So let’s talk about Thunderbolts…or really, let’s talk about mental health, because the setting of the movie is window dressing to the deeper themes.
Facing Your Demons
Because I have been on a “rewatching the Marvel Cinematic Universe” kick, I’m gonna be using a references to the movies–mostly because I haven’t had access to the TV series and I’m watching them in narrative order. Setting that aside, there’s a line that Tony Stark says in Iron Man 3, about creating your own demons. I certainly have my fair share, and they utter things like “Wow, you really have phenomenally fucked your life over not just once, but multiple times–good job, you fucking idiot.” