The 6 Most Sinister Villain Personalities – Crafting Villains #4

Some villains are just plain nuts, right? Wrong. On a serious note, whether its done consciously or not, I think there are some illnesses and mental disorders that often sit behind some of the greatest villains. Understanding these disorders and their sometimes comorbid nature allows us to create more authentic villains. I want to tread carefully here, I think it’s important to respect mental health and the sufferers, importantly, I am not suggesting people or characters with mental health issues are villains or antagonists, just that some of the great villains have these disorders.

There are some important lessons we can learn from these illnesses which can help us to being authenticity to our characters. Having an awareness of these disorders can give you insight, genuine reactions, and understanding of what the source of their conflict can be – which gives you more plot and more depth to your characters. 

Nurture Yourself in the Pursuit of Perfection #1000speak

There used to be a time when I would accept nothing less than perfection. I still fight the frustration when I’m not completely perfect.

I’ve come to believe perfectionism it’s a disease. An infection that slowly eats away at your skin until it buries itself into your bone and spreads to every corner of your body like an angry cancer. The growing niggle questioning whether perfectionism is something to be strived for, or maybe, abhorred has become a raging monster, and now, a blog post…

The insane Asylum – A bizarre dream!

This is for artofstumbling, I love how she writes down her dreams some of them are fascinating, and seeing as I had a particularly bizarre one last night, and I don’t usually remember I thought I would write it down!

I am not quite sure if I was working in, or a patient, but I was in an insane asylum.

The walls were white, and there was a long corridor filled with white doors, at the end of the corridor was a circular room filled with doors, these were the bedrooms, and in the centre was a couple of sofas.

I was in the circular room with all the doors, and there were some doctors in long white coats standing with flip charts discussing patients, I stared at them for some time trying to over here what they were saying, but I couldn’t.

I heard a loud banging as a door ripped off its hinges. I turned round shocked, and the largest man I have ever seen lumbered out of his room. He must of been nearly 8ft tall. His body enormous, and cut with muscles so large he could easily crush my head in his hands. His skin was tanned and sweat was rolling down his biceps. I stepped to the side to allow him to pass, and he looked at me as he walked passed.

I don’t remember his face, just his enormous looming stature towering above me.

I watched him lumber his way down the long white corridor. He stopped turned to face me and nodded. Then disappeared up the corridor.

I could hear screaming and shouting coming from the frantic doctors behind me. I watched their slow motion moves throwing the clip boards in the air papers flying everywhere and running after the huge man.

Before they could run in front of me, I bolted down the corridor and skidded to a stop in front of the door the lumbering man had gone through. It opened into what looked like a big social room that was being turned into a modern church, rows of seats either side, tradesmen hunched over working on something on the floor. The towering man just stepped over their wide eyed stares and continued walking towards the blue door at the back of the room.

He smashed it open, and a wave of warm stuffy air filled the room. Outside was dark, but there were a few twinkling lights. He stepped outside.

I found myself looking back at the blue door from outside, there was a wooden balcony running all the way round the perimeter of the building. It was night, and we were in the desert.

The man ran off.

This part of my dream is hazy, but I know some time passed.

I found him in a seedy american motel, I think he was probably raping and torturing women, thats what it felt like he was doing, although I never caught him at it.

At this point a man, a doctor – the head of the asylum, walked in front of me and headed straight toward the rapist. I flittered between watching the doctor, and being the doctor. His words were my words, but I was watching him say them.

He spoke to the tall man, and calmed him down, convinced him that he needed to come back to the asylum,

“you need to come home son.”

The tall rapist nodded and walked back to the asylum with the doctor. It was daylight now, and I could feel how weary I was getting.

Suddenly, I was in a long narrow garden, with funny stone squares planted in the floor. The long garden was littered with green plants and pebbles. I was a the top of the garden with the doctor and another women, and behind us, was the army or some similar ‘authority’ the soldiers were dressed in army greens and holding shiny black weapons.

