ok fuck it i'm unpacking this who's ready to get messy on main

spoilers here for some concepts and plot events in pathologic 2 (nowhere near enough to proper spoil the game tho so -- PLEASE GO PLAY IT )

mute this thread if u dont want to read like a dozen tweets abt me & patho2 https://twitter.com/_porcelainbones/status/1325075624705335296
i enjoyed Patho2 when i played a few of its days at launch, but it didn't really catch me. not 'til i waited til about three months on HRT to go back, and then it just hit me so fucking hard and i was obsessed all the way through and obsessed still
it came along at a time when i was terrified of a transformation that was also *necessary for my existence*. i could feel a part of me that had always been there now dying. walls i built up, an identity that acted more as barrier and cocoon than an actual self
even tho that part of me *needed* to go, i felt like i was nothing beneath it. what was i, if not the person i'd been my entire life? if all that was shedding, what would be left of me? didn't i *need* this cruelty, detachment & loathing to function & survive in the unfair world?
patho2 upfront says: an enemy is here in front of you, inside of you, tiny, incessant, utterly unable to be stopped in any way that you would find *comfortable*. there is *no* traditionally winning this fight

so, the fuck are you going to do, kid? give up? uninstall life itself?
the town was dying! i have to *save* it

...

but what am i saving? the fucking termitary & the presence of industry? these fucking artsy know-it-all dickhead land-owners? i'm really going to struggle & crawl to help *those* assholes out??????
i wasn't dying. i was transforming. and in order to do that successfully i had to examine my whole, look at parts of myself and be able to say: i can't save you if i want to save myself. i can't be bitter. i can't be withdrawn. that old self, that old town, had no future
helped me realize:this is an unfair fight. the rules will never help you. but you're here, girl, & you're the only one who can fight this. no one else knows the lines of you. so figure out a way to fight. don't fight fair, fight dirty, fight hard, & fight for your fuckin survival
so *what* if the old me is dead? that bitch just thought about suicidal ideation damn near 24/7. why was i struggling to save *coping mechanisms*? why was i nestling my trauma at the expense of letting my new self grow wild, outlandish and unrestricted?
it helped me realize that old self *also* appeared out of a violent transformation. just one i didn't fully recognize at the time. that old self killed hope so she could feel safe in.. what? endless misery? being trapped in a box building filled with screams, waiting to die?
the plague says: it aches to be born. it aches to grow. it aches to choose. there is no ache in death. shall i kill you?

and i get to say: *no*, and fuck *you*, and fuck *everyone else*. i am weaving myself out of my ache, now. it is *my* tool, this is *my* birth

ty for reading
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