Author Archive for Kaine Andrews

20
Aug
19

I Hate Myself and Don’t Deserve Good Things — The Bipolar Writer Collaborative Mental Health Blog

This sums up a lot of my own thoughts, and I’m sure plenty of other folks’ as well. Worth reading. (Comments disabled here; please visit the original post.)

Anxiety. Depression. PTSD. Codependency. On any given day, I’m dealing with one or more of these issues. It has taken several years for me to understand what I’m going through. I didn’t realize I was codependent until recently. That one hit harder than the others. Most of my behaviors stem from one of my issues.…

via I Hate Myself and Don’t Deserve Good Things — The Bipolar Writer Collaborative Mental Health Blog

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19
Aug
19

The Doctor is Out

Dr. Gale was going to spend some time with her first patient today, but a few factors prevented that; the resurgence of T-Virus infected bedbugs, tweaks to my meds (and the poor choice of onion-and-pickle-laden egg salad sandwiches for dinner) keeping me up with severe heartburn and acid reflux, and the aftereffects of having the flu shot (I’m mildly allergic, so it tends to cause some pretty nasty pain and swelling, migraines, and aggravate my asthma for a day or two after getting the shot.)

So for anyone hoping to find out which of her four pet nutters are coming through the door first, I apologize. Hopefully, we’ll find out tomorrow. (If it’s any consolation, I didn’t know myself until a few minutes ago, and I still have only vague notions of how that initial consultation is going to go; we can be surprised together, for the most part!)

I may stream a little later today, depending on how the lungs feel and what the temperature is like. I picked up Rise of Insanity, and would like to give it a go, but playing VR when sick and trapped in high heat is a recipe for disaster. Alternatively, I could show some of Labyrinth Life, though that’s liable to lead to all kinds of rants regarding censorship (and I don’t even know if Twitch is okay with it; I know they banned Hunie Pop and Hunie Cam Studio, so I don’t know where they stand on games with a lot of ecchi content these days.) If you have a preference or want to see me play some other atrocious mess, drop me a line on Twitter, in the comments here, or on PSN!

Hope everyone’s Monday is going well; until next time, folks!

KA Spiral no signature

18
Aug
19

Dr. Gale, Open for Business

Four folders laid out on the desk, like a fan of cards waiting for a fifth to make or break a hand.

“S. Crowe. Post-traumatic amnesia,” she muttered to herself in a husky, musing whisper as one manicured blue nail danced along the edge of the folder before moving on.

“Catherine Leone. OCD and anxiety.” Her finger dallied on the edge of the folder, danced for a moment as though debating on whether to open it, then moved on to the next.

“Hunter Woods. Severe disassociative identity disorder, possible solipsist.” Again, her finger toyed with the yellow tab at the edge of the folder, flirting with it, lifting it up a quarter of an inch before letting it fall once more and moving on to the last.

“Tom Torneau. Agoraphobia, codependence.” She sighed. “Almost boring, that one.”

She pulled her hand back, sweeping a critical eye over the folders once more. Which direction to jump? They all needed help, and all of them had something in the files that had called to her, but…

Her musing was interrupted by a knock at the door. Through the frosted glass pane and the black lettering proclaiming to all that the door belonged to Dorothea Gale, M.D., she could see a shape that was frustratingly generic and sexless. No way to identify which of her star patients – if any – it might have been, if it was indeed one of them at all.

“Dealer’s choice,” she whispered, rising from her chair to open the door and see what came next.

17
Aug
19

Voices

“I don’t know why you bother. It’s not like you’re going to manage anything useful.”

Her tone is mocking, the singsong of a child, though the voice itself is husky. It’s a voice I’d almost forgotten, one that might have been better off left in the mental graveyard. But I’d dug her up, because there was something else in there with her.

You dug me up? I don’t think so, Gumby.”

God, I hated that name. It’s what she used to call me. A million years ago. That annoyed me more than her rifling through my mind to spit my own metaphors back at me.

“I dug myself out, thank you very much. Once you finally stopped piling more pills on top of the grave you threw me in.”

My eyes drift to the corner of the desk, to the row of orange bottles with their child-safe tops and the dozens of capsules, tablets and pills inside.

Haldol. Prozac. Xanax. Lithium. They sound like the names of Elder Gods, come to drag your soul and sanity away. They had certainly taken away my soul. Sanity was up for debate.

I hadn’t taken any of them in a week. After three years of them, I’d gotten lonely. I could do without her voice, but they also blocked the other voices, the ones I had to listen to, the ones who whispered their stories to me in the middle of the night and begged me to write them down in the morning.

The doctors claim it’s dangerous. Just going full-stop, cold turkey on a pile of psych meds that have been collecting in my bloodstream for years. They’re probably right. But I couldn’t keep going. If having her watching over my shoulder was the price, so be it.”

“So noble you are, Gumby. Don’t you think it’s a little pretentious?”

I felt a weight on my shoulder, both comforting and horrible. She was so strong, so there. I could feel her digging her nails in, and knew if I looked down I’d see the flesh of her fingers turning white with the pressure.

I didn’t look down. I didn’t want to be right. I acted like nothing had happened at all, that everything was fine, everything was normal. There was only one thing that would make her let go, make her shut up. Maybe not forever – maybe not even for more than five minutes – but at least for the moment.

I reached forward and hit the button on the back of my computer. Her fingers loosened just a bit… or maybe I only imagined it.

“Awww. You think you’re gonna do something? I doubt it.”