Infront of us was a low lying arch, the other end of which was the real world. Inside the arch were a couple of pills, and half a mannequin of the body and breasts of a pregnant women, but no arms or legs.

It was a rebirth canal. The patients who got better has to be reborn into the world to start their new lives.

The army people were questioning the doctor and a box of pills he was holding, they wanted them, wanted his secrets. But the doctor wouldn’t give them to them.

The doctor, now me, was explaining what the pills were, the garden was flooding but the army hadn’t noticed.

I threw the pills into the flooded arch to save them and watched them disappear. Chaos ensued and I woke up…

 

 

Breasts

I have to apologise that firstly, this blog over the last few weeks seems to have become a dumping ground for the batshit crazy, irrational and overly depressed Sacha.

I don’t really have many other outlets to talk about how I feel, but more importantly whilst I love talking in general I hate talking about how I ‘feel’. I much prefer writing it down. I am a born writer, and it helps me to process my shameless, most private thoughts.

Today is bad. Really really bad. I meant to write a blog a couple of days ago about the aching silence between the first couple of days after IUI and the last couple when you can test before your period.

There was silence. It was horrendous.

My body stopped doing anything. There were no cramps, no signs, no symptoms. Silence is sometimes worst than hearing a cacophony of signs and opinions. It was just waiting. Unending, tortuous, mind numbingly slow waiting.

I am now 7dpIUI.

I am due on in 6 days.

Today was bad because I genuinely wanted to punch myself in the face. I am so fucking annoying. I (and by I, I mean my head/mind – my voice in my head which thinks and reasons) would not shut the fuck up.

I felt like I had a split personality, and all over a god damn pair of tits.

Usually by now my boobs would hurt. I thought, they hurt every month. Usually starts 8ish days before I come on and then stops a couple of days before I actually come on.

So I asked the wife this morning if she could remember if they always hurt, and she said no. Pretty bluntly too. I was like oh. Because I was so sure they hurt every month.

Anyway, point being, they don’t; I (irrespective of whether or not she can) can’t remember the last time they didn’t hurt before I came on.

Well, this sent me off on some insane thought process, some ridiculous symptom spotting madness all day. I could scream I am so pathetic.

All that happened this morning, was I woke up and my boobs DIDN’T hurt, and to be fair, I was bloated.

What kind of mad women spends an entire day twisting herself into knots over breasts that DON’T hurt for god sake?

Am I pregnant, am I not? Am I pregnant, am I not? Am I pregnant, am I not? Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?Am I pregnant, am I not?

That is literally what my head has been doing all day. I just want it to shut the fuck up. It’s made me angry, and I was already exhausted today without my head twisting me into a mess.

I am in pieces. Exhausted, desperate, and seemingly slightly nuts.

I found the pregnancy tests that the NHS use, some really cheap pee strips. That apparently are the most sensitive pregnancy tests on the market.

Traditional tests like Clear Blue and First Response, are good, but they measure up to 50mlu. Before your pregnant you have about 5mlu in you. So 50 is about the time your period is due. These NHS ones supposedly test to a sensitivity of 10mlu… thats basically as soon as the egg implants.

The tests arrived yesterday.

I am now away on business so I can’t use them anyway. I don’t really know whether or not I should test, or just wait to see if I come on.

I partly don’t think I can wait. But at the same time I am aware that an egg can take as long as 12 days to implant. but 12 days is the day before I am due on…

How would my body know not to come on?

Look there I go again, I just need to shut up!

I am exhausted, I really am. I nearly fell asleep in the middle of the day today. It can’t be good to do this to myself!!

I just need to keep telling myself it will be ok, whether I get a BFP or BFN… it will be ok.

IUI up, IUI down

 

 

Ok, 3dpIUI (3 days post IUI).

What I have decided is that the above picture optimises, an hourly – daily, weekly cycle, that I, and I guess everyone else on fertility cycles are going through.

It’s shit.

I feel like I am genuinely mental.

I am unstable, irrational, and emotional.

Everything I hate.

I like being, stable, rational and emotionless. I pride myself on being those things.

