Connecting Stories

[Raven]

Rule:

You have to tell a story triggered by the story of the previous post. For example, if someone told a story  about a hunting expedition, and it had a cabin in it, you could tell a story about something that happened to you in a cabin. In other words, there must be a connection to the previous story. The stories must be true (nonfiction).


Here is the first story:


I was once hiking in the fells in the lake district of Northern England. A group of us had finished climbing a fell called Wandsfell Pike, and we walked down the other side and went to explore a waterfall along a stream in a cleft of the fells. I was wearing a blue hoodie and had a waterbottle in the front pocket. As I hiked, the cap of the waterbottle loosened and ended up spilling down my front, making it appear that I had wet my pants. I discovered this while momentarily alone near a pool of water in the course of the series of small waterfalls. The swirling water looked deep and cold, but I was mortified at what happened. I knew I would have to walk through the village of Ambleside to get back to the hostel where we were staying, and I was with a group of people who I certainly din't want to see me looking like I had peed myself -- and perhaps they'd already seen, as I wasn't sure when the cap came unscrewed. So I did the only thing I could think of.
I dunked myself waist deep in the pool of cold, Northern English stream water.
And it no longer looked like I had peed myself.

[Coír Draoi Ceítien]

Well, I don't want this topic to die, but I'm afraid I've got no experiences like that. I'm gonna have to grasp at straws here, so I'll connect with a bathroom - which was sort of referenced in the previous story, but like I said, I've got nothing else.

I was in a restaurant one day - Applebee's in Fort Gratiot - with the family (I never go out by myself). I remember getting a bit testy with Mom (I think that's how it went) and apologizing for it; though she accepted it, I remember that her first response was "You should be." That made me even angrier, and though I didn't have an outburst, I let myself simmer for a while - it was noticed. Eventually, I excused myself to go to the bathroom, and while in there, I became so angry that I kicked the wall hard. Immediately I was horrified, having not meant to be that rough, and all my anger just went away in the shock. While leaving the bathroom, I noticed that a box of ice in the kitchen nearby had fallen over, and to this day, since I believe both kitchen and bathroom were on adjacent walls, I don't know if that ice was my fault or if it was just a random kitchen mishap. I was alright for the rest of the day. By the way, either the next day or later, Mom acknowledged and retracted the response that set me off.

It's not that it's not an interesting story, but I know it has little connection to the first. At least the topic stays alive, I guess.

[Raven]

This is the story as best I remember it. When I was a kid, I was the youngest of a group of sometimes rough-and-tumble boys who patrolled and played in the woods and roads and river around Puttygut and Tripp roads. This pack was, in those days, made up of my older brothers and two brothers from another family. We often played a game we simply called "guns" which was mostly about sneaking up on each other and ambushing each other. Often enough, the older boys treated me poorly. One day, we divided into teams. I think one of my older brothers and another boy were on my team, and the eldest two boys were on the other team. My teammates told me to wait and they were going to go fight and I was going to guard our starting area, one of the "loops," as we called certain parts of the paths.
Without my knowledge, instead of going to fight, the older boys teamed up and hid in the woods together not too far away, waiting. A long while -- or so it felt to me -- passed and I decided to go looking for them. As I walked down the path in the woods, all the older boys jumped out at me going "bang bang bang" and laughing in an ambush. I immediately realized that once again, they were picking on me and laughing at me.
Enraged, I attacked. My oldest brother saw me go wild and hurried to get in between me and the others. As one of the other boys dodged out of my way, I saw my eldest brother rushing toward me.  He was bigger and older. I leapt in the air as I ran and planted a kick right in his abdomen -- his stomach I think. He fell backward to the ground. Then I ran away through the woods until I ended up in a nearby dried bog by myself crying. My arm hurt -- I'm not sure how. I may have hit it on a tree as I ran without even knowing it. I went inside crying and my mom comforted me. I'm not sure how old I was at the time. Maybe around 9, give or take.

[Coír Draoi Ceítien]

Here's a story of how I reached a low point.

Back in 2012, I had been watching a certain TV series (I would prefer right now to keep specific names anonymous); as the year was drawing to a close, over the Christmas weekend, I saw something in a particular episode that affected me on a certain level - it touched off something that triggered my Asperger's, in a way (I'd rather not say what it was, as least now). As the opportunity presented itself, I was able to talk to one of the writers of that episode on Twitter about what I saw. Now for spoilers' sake, he had to be vague, I realize that looking back, but right then and there, I wouldn't take it. I asked him again and again about it. Then one day, I found that I had been blocked from his account. The combination of anger and guilt mixed with my feelings over what I had seen sent me spiraling into an episode of anxiety and depression. I felt awful - my appetite was suppressed, I didn't want to get up in the morning, I lost interest in practically everything - what I have since learned are sort of the basic symptoms of anxiety. It was about a week later that I was feeling alright.....but next month, pondering on what I should do about it, I had another attack. The month after that, still having residual feelings, I had yet another. All this over a television show!

