Robert Singer write Eric Kripke fanfic. Gregory Maguire wrote a Frank L. Baum fanfic…which Stephen Schwartz and Winnie Holzman wrote ANOTHER fanfic of. Stephen Moffat and Russell T. Davies write fanfic of Sydney Newman, C.E. Webber, and Donald Wilson. J. J. Abrams does Gene Roddenberry fanfic. Joss Whedon does Stan Lee fanfic. Rogers and Hammerstein did Shakespeare fanfic, and Shakespeare did Ovid fanfic and Ovid did Homer fanfic and Homer did Greek mythology fanfic and Greek mythology did Mesopotamian fanfic and Mesopotamia did Mark Sheppard and Amanda Tapping fanfic.
And the Daydverse is almost twice as long, has a lot more creator-generated side content, and definitely tells a better love story than Twilight…but Stephanie Meyer is still considered a content creator, even as she writes combination Anne Rice and Joseph Smith fanfic.
So other than me giving my Rowling spinoff to you without getting paid for it, please elucidate the distinction you are attempting to draw that denies me the right to call myself a content creator.
ffs you are not a "content creator" you wrote a HP AU gtf over yourself.
Anonymous
Stephen Moffat and Mark Gatiss are writing an Arthur Conan Doyle AU fanfic. Jeremy Carver and Robert Singer write Eric Kripke fanfic. Gregory Maguire wrote a Frank L. Baum fanfic…which Stephen Schwartz and Winnie Holzman wrote ANOTHER fanfic of. Stephen Moffat and Russell T. Davies write fanfic of Sydney Newman, C.E. Webber, and Donald Wilson. J. J. Abrams does Gene Roddenberry fanfic. Joss Whedon does Stan Lee fanfic. Rogers and Hammerstein did Shakespeare fanfic, and Shakespeare did Ovid fanfic and Ovid did Homer fanfic and Homer did Greek mythology fanfic and Greek mythology did Mesopotamian fanfic and Mesopotamia did Mark Sheppard and Amanda Tapping fanfic.
And the Daydverse is almost twice as long, has a lot more creator-generated side content, and definitely tells a better love story than Twilight…but Stephanie Meyer is still considered a content creator, even as she writes combination Anne Rice and Joseph Smith fanfic.
So other than me giving my Rowling spinoff to you without getting paid for it, please elucidate the distinction you are attempting to draw that denies me the right to call myself a content creator.
Andy is a weaver of word magic who can sell you realties
(Anonymous) 2015-04-23 03:47 am (UTC)(link)http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/50961914873/id-be-surprisingly-good-for-you
I’d Be Surprisingly Good For You
Sometimes, it makes me cry that I’m American. Not like, curl up in a ball and snivel cry, but the subset of rage that grabs its own blade and draws tears in chokes and hisses where the helplessness cuts in. I love America. It’s a beautiful, breathtaking, extraordinary country full of an amazing diversity of people and land and culture and I could explore its depths and breadths giddily for the rest of my life and for all that we have done so wrong, we have just as much to be proud of. I love America, I love Americans. I hate the Mammonistic oligarchs who determine our worth and make us the only developed nation that must pay to bleed.
The irony is that I could be so good for them. I’ve got so fucking much I could give to society, to an employer. I’m beyond smart, I’m hard-working, I’m charismatic, I am a weaver of word-magic to a degree that verges on dangerous in my understanding of exactly what I’m doing as a storyteller and rhetorician. I can get inside people’s heads. I can sell you realities. Add to that, I’m a not half-bad artist, I can cook anything, am a pretty fucking good leader, and I learn, absorb, cross-reference, and retain information at a speed that is damned near inhuman. I could be so good at so many jobs that are so difficult and I would love them and I would shine, I know it.
And it doesn’t fucking matter.
Because when I’m not on meds, I stay off the grid and live hand to mouth because the government agents are watching me and if they find me they’ll carry me off to a secret lab and dissect my brain, and if I have to I sleep on the street or on a series of couches or in a car that is about to be repossessed and I beg my friends to let me die if something happens rather than take me to a hospital where THEY could get me.
And the only way to get meds is to get a job with good health insurance. Which they don’t give to people my age who have been living off the grid and have a history of menial work that they keep quitting after a few months because the paranoia gets to them or they feel they’re being Called somewhere else. At best, I can get something that is absolute minimum wage bottom rung, and after I pay for the premiums and the copays, leaves me so nothing that if I wasn’t living with my parents, I’d be back on the streets anyway (which would mean, and has meant in the past, losing my job and my meds again). Like, I wind up taking home less than $3/hr after taxes and medical. And no one will give me full time hours because by the things corporations that give health insurance count, I’m worthless.
So I work like a dog at stuff that is so fucking below my capabilities that it makes me want to scream and I know it’s getting me absolutely nowhere and that while it might keep me in meds, it’s also so physically exhausting and emotionally soul-crushing that I can’t do anything with my more functional state. And to put a scoop of irony on this shit sundae, I HAD A CHANCE TO GET OUT! There was an offer - the first real one I’ve ever had - to get a job that might pay decently and that would actually use my honest to God skills and not be work any grunt could do - and I’m on restricted meds.
Know what that means? It means less paranoia, but the monster’s still there whispergrowling in the corner. It means I’m not hiding from the black helicopters, but give me something important, something that matters, something where I can’t say “suck it up, Blake, it’s just a TV show fandom” (like this chance at a good job for once, despite my past, like the Daydverse I love so much, like staying in touch with some of the people I care about most, like some of the commissions I’ve been given, like trying to write something That Matters) …and I shut down. I go into a full paranoid fit and become convinced of all manner of stupid bullshit. That other job offer is sitting in my inbox unanswered and weeks old and I literally get hives just thinking about it. I only got this job because I didn’t even fucking care about it because I knew I could do it in my sleep.
And I watch my chances laugh at me and sneer and disappear and throw me back in this hamster ball where I can watch the world go by but never get anywhere. And so I go work a minimum wage job and watch people drop a fifty on lunch without blinking while wearing $6,000 worth of Brooks Brothers and carrying a brand new iPhone and having a conversation where I have to bite the inside of my mouth until it bleeds because I could answer the thing they’re claiming is unsolvable and say it so much better than they are in the first place.
Because medical care is for people with good jobs.
And good jobs are for well people.
And I just want to scream at the world that I could be valuable too, damnit, I have all the things you say you want…but then the one chance I had when the world finally turned to me and said “ok, prove it,” I curled up and ran away.
Because I’m worthless without the treatment I can’t have because I’m worthless without the treatment. God Bless America.
Tagged: health care, mental health, rant, personal, don't mind me I'm going to bed anyway I have work in six hours, do you have any idea how much will power it has been taking me not to seek out and seduce a damned Canadian so I can matter in life?.
I’d Be Surprisingly Good For You
Sometimes, it makes me cry that I’m American. Not like, curl up in a ball and snivel cry, but the subset of rage that grabs its own blade and draws tears in chokes and hisses where the helplessness cuts in. I love America. It’s a beautiful, breathtaking, extraordinary country full of an amazing diversity of people and land and culture and I could explore its depths and breadths giddily for the rest of my life and for all that we have done so wrong, we have just as much to be proud of. I love America, I love Americans. I hate the Mammonistic oligarchs who determine our worth and make us the only developed nation that must pay to bleed.
The irony is that I could be so good for them. I’ve got so fucking much I could give to society, to an employer. I’m beyond smart, I’m hard-working, I’m charismatic, I am a weaver of word-magic to a degree that verges on dangerous in my understanding of exactly what I’m doing as a storyteller and rhetorician. I can get inside people’s heads. I can sell you realities. Add to that, I’m a not half-bad artist, I can cook anything, am a pretty fucking good leader, and I learn, absorb, cross-reference, and retain information at a speed that is damned near inhuman. I could be so good at so many jobs that are so difficult and I would love them and I would shine, I know it.
And it doesn’t fucking matter.
Because when I’m not on meds, I stay off the grid and live hand to mouth because the government agents are watching me and if they find me they’ll carry me off to a secret lab and dissect my brain, and if I have to I sleep on the street or on a series of couches or in a car that is about to be repossessed and I beg my friends to let me die if something happens rather than take me to a hospital where THEY could get me.
And the only way to get meds is to get a job with good health insurance. Which they don’t give to people my age who have been living off the grid and have a history of menial work that they keep quitting after a few months because the paranoia gets to them or they feel they’re being Called somewhere else. At best, I can get something that is absolute minimum wage bottom rung, and after I pay for the premiums and the copays, leaves me so nothing that if I wasn’t living with my parents, I’d be back on the streets anyway (which would mean, and has meant in the past, losing my job and my meds again). Like, I wind up taking home less than $3/hr after taxes and medical. And no one will give me full time hours because by the things corporations that give health insurance count, I’m worthless.
So I work like a dog at stuff that is so fucking below my capabilities that it makes me want to scream and I know it’s getting me absolutely nowhere and that while it might keep me in meds, it’s also so physically exhausting and emotionally soul-crushing that I can’t do anything with my more functional state. And to put a scoop of irony on this shit sundae, I HAD A CHANCE TO GET OUT! There was an offer - the first real one I’ve ever had - to get a job that might pay decently and that would actually use my honest to God skills and not be work any grunt could do - and I’m on restricted meds.
Know what that means? It means less paranoia, but the monster’s still there whispergrowling in the corner. It means I’m not hiding from the black helicopters, but give me something important, something that matters, something where I can’t say “suck it up, Blake, it’s just a TV show fandom” (like this chance at a good job for once, despite my past, like the Daydverse I love so much, like staying in touch with some of the people I care about most, like some of the commissions I’ve been given, like trying to write something That Matters) …and I shut down. I go into a full paranoid fit and become convinced of all manner of stupid bullshit. That other job offer is sitting in my inbox unanswered and weeks old and I literally get hives just thinking about it. I only got this job because I didn’t even fucking care about it because I knew I could do it in my sleep.
And I watch my chances laugh at me and sneer and disappear and throw me back in this hamster ball where I can watch the world go by but never get anywhere. And so I go work a minimum wage job and watch people drop a fifty on lunch without blinking while wearing $6,000 worth of Brooks Brothers and carrying a brand new iPhone and having a conversation where I have to bite the inside of my mouth until it bleeds because I could answer the thing they’re claiming is unsolvable and say it so much better than they are in the first place.
Because medical care is for people with good jobs.
And good jobs are for well people.
And I just want to scream at the world that I could be valuable too, damnit, I have all the things you say you want…but then the one chance I had when the world finally turned to me and said “ok, prove it,” I curled up and ran away.
Because I’m worthless without the treatment I can’t have because I’m worthless without the treatment. God Bless America.
Tagged: health care, mental health, rant, personal, don't mind me I'm going to bed anyway I have work in six hours, do you have any idea how much will power it has been taking me not to seek out and seduce a damned Canadian so I can matter in life?.
Andy claims to have a "very high genius level" & an IQ of over 150
(Anonymous) 2015-04-26 04:46 am (UTC)(link)http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/54193975186/i-really-really-do-not-believe-that-you-have-a
>I really, really do not believe that you have a genius level IQ. Wouldn't we have heard about you?
Anonymous
The mid to high 150s (depending on which test you use) puts me in the top 0.01%, or 1:10,000, and well above the MENSA threshhold of a 130 IQ (aka the 98th percentile or 1:50). Given an approximate global population of 7,126,146,000, that means 712,615 (just under the population of Alaska) people at my very high genius level and approximately 142,522,920 (about a million less than the population of Russia) certifiable geniuses.
How many of them do you know by name?
>I really, really do not believe that you have a genius level IQ. Wouldn't we have heard about you?
Anonymous
The mid to high 150s (depending on which test you use) puts me in the top 0.01%, or 1:10,000, and well above the MENSA threshhold of a 130 IQ (aka the 98th percentile or 1:50). Given an approximate global population of 7,126,146,000, that means 712,615 (just under the population of Alaska) people at my very high genius level and approximately 142,522,920 (about a million less than the population of Russia) certifiable geniuses.
How many of them do you know by name?
Re: Andy claims to have a "very high genius level" & an IQ of over 150
(Anonymous) 2015-04-26 05:57 am (UTC)(link)And this is why I find Andy so fascinating. He's like a perpetual motion lying machine-the lies never end, even about minor things. Most people will lie for some actual reason--fear of damaging a relationship, telling the truth will negatively impact their career, they don't want to cause harm to someone they care about--that sort of thing. Andy though, lies like other people breathe; it seems almost like a reflex. I'm sure he's told the truth about something, at some time--he couldn't possibly lie about everything. For example, I believe he does actually live in Virginia with his parents as this has been verified by other people. But outside of that, I don't believe a word that comes out of his mouth. He could say that the sky is blue and while I know this to be true, the fact that he said it would lead to a faint impulse to check and see if it were true.
Re: Andy claims to have a "very high genius level" & an IQ of over 150
(Anonymous) 2015-04-26 06:21 am (UTC)(link)Replied here so we don't clutter up the pit:
http://tf-talk.dreamwidth.org/272.html?thread=565264#cmt565264
http://tf-talk.dreamwidth.org/272.html?thread=565264#cmt565264
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/54242153615/i-write-fanfiction
"I WRITE FANFICTION."
— (You know, like those hack losers Shakespeare, Tennyson, Milton, Dante, Virgil, and Homer did)
– Another thing I’m making into a t-shirt
"I WRITE FANFICTION."
— (You know, like those hack losers Shakespeare, Tennyson, Milton, Dante, Virgil, and Homer did)
– Another thing I’m making into a t-shirt
In response to this ask:
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/54320738134/so-odd-request-but-ive-found-a-friend-who
So, odd request. But I've found a friend who describes his mind and his world uncannily like you describe yourself 5-10 years ago. Would you have any advice for him?
Andy makes this post:
>Um. I appreciate that, but that's more alarmingly frightening than constructive.
Anonymous
Good. It should scare him. I was in a bad, scary, and harmful place. If his mental state is anything like mine was, he’s a brilliant creative extrovert idealist with wonderful intentions and a rampaging form of undiagnosed paranoid delusional schizophrenia on top of PTSD and other personal traumas, and he’s a massive fucking danger to self and others until he gets treatment. So the advice - the very, very constructive advice - is that if he wants there to be anything of value in the good parts of that description, he needs to get the clinical shit under control like YESTERDAY.
This post was made on July 1, 2013.
What sticks out to me is that Andy appears to be claiming he had PTSD 5-10 years ago (between 2003-2008), long before the shooting ever occurred. Every other post by Andy I've ever seen on the subject seems to imply his PTSD was brought on by the shooting; ie, being triggered by gun shots or similar noises.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/54320738134/so-odd-request-but-ive-found-a-friend-who
So, odd request. But I've found a friend who describes his mind and his world uncannily like you describe yourself 5-10 years ago. Would you have any advice for him?
Andy makes this post:
>Um. I appreciate that, but that's more alarmingly frightening than constructive.
Anonymous
Good. It should scare him. I was in a bad, scary, and harmful place. If his mental state is anything like mine was, he’s a brilliant creative extrovert idealist with wonderful intentions and a rampaging form of undiagnosed paranoid delusional schizophrenia on top of PTSD and other personal traumas, and he’s a massive fucking danger to self and others until he gets treatment. So the advice - the very, very constructive advice - is that if he wants there to be anything of value in the good parts of that description, he needs to get the clinical shit under control like YESTERDAY.
This post was made on July 1, 2013.
What sticks out to me is that Andy appears to be claiming he had PTSD 5-10 years ago (between 2003-2008), long before the shooting ever occurred. Every other post by Andy I've ever seen on the subject seems to imply his PTSD was brought on by the shooting; ie, being triggered by gun shots or similar noises.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/57568201739/i-dont-really-think-youre-in-a-position-to
I don't really think you're in a position to lecture about abusive relationships considering your role of BEING the abuser in your past relationships!
Anonymous
Actually, a big part of why I’m qualified is that as I’ve been on both sides of the abuse equation and learned about how complicated and messy it can be…that it’s not at all just the stereotype of big nasty man comes home, drinks too much, punches poor cowering woman, and tells her she’s a bitch who burned dinner because he’s an asshole.
In my case, mental illness that gave me a severely distorted view of reality inclusive of both paranoia and delusions lead me to engage in behaviors that I didn’t see as abusive, (in fact, I often thought I was just doing what was necessary to keep the other person safe) but were…partially through ignorance of what was and wasn’t abuse, and partially because of the complete inaccuracy of my starting position. I mean, I have literally thrown someone down and held their face in the dirt and scared the shit out of them and told them that if they didn’t obey my every word I would slap them stupid or they would straight up die because we were being watched by powerful supernatural beings who were trying to hunt and kill us. If that’s true, you’re a hero. If it’s not, you’re a mentally ill abuser. It wasn’t true.
At the same time, I also was ignorant of people being abusive towards me, because I had a similar set of misconceptions that “well, I’m not being hit or demeaned,“ and “yes, but if I don’t put up with them, they’ll turn me over to the government forces that want to whisk me away to a secret facility and do tests on my brain.” (Seriously, that was a persistent key paranoia for me).
Part of monitoring my mental health for the sake of the current and future safety of myself and others has been being educated about abuse quite extensively, as well as learning to stringently examine both my behavior and reality-perspective and that of others. I constantly check and double check what is real, what is reasonable, what is rational, what is purely emotional, what is plausible risk, etc. It’s one of the skill sets that’s been very useful, actually, in my overall meta and evaluation of media, as well as of life.
I don't really think you're in a position to lecture about abusive relationships considering your role of BEING the abuser in your past relationships!
Anonymous
Actually, a big part of why I’m qualified is that as I’ve been on both sides of the abuse equation and learned about how complicated and messy it can be…that it’s not at all just the stereotype of big nasty man comes home, drinks too much, punches poor cowering woman, and tells her she’s a bitch who burned dinner because he’s an asshole.
In my case, mental illness that gave me a severely distorted view of reality inclusive of both paranoia and delusions lead me to engage in behaviors that I didn’t see as abusive, (in fact, I often thought I was just doing what was necessary to keep the other person safe) but were…partially through ignorance of what was and wasn’t abuse, and partially because of the complete inaccuracy of my starting position. I mean, I have literally thrown someone down and held their face in the dirt and scared the shit out of them and told them that if they didn’t obey my every word I would slap them stupid or they would straight up die because we were being watched by powerful supernatural beings who were trying to hunt and kill us. If that’s true, you’re a hero. If it’s not, you’re a mentally ill abuser. It wasn’t true.
At the same time, I also was ignorant of people being abusive towards me, because I had a similar set of misconceptions that “well, I’m not being hit or demeaned,“ and “yes, but if I don’t put up with them, they’ll turn me over to the government forces that want to whisk me away to a secret facility and do tests on my brain.” (Seriously, that was a persistent key paranoia for me).
Part of monitoring my mental health for the sake of the current and future safety of myself and others has been being educated about abuse quite extensively, as well as learning to stringently examine both my behavior and reality-perspective and that of others. I constantly check and double check what is real, what is reasonable, what is rational, what is purely emotional, what is plausible risk, etc. It’s one of the skill sets that’s been very useful, actually, in my overall meta and evaluation of media, as well as of life.
http://andythanfiction.tumblr.com/post/47236548355/why-do-so-many-people-who-have-known-u-describe-u
Why do so many people who have known u describe u as “manipulative“ and “emotionally abusive“? What do u think of their doing so? -Anonymous
As I have said before, I struggled my entire adult life and some of my adolescence with severe mental illness including paranoid delusional schizophrenia that was undiagnosed and untreated until very recently. This caused some very unhealthy relationships, including ones in which yes, as I have frequently admitted, I did act in manners that were manipulative and emotionally abusive on an objective level. However, most of the people who were involved in those relationships have not known me for years, and have not even spoken to me since I was treated. And while yes, I have taken responsibility for that and understand and accept why they are fairly hurt and angry, it is not “making excuses” to say that having acted in fashions that were objectively abusive while delusional is not the same as being an abusive personality or person, nor that I would ever do so while medicated. I’ve used the analogy before, but it’s extremely apt: Killing two random teenagers in a convenience store is not morally, ethically, or in terms of making judgments about a person and their likely future behavior anywhere near the same act as killing two teenagers who appear to be demons, even though objectively it still ends in two ganked kids.