I hate that it’s only our first cycle. I mean don’t exactly want to do more cycles, obviously cost, and emotional toll, I would prefer to get pregnant first time. But I know the chances are low, so I just wish it was our 3rd time already, as lots of websites say 3/4 IUI’s is about normal.

I don’t know what’s happened to me, for two days after the IUI I was on this huge high, and elated that we had done something.

But I have well and truly crashed off the IUI rollercoaster. I am very low again today.

Body Wise – I had a back ache, but think it was my kidneys rather than actual back, I think I was probably dehydrated or something. Felt a bit bloated too today. But considering I have IBS nothing I am paying attention to. I am still slightly aware of my womb, less so than yesterday. Virtually no cramping any more.

Kind of sad really, at least when I was cramping I at least felt like something was happening, even if it wasn’t making a baby it was us having taken some action.

I am still unsure of when exactly to test. But I think if I am due to come on, on the 27th, then realistically I should be able to test on the 26th. Even if the clinic said wait 16 days, and thats only 12/13.

In which case T-9 days till test 1.

 

 

Depression. Muses. Life.

I am feeling worse than ever. I saw the above picture today, and I just cried. For me it’s such an inspirational picture. It takes me back to when I was travelling. Reminds me of the breath taking Himalayan mountains I trekked through. The peace I found when I was there. I want nothing more right now than to run away and climb into a big dark hole, hiding away from the world forever.

I want to be that girl in the photo. I should be that girl in the photo. All I ever wanted to do was go to uni and go travelling. Bum around the world for a while, sucking life experiences in and just ‘being’. No responsibilities, no plans, no cares. Coming from someone so anal, and organised I surprised myself at how much I enjoyed travelling. But I really did find a kind of peace when I was away. A kind of silence. Like the silence late at night when it’s snowed or is snowing. When it’s 1am, and nothing moves not even the air… Travelling was my muse, it inspired me, it humbled me and it gave me peace.

I am a shell, a living breathing carcass right now.

The last year has crushed me.

I don’t think I even know who I am anymore.

The stress of my family during the wedding, the job that has sucked every ounce of individuality out of me and forced a monotonous drone of boring beige routine into my life, and worst into me…. but worst of all the fertility issue.

I have been in and out of depression enough over the last 18 months because of ‘life’ but right now… it truly has to be the worst place I have been in…

I just cant cope.

My senior manager told me the other day that he couldn’t believe how well I was coping. He said no one would notice that something so horrific was happening to me. He said that I was really strong, and he was very impressed with my resilience.

It’s a facade. I am a fake. A plastic temporary smile, that I wear for 8 hours a day that drains every last ounce of anything I have in me.

He shouldn’t be impressed. He might think I am still brilliant, I am coasting through the days just to keep myself going. I am on autopilot… again.

I just didn’t picture my life like this, when I think back, this picture, that girl… that’s who I was going to be. I think that’s why the photo has struck such a deep resonance with me.

I have started testing my ovulation again today… when I ovulate this week, we will be flying to Denmark to try insemination.

The wife is so positive that it scares me. I already feel like a failure, my body… my ovaries are inadequate and I don’t want to disappoint her if the insemination doesn’t work. It only has a 25% chance of working at the best of times, let alone with my problems. I am also worried because I have been trying to be really healthy, but I seem to have got a cold this week… that is not going to help me get pregnant… more worries.

Then the thought of actually getting pregnant is also terrifying. All the life changes, I am still trying to get my head around it all, giving up everything I thought I was going to have, that was who I was going to be in my 30’s… not in my mid twenties. The next 5 years were meant to be fun before we tried to have a family…. I just can’t get my head around it. I just can’t. Why hasn’t someone told me it’s all a big mistake yet? WHY?????

I just…

I am in a very dark, very strange, very lonely place right now. Words are failing me, I just can’t explain where my head is. I don’t want to talk to anyone, I don’t want to see anyone, I don’t want to do anything. I can feel myself locking down, and shutting the world out and theres nothing I can do about it. I can’t muster enough ‘me’ to talk about how I feel. I don’t fucking know how I feel. That’s probably the problem. I don’t have words. The complexity of emotions I am feeling right now is indescribable.