Regardless over whether it was important or not, I realized I had to make a change, so, not wanting to take a chance any other way, I cut that show out of my life; while I check in every now and then to see if what I wanted to see has come to pass (having made my case more politely to one of the directors via Twitter again), I have little real desire to go back to it. That whole affair is rather silly, and I'm ashamed to admit that it even happened, but I'm trying to keep myself together.

However, I think I can honestly say that I've never been the same. The incident really discouraged me for the future, and I've never held anything I enjoy so close again. These last few years, I have felt myself grown increasingly cynical and depressed. What's more, that would only be the first of several anxiety attacks I would have. Somehow, in some way, something would affect me in such a strong way that I would fall back into that miserable slump - I believe I've had about 10 episodes or more altogether, and it's always been with something that I really enjoyed, something that I sort of defined myself by (unless that's too strong). Bit by bit, I've cut things out of my life until I feel that there's little left to me, and because it's usually over such petty, selfish matters (TV mostly, I am truly ashamed to admit), I feel rotten talking about it. What are my issues compared to someone else's real suffering? How stupid I am! How thoughtless!

So that's the story of the one moment that I've never been able to shake off. I hope it qualifies as a story and not simply self-piteous whining.

[Raven]

I have edited out the original story: I'm not sure the forum is the place for it.


I will tell this story then:


When I was in graduate school, I found a game called Mount and Blade. This game series is the best one to ever be made, I believe. In fact, I liked it so much that the eventual boredom that used to come when I played games intensely never came. I played this game impulsively and obsessively, sometimes all day long. Basically, I enjoyed this game world more than I was enjoying the real world.
It did not serve my life well. I realized it was making me more anxious, depressed, etc., and that in the end, playing this game was doing nothing for me or the world. I had to decide -- what do I want my life to be like?
I decided it was not one in which my purpose was to play a video game.
It led to me eventually deciding to give up games entirely. This was one of the most important decisions of my life and led to pursuing God and being available to God in a way I hadn't before, and that resulted in God doing amazing things in my life.

I've relapsed with videos games since then, stopped, relapsed, stopped. But these have normally been short episodes. It may seem funny to use this addiction language with video games, but that's what it was with me.

[Coír Draoi Ceítien]

I've not been sure how to top that story, but "campus" reminds me of my own SC4 days.

Some of those times were tough simply because of my own emotional instability. Both English 101 and 102 began horribly rough for me; I think I had seasonal depression (I may still have it, I'm just not so acutely aware of it now). It's sad, because I think I really didn't fully appreciate the setup of those classes. My teacher/professor (for me, the words are interchangeable) was Louella Allen, and she tried to integrate art and music into the lesson plan, such as presenting a particular artist and having us both write what impressions it gave us and what music came to mind when looking at it. She called us "fine arts sojourners." One introductory assignment was to compare ourselves to a certain picture of a particular fancy outhouse - a very odd choice - and at that point in my life, that wasn't a good fit. Another time, an experiment in chatrooms went wrong, for which I was quite culpable, and the issue haunted me all semester, even beyond (I think) when everyone else had moved on. However, Mrs. Allen had worked with autistic individual before, so there was some attempt at understanding.

One of my favorite classes was Introduction to Theater - I loved learning about the history of theater and stage theory, and I was quite fond of the teacher as well, as I believe she was of me; sadly, she passed away not long after I finished my tenure. Lisa Sturtridge was her name. I also really enjoyed both Music 101 and Piano under David Troiano; it was a fine experience to attend a few concerts, including a full recitation of Handel's Messiah, and it was wonderful and, for once, FUN to sit behind a piano again (I think I'd like to go back to it). Creative Writing was....okay. I forget the instructor's name, but you took him as well, Trae. Anyway, I just really lacked the drive to write; I know I made some commendable pieces in my English classes, but when it came to the next step, it was a bad mix of progressive laziness and obsessive perfectionism that I believe really held me back. Make no mistake, I held myself back, of course, and I wish I could do it again.

For what it's worth, community college life was enjoyable, more so than high school, where I felt more constricted. But there were things that happened then that I would never want to revisit, so it's not a totally golden memory.

There - something refreshing. Maybe we can get this ball rolling again.

[Raven]

Speaking of theater. . .


I was in the musical Oliver when I was 11 or 12 years old. I was a workhouse gang kid and a pickpocket. My brothers were in the play as well, with my middle brother playing the role of Oliver. Some of us kids played poker during performances in our waiting room behind the theater. We gambled with candy. One day I brought candy to gamble with in a poker game, and during the game I reached down to the table, maybe to make a bet or something, and my bag of candy was gone. I immediately believed it had been stolen. I was outraged and began questioning who at the table had stolen it, quite angrily. The other lads eyes opened wide and heads shook. None of them had stolen it. But to make it up to me, and so that I could keep playing, the group gave me some candy, and so I could buy into the game and continue. And by the time we finished, I still had some candy. And later, after the game, I happened to feel something in the shirt pocket of my costume. . . It was my bag of candy, not stolen, but placed in my shirt pocket by myself and forgotten.