Why do so many people who have known u describe u as “manipulative“ and “emotionally abusive“? What do u think of their doing so? -Anonymous
As I have said before, I struggled my entire adult life and some of my adolescence with severe mental illness including paranoid delusional schizophrenia that was undiagnosed and untreated until very recently. This caused some very unhealthy relationships, including ones in which yes, as I have frequently admitted, I did act in manners that were manipulative and emotionally abusive on an objective level. However, most of the people who were involved in those relationships have not known me for years, and have not even spoken to me since I was treated. And while yes, I have taken responsibility for that and understand and accept why they are fairly hurt and angry, it is not “making excuses” to say that having acted in fashions that were objectively abusive while delusional is not the same as being an abusive personality or person, nor that I would ever do so while medicated. I’ve used the analogy before, but it’s extremely apt: Killing two random teenagers in a convenience store is not morally, ethically, or in terms of making judgments about a person and their likely future behavior anywhere near the same act as killing two teenagers who appear to be demons, even though objectively it still ends in two ganked kids.
http://theteablogger.tumblr.com/post/111917319502/andy-blake-a-timeline-part-i
Andy Blake: A Timeline (Part I)
This started out as a supplement to “On Andy and Violence” and quickly got away from me. The timeline covers the major events that I am aware of regarding each of the usernames and pseudonyms that Andy has used over the years. I’m leaving out a couple of brief relationships and a lot of sexuality/gender-related wank because this is not about gender or sexuality, for fuck’s sake. I will use the preferred pronouns that pertain to whichever of Andy’s aliases I am discussing at the time.
Andy’s participation in the Sharpe fandom is mostly absent because I don’t have access to the archives that I need. All I have to go on is fanfiction, which is not terribly helpful.
This portion of the timeline covers 1998-2001.
1998
Date Unknown
Sometime between July and November, Amy Player, using the e-mail address player@widomaker.com, shares her first Sharpe fic on the Sharpe Yahoo! group. She says that she is 15 years old and lives in a “small rural part of America” without access to a library: she must wait several months for the bookmobile to bring the Sharpe books to her. Amy directly addresses Bernard Cornwell, author of the novels, in the introductory note to her fic.
September 29
Strwriter makes her first post on alt.startrek.creative. Some members of the Star Trek: Voyager and Due South fandoms will eventually get to know Strwriter as Amy Player.
Strwriter says that she is 15 years old; a college student holding down at least two jobs; and a professional actress, singer, and dancer with a national touring company. She uses the e-mail address player@widomaker.com. Strwriter writes fanfiction, does fanart, and enjoys running fanfiction contests.
November 13
Voyagerbabe makes her first post on alt.startrek.creative. Some members of the Star Trek: Voyager and Due South fandoms will eventually get to know Voyagerbabe as Ciyarra Tallaver.
Voyagerbabe claims to be an 18-year-old college student and a victim of childhood sexual abuse. She and Strwriter say that they are best friends and coworkers. In March 1999, Voyagerbabe tells alt.startrek.creative that between the two of them, they have three majors and five jobs. Voyagerbabe uses the e-mail addresses voyagerbabe@my-dejanews.com and voyagerbabe@hotmail.com and the AIM username VBabe47. Voyagerbabe writes fanfiction and helps Strwriter maintain her website and run fanfiction contests.
1999
May 5
Voyagerbabe introduces Strwriter to alt.tv.due-south.
Periodically throughout 1998-1999, Strwriter and Voyagerbabe each make posts on Usenet and Yahoo! groups for Star Trek: Voyager and Due South about the “identity crisis” between the two of them. In 1998, they claim that they are both using Strwriter’s computer to read and post to Usenet groups because Voyagerbabe doesn’t have a home computer and can’t access newsgroups at the library. In April 1999, Voyagerbabe says that she finally has her own computer. Occasionally one or the other will somehow lose internet access, so they still post on each other’s behalf.
End of July
Both Strwriter and Voyagerbabe are effectively done participating in Star Trek fandom.
October 20
Someone claiming to be Amy’s mother, Cyd, posts to alt.tv.due-south using the same player@widomaker.com address that Strwriter uses. There is no way to be certain as to who this really was.
2000
August 30
Strwriter bows out of online fandom altogether, allegedly having been forbidden by her parents to use the internet for non-academic purposes.
Voyagerbabe continues to participate in Due South fandom via Usenet and Yahoo! groups.
2001
Voyagerbabe’s participation in Due South fandom gradually declines throughout the year. She begins going by VBabe and the initials VB.
March 14
VB announces to Ride Forever, a Due South Yahoo! group, that she is engaged. Her alleged fiancé is a real person and his name will not be mentioned here. (This is the guy who became known as “Some Ozzie Bloke” during the BoE era, though I’m almost certain that he never wrote any of the posts that were attributed to him in that group.)
May 1
VB informs Ride Forever that she has miraculously learned to draw over the course of a single evening spent with a book, so now she can contribute fanart as well as fic. Someone else in the thread points out that she’d previously posted her own good quality fanart to the list–oops!
June 3
Victoria Bitter posts for the first time to hhfic, a Horatio Hornblower Yahoo! group. She says that she is a twenty-year-old waitress and theme park portrait artist (with a birthday of 24 September), that she has been a living history interpreter for ten years, that she travels internationally for her work as an actress, and that she was born in London, England. Victoria Bitter was active at least a little before this point, but since the A&E boards for HH have long since been taken down, I can’t pinpoint her first appearance more accurately than this. She continues to use the e-mail address voyagerbabe@hotmail.com.
September 24
VB makes her last post in the Due South Yahoo! group Ride Forever (cross-posted to hhfic and probably other groups that I haven’t spotted yet). The post is about an “unknown person” who has allegedly hijacked her AIM account, VBabe47.
December 27
On hhfic, Victoria Bitter briefly joins in a discussion of names found in The Lord of the Rings, Hornblower, and the works of C. S. Lewis. This is her last post to that group and her last participation in HH fandom of which I am aware.
Andy Blake: A Timeline (Part I)
This started out as a supplement to “On Andy and Violence” and quickly got away from me. The timeline covers the major events that I am aware of regarding each of the usernames and pseudonyms that Andy has used over the years. I’m leaving out a couple of brief relationships and a lot of sexuality/gender-related wank because this is not about gender or sexuality, for fuck’s sake. I will use the preferred pronouns that pertain to whichever of Andy’s aliases I am discussing at the time.
Andy’s participation in the Sharpe fandom is mostly absent because I don’t have access to the archives that I need. All I have to go on is fanfiction, which is not terribly helpful.