I feel bad because I know I should be communicating, but I just don’t want to talk, about anything to anyone. I don’t want to have to justify myself, and I don’t want to explain my feelings. I just want to be quiet and for it all to go away. I want to wake up in the morning and be that girl in the photo…

But I won’t.

I am going to wake up… still be Sacha, still be depressed, still have a job I hate, and still have fertility issues.

Sacha is Broken.

I am broken,

I am broken,

I am broken.

Lost, in a dark pit of self loathing, and scornful hatred.

My skin is crawling with the rank stench of pity.

Their pity.

Their pity is anchoring my heavy soul further into this dark pit.

I am a failure.

I am a failure.

I am a failure.

I don’t work. I am abnormal, and I am pitied.

My heart is solidifying with sympathy,

A coal like sludge suffocating the pain inside.

I am pitied.

Their repetitions of comfort agitating my twisted, unstable mind.

I can’t breathe,

I can’t breathe,

I can’t breathe.

Spiralling Down

One week. One week back in my cesspit hole of a job to feel myself start to tip off the side of sanity all over again.

I hate it. I hate my job so much it infects me. It putrefies my thoughts and tears tiny bits of my soul away, day by day. I can feel myself erupting on the inside over nothing. Something someone says, an insignificant remark makes my mind seethe and my blood burn with angry lust.

I am becoming scarred with bitter frustration.

I am broken.

I have a new boss, and he asked me this week after hearing my story if I had any fight left in me.

“you do don’t you… have fight left in you?” He asked me expectantly.

I just turned my head away. Biting back the tears.

” I don’t know”

And I really don’t know.

My old boss stole my confidence, and crushed my creativity.

” The thing is Sach…” He would say patronisingly.

“You got a big personality. You just need to be a bit less Sacha… you know?”

Cunt.

He hated me. He hated what I represented and made sure I knew it.

I am disgusted with myself that I could let a man beat me down and crush me the way he did, the way work has.

He left, but I have given up. I have nothing left, no fight, no drive, no ambition.

My entire being is bruise and I am exhausted.

I am Sacha, and I am beautiful, but, I am utterly broken.

 

Eden- Flash Fiction by Sacha Black

I am watching my life through Eden’s eyes.

I am at his mercy.

My glass was always half empty, so I didn’t really notice it becoming less and less full. Eden didn’t arrive with some grandeur entrance, he snuck quietly into my life and changed everything. But nothing was sudden, and I always thought it would be.

I will never see the world through the naive eyes I used to have. Those eyes are gone. They were taken from me. Stolen. He stole them. Eden selfishly took them for himself; replacing them with his old broken ones. The tragedy is, I didn’t notice. Not until I was already looking through his battered eyes.

Until I met Eden, I didn’t actually understand the concept of numb. To really feel nothing.

‘Nothing’, is like infinity.

You can’t conceptualize infinity, and you can’t really imagine ‘nothing’ either. But, I feel nothing. No happiness, no sadness, no pain. Eden took it all away, piece-by-piece. Now I watch my life play out through his eyes.

My life is Eden’s phantom limb. I see it, but it isn’t really there. I used to feel it, but now there’s nothing.

All I can do is look through Eden’s window whilst he torments me. Makes me watch whole days pass by, actions, movements, people. Still I feel nothing. I look at my life, like a leg submerged in water, the ripples make it seem detached, disjointed somehow.

Every day he tears another piece of my soul off, ripping it apart and letting it crumble into ashes.

Eden was my dirty little secret. I was ashamed of him, because I was strong. I was meant to be unbreakable.

But he broke me so easily. I am weak. Useless.

I don’t remember how we met, but now I fight him every day. I beg him to leave, plead with him; and when he doesn’t I punish myself for ever meeting him.

I don’t want him in my life any more, but I am trapped. I am only a phantom limb.

By Sacha Black.

Eden is my depression.