The last syllable was buried under the ominous but still comforting “bong” that any Apple user is familiar with. The word processor app popped up almost immediately, the window still open. The computer seemed to feel it had merely been put to sleep while I got a coffee, not powered down in a petulant fit nearly a year ago when I’d stared at the blinking cursor and empty white space for almost an hour while grinding my teeth and accomplishing nothing.

“Should have formatted it. Packed it up.”

Maybe she was right. But only one way to find out. I cracked my knuckles and settled my fingers on the keys, wincing at the electric stab of pain that worked through my wrists and forearms.

“I think you’re wrong,” I told her. Actually saying it, instead of just thinking it at her, seemed to be important. Sure, if anyone else was watching, they’d see an old gimp hunched over in a ratty chair and talking to himself… but no one was watching, unless you counted her.

“We’ll see, Gumby.”

I swallowed. The cursor blinked at me, patient and yet somehow snide.

The keys clicked. I wasn’t aware of them moving, but they seemed to know what to do. “Elle,” they spelled out. A name. I was always fond of starting things with names.

Click, click, click. “Might have been dead for years,” my fingers added. She had fallen silent. I was quiet, too. Didn’t even breathe. Writing is like casting a spell, and I was afraid to break it.

Might have been dead for years, my fingers said. That implied there was a “but” coming. Somewhere inside I felt something else waking up, some other part of me that had been buried in the same hole that she’d crawled out of, the same medically-induced coma all the other voices and drifted through for the last three years. That part of me was wonder, curiosity, the part that wants someone to tell it a story, that wants to know what happens next.

I gave in to that part. I let it listen, while my fingers did the talking.

16
Aug
19

Trophy Hunt – August 16

Gaming_Cave.jpg

Not much exciting on the hunt this week. Managed to knock out Code: Realize – Boquet of Rainbows, though was bored to tears by it as I discovered it’s just a compilation of the first two Vita games with nothing new to offer. Ah well, another Platinum for the case, at least, right?

Also dredged through the “games I downloaded when they were cheap and never bothered with” list, finishing off Poltergeist: A Pixelated Horror and The Coma: Recut. Knocked out as much as I think I can of Dead Island: Riptide and Dead Rising; for Riptide, there’s some online-only co-op trophies that I acknowledge I’ll never get, and finding the rest of the collectibles is something I just can’t force myself to do right now. The controls and mechanics are just terrible, and having to recover from death every six steps isn’t my idea of a good time. So far as Dead Rising goes, the “Gourmet” trophy seems to have glitched out – I’ve eaten everything in the mall, using a checklist, three times now, still isn’t popping – “Savior” and “Transmissionary” are things I do not possess the patience for (the AI’s behavior and the twitchy controls conspire to make me break controllers and fail those two trophies repeatedly) and I really don’t have the desire to sit around for 14 hours to hit “7 Day Survivor.” Otherwise, that list is done.

Still working on Doom, trying to kick out the multiplayer trophies. All that’s left there is levelling up to a point where I can equip a piece of Cyberdemon armor. Then I can turn my attention to the campaign and bliz through that and be done. Yay.

Lastly, started on Horizon Chase Turbo – which is the Rad Racer sequel we never knew we needed until we played it – and Super Neptunia RPG – which is the (slightly broken) Valkyrie Profile sequel we always wanted and never got. Probably have those two kicked out by next week, but we’ll see how it goes.

Idle Champions of the Forgotten Realms remains the bane of my existence, but I will have that bloody Platinum soon. At worst, there’s only 75 more free play runs (yes, I’m keeping track) before it pops. Hopefully. If it doesn’t glitch. Ugh.

If you want to stalk me and see how it’s going, you can follow me on PSN (as Ashande), or you can click the pretty trophy card right here:

Until next time, folks!

KA Spiral no signature

15
Aug
19

Quotability

Just a few of my favorite quotes from various sources; maybe some of them are your favorites, too.

“I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”

“What is a man? A miserable little pile of secrets!”

“The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed.”

“We all float down here.”

“I like my music like I like my life. Everything louder than everything else.”

“War. War never changes.”

“JASON!”

“Who glued these quarters to the floor, man?”

“You can guess what happens next.” “He fixes the cable?”

And then, this entire monologue, which I can still recite word for word at the drop of a hat.

What about you? What quotes stick in your head? Share down below, if you’re of a mind.

Until next time.

14
Aug
19

Itchy. Tasty.

Having been up most of the night trying to combat an infestation that has resulted in near-constant assault by insects for the greater park of a week, I have come to a conclusion.

My neighbor must work for Umbrella Corporation. Not Blue Umbrella, not Neo Umbrella. The OGs of the “hey, let’s see what happens when we do this!” camp.

Since he has moved in, we’ve had explosions, one after another, of silverfish, roaches, mice, fleas and bedbugs. All of them almost ridiculously resistant to all normal methods of destruction. The bedbugs are now eating their third Raid fog bomb (having already survived multiple flea treatments, 110+ degree temperatures, a visit from the Orkin man and a bleach soaking of the mattress, bedding and boxspring.)

I firmly believe these pests are T or G virus mutations. It’s the only explanation. The fact that he stands by his window in the buff, grunting and moaning, while a spectacularly fetid smell leaks from his apartment only reinforces this notion.

It’s only reminding me why I loathe other people; between having to be paranoid about measles thanks to a compromised immune system, having a neighbor who has more green clouds (that I’m allergic to) leaking out from under his door and then under mine than you see in a Cheech and Chong movie, and now the new neighbor bringing with him genetic experiments that infest the whole building.

Can I just live in a cabin in the woods, way the hell away from others? I wish.




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