This portion of the timeline covers 1998-2001.
1998
Date Unknown
Sometime between July and November, Amy Player, using the e-mail address player@widomaker.com, shares her first Sharpe fic on the Sharpe Yahoo! group. She says that she is 15 years old and lives in a “small rural part of America” without access to a library: she must wait several months for the bookmobile to bring the Sharpe books to her. Amy directly addresses Bernard Cornwell, author of the novels, in the introductory note to her fic.
September 29
Strwriter makes her first post on alt.startrek.creative. Some members of the Star Trek: Voyager and Due South fandoms will eventually get to know Strwriter as Amy Player.
Strwriter says that she is 15 years old; a college student holding down at least two jobs; and a professional actress, singer, and dancer with a national touring company. She uses the e-mail address player@widomaker.com. Strwriter writes fanfiction, does fanart, and enjoys running fanfiction contests.
November 13
Voyagerbabe makes her first post on alt.startrek.creative. Some members of the Star Trek: Voyager and Due South fandoms will eventually get to know Voyagerbabe as Ciyarra Tallaver.
Voyagerbabe claims to be an 18-year-old college student and a victim of childhood sexual abuse. She and Strwriter say that they are best friends and coworkers. In March 1999, Voyagerbabe tells alt.startrek.creative that between the two of them, they have three majors and five jobs. Voyagerbabe uses the e-mail addresses voyagerbabe@my-dejanews.com and voyagerbabe@hotmail.com and the AIM username VBabe47. Voyagerbabe writes fanfiction and helps Strwriter maintain her website and run fanfiction contests.
1999
May 5
Voyagerbabe introduces Strwriter to alt.tv.due-south.
Periodically throughout 1998-1999, Strwriter and Voyagerbabe each make posts on Usenet and Yahoo! groups for Star Trek: Voyager and Due South about the “identity crisis” between the two of them. In 1998, they claim that they are both using Strwriter’s computer to read and post to Usenet groups because Voyagerbabe doesn’t have a home computer and can’t access newsgroups at the library. In April 1999, Voyagerbabe says that she finally has her own computer. Occasionally one or the other will somehow lose internet access, so they still post on each other’s behalf.
End of July
Both Strwriter and Voyagerbabe are effectively done participating in Star Trek fandom.
October 20
Someone claiming to be Amy’s mother, Cyd, posts to alt.tv.due-south using the same player@widomaker.com address that Strwriter uses. There is no way to be certain as to who this really was.
2000
August 30
Strwriter bows out of online fandom altogether, allegedly having been forbidden by her parents to use the internet for non-academic purposes.
Voyagerbabe continues to participate in Due South fandom via Usenet and Yahoo! groups.
2001
Voyagerbabe’s participation in Due South fandom gradually declines throughout the year. She begins going by VBabe and the initials VB.
March 14
VB announces to Ride Forever, a Due South Yahoo! group, that she is engaged. Her alleged fiancé is a real person and his name will not be mentioned here. (This is the guy who became known as “Some Ozzie Bloke” during the BoE era, though I’m almost certain that he never wrote any of the posts that were attributed to him in that group.)
May 1
VB informs Ride Forever that she has miraculously learned to draw over the course of a single evening spent with a book, so now she can contribute fanart as well as fic. Someone else in the thread points out that she’d previously posted her own good quality fanart to the list–oops!
June 3
Victoria Bitter posts for the first time to hhfic, a Horatio Hornblower Yahoo! group. She says that she is a twenty-year-old waitress and theme park portrait artist (with a birthday of 24 September), that she has been a living history interpreter for ten years, that she travels internationally for her work as an actress, and that she was born in London, England. Victoria Bitter was active at least a little before this point, but since the A&E boards for HH have long since been taken down, I can’t pinpoint her first appearance more accurately than this. She continues to use the e-mail address voyagerbabe@hotmail.com.
September 24
VB makes her last post in the Due South Yahoo! group Ride Forever (cross-posted to hhfic and probably other groups that I haven’t spotted yet). The post is about an “unknown person” who has allegedly hijacked her AIM account, VBabe47.
December 27
On hhfic, Victoria Bitter briefly joins in a discussion of names found in The Lord of the Rings, Hornblower, and the works of C. S. Lewis. This is her last post to that group and her last participation in HH fandom of which I am aware.
Andy Blake: A Timeline (Part II)
This timeline covers the major events that I am aware of regarding each of the usernames and pseudonyms that Andy has used over the years. I’m leaving out a couple of brief relationships and a lot of sexuality/gender-related wank because this is not about gender or sexuality, for fuck’s sake. I will use the preferred pronouns that pertain to whichever of Andy’s aliases I am discussing at the time.
I should also note that I’m excluding nearly everything that happened on Bit of Earth’s Prancing Pony message board, which went down with Tentmoot, because I was never a member and thus do not have any of that material.
Finally, I’ve only briefly mentioned events like Hall of Fire and Lost Palantir because most of the information currently available on them is in Turimel’s book and I don’t feel like going through it all over again. While the book contains a lot of useful documentary evidence (canceled checks, letters and e-mails, et al.) and info on who specifically ran around and did what to prepare for BoE events, it also contains a great deal of venomous editorializing. Plus all the transfail, which I can sometimes handle wading through, but not today.
(Part I)
Part II of the timeline covers 2002 - March 2007.
2002
January 4
Victoria Bitter, still using the e-mail address voyagerbabe@hotmail.com and the AIM (and now Yahoo!) username VBabe47, starts the Bit of Earth Yahoo! group (henceforth known as BoE). That same day, she e-mails the webmaster of Sean Astin’s official website to let them know about the group and encourage Sean to get involved.
This version of Victoria Bitter says that she is a twenty-one-year-old college student born in Sheffield, England who is engaged to the previously mentioned Ozzie Bloke.
January 8-9
“Chris”, the Marine that VB supposedly met at a showing of The Fellowship of the Ring, posts twice to BoE. Chris uses the Yahoo! handle Rennie Gade and the e-mail address vivazebool@hotmail.com. I’ve already discussed why I think this is actually Victoria Bitter.
February 12
“Some Ozzie Bloke” allegedly posts to BoE under Victoria Bitter’s name because she has an eye infection and can’t see well enough to type. He says that he is reading her e-mail and posting fic and art for her, in addition to recording all of her lectures for school. When she has to go to the hospital, he brings her laptop along so that he can continue reading aloud to her (fanfiction, email, and messages on BoE) and communicating on her behalf. All of this leads up to someone getting one of VB’s sketches signed for her by Sean Astin. This is probably VB herself looking for attention. Mysterious medical ailments, friends and SOs who read messages/e-mails/fic and liveblog the illness, and extremely odd behavior in hospitals are by now well-known hallmarks of Münchausen by Internet.
