Women are encouraged to be womanly. They are given expectations they should live up to or they are not considered useful to society. We all have a role. Mine is here at the hospital, and I'll do what is asked of me.
But do not expect me to break.
Well, this is all very exciting. The 1950s, eh? Such a simpler time. At the very least, we don't have to worry about a war hanging over our heads.
Oh, nevermind.
[ filter; helen and menelaus, separately ]
Updates, please.
Now this isn't so bad, is it? I happen to like everything I'm wearing, the cars, the lifestyle, etc. Apparently I should be settling down soon, according to my parents, but that would mean I cared about what my parents thought I should do with my life. I'll do what I please, as I always do.
[ filter; siblings ]
I hope they've told you the same, or I'm going to throw Ursula at them.
[ Being a nurse wasn't a terrible profession for a woman. In fact, it was very normal. But being a nurse in a mental hospital was something else entirely. She had thought she knew all there was to know about patients who refused treatment or medication. Apparently, she hadn't. Patients here were so uncooperative unless they were sedated, and only then would they take the medication she handed to them in little cups.
But watching these patients having to swallow their pills in front of her, to show them the underside of their tongue so that they couldn't hide their medication-- it left her heart surging. It pained her to be here, but she knew, above all, that this was her job. There was no other alternative. ]
How is everyone?
[ There were a great many things that Hel could tolerate, and things she couldn't. Of those things she couldn't tolerate, it was being treated less than her worth. She knew her worth. Apparently, her male classmates didn't. They treated her as if she didn't belong in school, as if her being a female aspiring to work in the field of science was akin to her having a strange disease.
More than once, she had nearly taken out their eyes with her scalpel, but somehow, somehow, she kept from doing so, lest someone cart her away to that mental asylum she was hearing about. But perhaps being in a mental asylum was better than this. There, at least, she would be safe from idiots who needed to be put in their place.
A queen of the underworld deserved so much better. ]
These dresses are annoying. Everything about this wardrobe is annoying. I have to wear little frilly socks and shoes that look like they belong on a doll. I'm being forced to dress like I belong on someone's shelf. My parents are like drones out of The Stepford Wives.
Cara, can I come stay with you for a while? I know your uncle isn't acting like a freaky robot.
[ filter; family, zurvan included ]
Are any of you in the loony bin? Say no.
[ PTSD. That was interesting. Coming out of his service years ago, Hector had been entirely certain he hadn't come out of it with PTSD, but that didn't seem to be the case here. The consensus had been that his time serving in the second World War had ruined him psychologically. But he knew himself better than anyone, so all of this was just another game of Khaos' that he wasn't interested in playing. ]
[ filter; family ]
I appear to be in the hospital for post-traumatic stress disorder. I don't recall ever developing that.
[ Being a single mother in this day and age was apparently so unacceptable, lying was the only way out of being chastised. Lying wasn't the part that hurt her-- it was what she had to lie about: being married to Diego. Still being with him at all. They had agreed to Luca being with him on weekends, so that he wouldn't be without his father, but now in this time, Diego wanted to be a bigger part of their lives
and it hurt
so much. ]
[ filter; family ]
Is anyone available for hugs?
And somehow, in Zurvan I wasn't judged quite as harshly as I am now. a) for being Japanese-American, b) for being heavily tattooed, and c) for not wanting to get married EVER EVER EVER. I had to take out my piercings, so crossing my fingers that they won't heal up before I have to put them back in. I might just get fucking tired and put them back in anyway. But I can't take off the tattoes. IT'S NOT LIKE I CAN JUST FUCKING WASH THEM OFF WITH SOAP OR PEEL THEM OFF FOR FUCK'S SAKEUsually I don't care what people think. I don't. But when people won't stop staring and not in the good way it's REALLY ANNOYING ACTUALLY UGH
Basically, FUCK THIS SHIT OKAY.
[ The past few days had been tiring for him, if only because more and more people visited the stables every day. Apparently, riding horses was much more popular in the fifties than their current age. Because really, who wanted to ride a horse when they could drive a car they could never afford? But now it seemed there was more interest, and more interest kept him busy. Which was never bad, per se, but it left him exhausted at the end of the day.
Well, all the more time for twin snuggles.]
I'm beginning, only beginning, to realize I'm a little tired of these decade jumps. I'm also glad that the stables still existed in the fifties. They appear to be much less run down now.
But little girls need to stop wanting pony rides thrice a week.
The women of this age garner such little respect, it's a wonder we are allowed to breathe the same air as a man. Even a career woman like myself can only hope her male coworkers will not judge her abilities based solely on the fact she does not share the same anatomy. A woman is not welcome in university. A woman is not welcome in a man's profession. A woman is expected to be at home, cooking, cleaning, and tending to the man's every need.
I will crush all of their expectations.
[ It had been a long time since Uriel had been legitimately overwhelmed with something. Often his calm outlook on life won out, allowing him to face all manners of situations with a clear head: Rome, Zurvan. He could distance himself from them, believe that all of what was happening was part of a greater plan. All obstacles could be surpassed, and he had thus lived through those.
But a mental asylum was not the same. It was something too real, something that hit far too close to home, that the longer he remained in that bare room, the more his chest ached. Lucia was in a place like this. She, too, was kept away, though not against her will, for her own safety. For the first time, he wondered: was this how she felt, trapped, confined? How lonely did she get, if at all? Upon his visits, she never spoke of emotions, only experiences. How she missed him, thought of him. Now, months too late, he wished he'd asked.
Never would he question God's plans, but sitting upon the floor, back pressed into the wall and notebook balanced on his lap, he silently prayed. For answers, for a why to explain how he, he who was loyal and faithful, was being forced to endure this of all things. It was too personal. Too painful. His heart, heavy in his chest, felt ready to implode on itself.
He closed his eyes, exhaling sharply.
Father, give me the strength of heart to see this through. ]