February 17
Victoria Bitter starts a LiveJournal account. Her profile lists the AIM username VBabe47. In a meme, she acknowledges that her legal name is Amy Player. This establishes the first definitive link between Amy Player and Voyagerbabe/VB, but no one realizes the significance at the time.
Sometime between February and April, VB reveals her Amazing Channeling Powers to Abbey over chat. She mentions wanting to “reach out” to LotR cast members, specifically Orlando Bloom and Elijah Wood.
April 5-7
VB attends Connexions, where she meets many fellow fans and LJ friends and begins a brief romantic relationship with Versaphile. VB speaks with a fake British accent. The less said about Connexions, the better, probably.
April 19
The Great Hobbit Brain-Dump, in which VB claims to receive Merry’s soul and his lifetime of memories. “Merry” chronicles his experiences in the brandagamba LiveJournal and teaches people pseudo-Westron via chat.
May 8
VB writes that she has officially ended her relationship with Versaphile.
June 2
Victoria Bitter flies to Oregon for a week-long visit with Abbey, during which she channels LotR characters in person.
Late August or early September
Abbey flies to Virginia to visit VB.
September 7
In response to the drama surrounding MsAllegro’s Domlijah tinhattery (just Google it if you’re curious), VB has Abbey post a stern message to BoE on her behalf, due to “computer problems”.
September 11
Victoria Bitter approaches Sean Astin at a 9/11 memorial event in NYC and asks him to participate in a community service project. Later that day, she announces Project Elanor on BoE. She is now using the e-mail address victoriabitter@bitofearth.net
October
VB moves in with Abbey. Diamond, Shopping Cart Bob, and Little Sam eventually join them. (The group will henceforth be referred to as The BagEnders because that’s what they called themselves.) VB starts building the cult in earnest.
November 3
Victoria Bitter makes her final post to BoE and to her LiveJournal and withdraws from online fandom.
This is about the point at which the “Jordan Wood” alias first comes to light. He tells Abbey that he has taken on the “duplicate soul” of Elijah Wood. Sometimes he claims that Elijah’s split soul didn’t want to go back to his body; at other times, he says that it simply couldn’t. He tells some other people (eventually to include Turimel) that he is Elijah Wood’s cousin. Both stories are kept secret for a while. Abbey and Jordan start telling people that Victoria Bitter is dead.
Jordan starts writing as “Elijah” on LiveJournal as PadawanS (short for Padawan Sidious). Despite several posts that Strwriter and Voyagerbabe made between 1998-2001 regarding “their” distaste for homosexuality and slash, and despite VB’s aggressive response to MsAllegro’s Domlijah tinhatting, Jordan/“Elijah” engages in quite a bit of the same behavior on LJ, TheOneRing.net, and message boards on other sites. He uses claims of insider knowledge regarding the LotR cast and the film industry to make it all sound more plausible.
Jordan also alleges that Elijah’s “abusive” family is involved with the IRA and wants to drag him into it as well. This represents just a fraction of the lies that Jordan tells about himself, Elijah Wood, and other LotR cast members. Over the next thirteen months, he will do a great deal of damage that changes the way that New Line Cinema and many of the actors involved in LotR deal with fans and fandom.
November 30
Mr. Frodo makes his first post to BoE, announcing the Line Party at Lloyd Cinema in Portland, OR for the release of The Two Towers. He identifies himself as Bit of Earth’s Public Relations Director and uses the e-mail address mrfrodo@bitofearth.net. He also had a misterfrodo LiveJournal, but like padawans, it has long since been purged.
December 18
The Line Party takes place. Jordan Wood/Mr. Frodo runs the event with Abbey. They dress as Sam and Frodo, with Jordan’s hair glued to their feet–they tell people that it’s from their friend who recently died. The event goes very well and everyone is excited to plan another event.
2003
January 13
Mr. Frodo posts to BoE to warn members that someone is posing online as Victoria Bitter. He now calls himself BoE’s Assistant Director.
January 31
Mr. Frodo makes his last post to the BoE Yahoo! group, congratulating Sean Astin on his appointment to a Presidential Council.
February 20
BoE’s website message board, The Prancing Pony, is redirected to one of Versaphile’s LJ entries, which presents photographic evidence that Jordan Wood and Victoria Bitter are the same person. Jordan is able to sweep it under the rug pretty quickly by blaming a “bitter ex”.
April 6
Project Elanor takes place with Sean Astin and his family in attendance. Again, Jordan and Abbey run the event together. Project Elanor does not go entirely according to plan and the money that people thought would go to RIF goes to pay for supplies…but the group does create a lovely reading garden that still exists today.
July 25-27
BoE’s Hall of Fire Summer Music Festival is pretty much a failure. This seems to be mostly Jordan’s fault due to poor planning, procrastination on a grand scale, and delegating tasks without giving anyone adequate resources or the power to make real decisions.
August
The BagEnders move from Milwaukie to Salem, OR with help from Turimel.
September 20
BoE’s Lost Palantir Film Festival goes on, featuring a video appearance by Sean Astin, although the festival is not very much like it was supposed to be.
October 1
Jordan tries to obtain an Oregon driver’s license and a Social Security card under the name “Jordan Gabriel Wood”, using an obviously fake “Certificate of Naming” from a nonexistent pagan commune in Estacada. It doesn’t work. Later, he will try this again with a falsified birth certificate based on Abbey’s real one. That doesn’t work, either.
October 3
Jordan sends the Amy Player pseuicide letter to his parents on the same day that the BagEnders move to San Dimas, CA. Turimel assists again by cosigning a loan with Diamond.
October 10
A detective knocks on Turimel’s door looking for Amy Player, who he insists is the same person as Jordan Wood. Everything goes rapidly downhill from here.
October 21
Abbey sends an e-mail (presumably dictated by Jordan) to Amy’s parents and CC’d to Turimel, stating that Jordan Wood (BoE’s Director of Celebrity Relations) is not their daughter and that Amy has attempted to steal his identity. The e-mail also accuses Shopping Cart Bob of attempting to blackmail Jordan and other members of BoE.
Jordan spends the next month and a half being evasive about TentMoot preparations and his identity with Turimel, the police, and everyone. I am really sorry, but I am not going to keep digging through that book to get more solid dates on this. I’ve already had to reread more of it than I wanted to do. Just know that a lot of actors, artists, consultants, and crew from LotR, not to mention their agents and PR people, are put through the wringer over this, as are the BoE volunteers who are trying to help. During and after the whole fiasco, Jordan also says a lot of terribly insulting, disgusting, sometimes libellous things about these same people via e-mail and on message boards.
December 9
TentMoot fails epically. Jordan commits pseuicide in front of Abbey, Diamond, and Little Sam. Two days later, Jed Brophy, Paul Randall, and Brian Sergent arrive at LAX for TentMoot. Lawrence Makoare never gets out of New Zealand. Andy sabotages the BagEnders’ apartment and blames Turimel and Shopping Cart Bob for everything. Little Sam’s parents take her home soon after.
December 15
Jordan is arrested in Portland and detained for questioning by the Marion County, OR Sheriff’s Department re: identity theft. He is released the same day. No criminal charges are ever filed. Abbey and Jordan end up paying a fine and being forbidden to solicit money for charity in the state of Oregon.
January 2004 - January 2007
A lot happens offline over the course of three years. Abbey and Diamond have both written about it. To sum up: Jordan/“Elijah Wood” has “died” and the “new core” says that he’s Orlando Bloom because of course he fucking is. Recall that VB had told Abbey in 2002, during the same chat in which they discussed psychically “reaching” Elijah Wood, that Orlando Bloom would be another good channeling candidate. “Orlando” goes by Andy.
Turimel publishes her book. Abbey and Andy begin working as costumed characters in Hollywood. Diamond eventually gets out of the cult. Abbey continues to live under Andy’s thumb as he goes on channeling more and more “Others”. He moves on from LotR to The Chronicles of Narnia (starting with Peter Pevensie/Blakewell) and ends up “bringing through” a large cast of teenage WWII-era soldiers with abusive backgrounds. He legally changes his name to Andrew Michael Blake. And then…
2007
Early February
Having concocted a “plan” to move to Toronto under false pretenses, Andy and Abbey fly from LA to Buffalo via Atlanta with their bird, Boo (AKA “his son, a sparrow”). They try to walk across the border to Canada. It doesn’t work. Andy throws an incredible tantrum and the border guards let them sleep in their office. Abbey’s mother comes to the rescue the next day.
February - March
Operation Catch and Release. Abbey’s mother is beyond amazing.
March 4
Andy posts the first of many fauxpologies on the amy_player LiveJournal. No one is buying it. He explicitly admits to being both Strwriter and Voyagerbabe, but makes no mention of the name Andrew Blake.
Not long after this, Abbey and her mother fly back to Virginia. Abbey breaks things off with Andy. She takes Boo and leaves. Andy throws another gigantic tantrum and continues to harass her with letters for about a year afterward.
This timeline covers the major events that I am aware of regarding each of the usernames and pseudonyms that Andy has used over the years. I’m leaving out a couple of brief relationships and a lot of sexuality/gender-related wank because this is not about gender or sexuality, for fuck’s sake. I will use the preferred pronouns that pertain to whichever of Andy’s aliases I am discussing at the time.
I should also note that I’m excluding nearly everything that happened on Bit of Earth’s Prancing Pony message board, which went down with Tentmoot, because I was never a member and thus do not have any of that material.
Finally, I’ve only briefly mentioned events like Hall of Fire and Lost Palantir because most of the information currently available on them is in Turimel’s book and I don’t feel like going through it all over again. While the book contains a lot of useful documentary evidence (canceled checks, letters and e-mails, et al.) and info on who specifically ran around and did what to prepare for BoE events, it also contains a great deal of venomous editorializing. Plus all the transfail, which I can sometimes handle wading through, but not today.
(Part I)
Part II of the timeline covers 2002 - March 2007.
2002
January 4
Victoria Bitter, still using the e-mail address voyagerbabe@hotmail.com and the AIM (and now Yahoo!) username VBabe47, starts the Bit of Earth Yahoo! group (henceforth known as BoE). That same day, she e-mails the webmaster of Sean Astin’s official website to let them know about the group and encourage Sean to get involved.
This version of Victoria Bitter says that she is a twenty-one-year-old college student born in Sheffield, England who is engaged to the previously mentioned Ozzie Bloke.
January 8-9
“Chris”, the Marine that VB supposedly met at a showing of The Fellowship of the Ring, posts twice to BoE. Chris uses the Yahoo! handle Rennie Gade and the e-mail address vivazebool@hotmail.com. I’ve already discussed why I think this is actually Victoria Bitter.
February 12
“Some Ozzie Bloke” allegedly posts to BoE under Victoria Bitter’s name because she has an eye infection and can’t see well enough to type. He says that he is reading her e-mail and posting fic and art for her, in addition to recording all of her lectures for school. When she has to go to the hospital, he brings her laptop along so that he can continue reading aloud to her (fanfiction, email, and messages on BoE) and communicating on her behalf. All of this leads up to someone getting one of VB’s sketches signed for her by Sean Astin. This is probably VB herself looking for attention. Mysterious medical ailments, friends and SOs who read messages/e-mails/fic and liveblog the illness, and extremely odd behavior in hospitals are by now well-known hallmarks of Münchausen by Internet.
February 17
Victoria Bitter starts a LiveJournal account. Her profile lists the AIM username VBabe47. In a meme, she acknowledges that her legal name is Amy Player. This establishes the first definitive link between Amy Player and Voyagerbabe/VB, but no one realizes the significance at the time.
Sometime between February and April, VB reveals her Amazing Channeling Powers to Abbey over chat. She mentions wanting to “reach out” to LotR cast members, specifically Orlando Bloom and Elijah Wood.
April 5-7
VB attends Connexions, where she meets many fellow fans and LJ friends and begins a brief romantic relationship with Versaphile. VB speaks with a fake British accent. The less said about Connexions, the better, probably.
April 19
The Great Hobbit Brain-Dump, in which VB claims to receive Merry’s soul and his lifetime of memories. “Merry” chronicles his experiences in the brandagamba LiveJournal and teaches people pseudo-Westron via chat.
May 8
VB writes that she has officially ended her relationship with Versaphile.
June 2
Victoria Bitter flies to Oregon for a week-long visit with Abbey, during which she channels LotR characters in person.
Late August or early September
Abbey flies to Virginia to visit VB.
September 7
In response to the drama surrounding MsAllegro’s Domlijah tinhattery (just Google it if you’re curious), VB has Abbey post a stern message to BoE on her behalf, due to “computer problems”.
September 11
Victoria Bitter approaches Sean Astin at a 9/11 memorial event in NYC and asks him to participate in a community service project. Later that day, she announces Project Elanor on BoE. She is now using the e-mail address victoriabitter@bitofearth.net
October
VB moves in with Abbey. Diamond, Shopping Cart Bob, and Little Sam eventually join them. (The group will henceforth be referred to as The BagEnders because that’s what they called themselves.) VB starts building the cult in earnest.
November 3
Victoria Bitter makes her final post to BoE and to her LiveJournal and withdraws from online fandom.
This is about the point at which the “Jordan Wood” alias first comes to light. He tells Abbey that he has taken on the “duplicate soul” of Elijah Wood. Sometimes he claims that Elijah’s split soul didn’t want to go back to his body; at other times, he says that it simply couldn’t. He tells some other people (eventually to include Turimel) that he is Elijah Wood’s cousin. Both stories are kept secret for a while. Abbey and Jordan start telling people that Victoria Bitter is dead.
Jordan starts writing as “Elijah” on LiveJournal as PadawanS (short for Padawan Sidious). Despite several posts that Strwriter and Voyagerbabe made between 1998-2001 regarding “their” distaste for homosexuality and slash, and despite VB’s aggressive response to MsAllegro’s Domlijah tinhatting, Jordan/“Elijah” engages in quite a bit of the same behavior on LJ, TheOneRing.net, and message boards on other sites. He uses claims of insider knowledge regarding the LotR cast and the film industry to make it all sound more plausible.
Jordan also alleges that Elijah’s “abusive” family is involved with the IRA and wants to drag him into it as well. This represents just a fraction of the lies that Jordan tells about himself, Elijah Wood, and other LotR cast members. Over the next thirteen months, he will do a great deal of damage that changes the way that New Line Cinema and many of the actors involved in LotR deal with fans and fandom.
November 30
Mr. Frodo makes his first post to BoE, announcing the Line Party at Lloyd Cinema in Portland, OR for the release of The Two Towers. He identifies himself as Bit of Earth’s Public Relations Director and uses the e-mail address mrfrodo@bitofearth.net. He also had a misterfrodo LiveJournal, but like padawans, it has long since been purged.
December 18
The Line Party takes place. Jordan Wood/Mr. Frodo runs the event with Abbey. They dress as Sam and Frodo, with Jordan’s hair glued to their feet–they tell people that it’s from their friend who recently died. The event goes very well and everyone is excited to plan another event.
2003
January 13
Mr. Frodo posts to BoE to warn members that someone is posing online as Victoria Bitter. He now calls himself BoE’s Assistant Director.
January 31
Mr. Frodo makes his last post to the BoE Yahoo! group, congratulating Sean Astin on his appointment to a Presidential Council.
February 20
BoE’s website message board, The Prancing Pony, is redirected to one of Versaphile’s LJ entries, which presents photographic evidence that Jordan Wood and Victoria Bitter are the same person. Jordan is able to sweep it under the rug pretty quickly by blaming a “bitter ex”.
April 6
Project Elanor takes place with Sean Astin and his family in attendance. Again, Jordan and Abbey run the event together. Project Elanor does not go entirely according to plan and the money that people thought would go to RIF goes to pay for supplies…but the group does create a lovely reading garden that still exists today.
July 25-27
BoE’s Hall of Fire Summer Music Festival is pretty much a failure. This seems to be mostly Jordan’s fault due to poor planning, procrastination on a grand scale, and delegating tasks without giving anyone adequate resources or the power to make real decisions.
August
The BagEnders move from Milwaukie to Salem, OR with help from Turimel.
September 20
BoE’s Lost Palantir Film Festival goes on, featuring a video appearance by Sean Astin, although the festival is not very much like it was supposed to be.
October 1
Jordan tries to obtain an Oregon driver’s license and a Social Security card under the name “Jordan Gabriel Wood”, using an obviously fake “Certificate of Naming” from a nonexistent pagan commune in Estacada. It doesn’t work. Later, he will try this again with a falsified birth certificate based on Abbey’s real one. That doesn’t work, either.
October 3
Jordan sends the Amy Player pseuicide letter to his parents on the same day that the BagEnders move to San Dimas, CA. Turimel assists again by cosigning a loan with Diamond.
October 10
A detective knocks on Turimel’s door looking for Amy Player, who he insists is the same person as Jordan Wood. Everything goes rapidly downhill from here.
October 21
Abbey sends an e-mail (presumably dictated by Jordan) to Amy’s parents and CC’d to Turimel, stating that Jordan Wood (BoE’s Director of Celebrity Relations) is not their daughter and that Amy has attempted to steal his identity. The e-mail also accuses Shopping Cart Bob of attempting to blackmail Jordan and other members of BoE.
Jordan spends the next month and a half being evasive about TentMoot preparations and his identity with Turimel, the police, and everyone. I am really sorry, but I am not going to keep digging through that book to get more solid dates on this. I’ve already had to reread more of it than I wanted to do. Just know that a lot of actors, artists, consultants, and crew from LotR, not to mention their agents and PR people, are put through the wringer over this, as are the BoE volunteers who are trying to help. During and after the whole fiasco, Jordan also says a lot of terribly insulting, disgusting, sometimes libellous things about these same people via e-mail and on message boards.
December 9
TentMoot fails epically. Jordan commits pseuicide in front of Abbey, Diamond, and Little Sam. Two days later, Jed Brophy, Paul Randall, and Brian Sergent arrive at LAX for TentMoot. Lawrence Makoare never gets out of New Zealand. Andy sabotages the BagEnders’ apartment and blames Turimel and Shopping Cart Bob for everything. Little Sam’s parents take her home soon after.
December 15
Jordan is arrested in Portland and detained for questioning by the Marion County, OR Sheriff’s Department re: identity theft. He is released the same day. No criminal charges are ever filed. Abbey and Jordan end up paying a fine and being forbidden to solicit money for charity in the state of Oregon.
January 2004 - January 2007
A lot happens offline over the course of three years. Abbey and Diamond have both written about it. To sum up: Jordan/“Elijah Wood” has “died” and the “new core” says that he’s Orlando Bloom because of course he fucking is. Recall that VB had told Abbey in 2002, during the same chat in which they discussed psychically “reaching” Elijah Wood, that Orlando Bloom would be another good channeling candidate. “Orlando” goes by Andy.
Turimel publishes her book. Abbey and Andy begin working as costumed characters in Hollywood. Diamond eventually gets out of the cult. Abbey continues to live under Andy’s thumb as he goes on channeling more and more “Others”. He moves on from LotR to The Chronicles of Narnia (starting with Peter Pevensie/Blakewell) and ends up “bringing through” a large cast of teenage WWII-era soldiers with abusive backgrounds. He legally changes his name to Andrew Michael Blake. And then…
2007
Early February
Having concocted a “plan” to move to Toronto under false pretenses, Andy and Abbey fly from LA to Buffalo via Atlanta with their bird, Boo (AKA “his son, a sparrow”). They try to walk across the border to Canada. It doesn’t work. Andy throws an incredible tantrum and the border guards let them sleep in their office. Abbey’s mother comes to the rescue the next day.
February - March
Operation Catch and Release. Abbey’s mother is beyond amazing.
March 4
Andy posts the first of many fauxpologies on the amy_player LiveJournal. No one is buying it. He explicitly admits to being both Strwriter and Voyagerbabe, but makes no mention of the name Andrew Blake.
Not long after this, Abbey and her mother fly back to Virginia. Abbey breaks things off with Andy. She takes Boo and leaves. Andy throws another gigantic tantrum and continues to harass her with letters for about a year afterward.
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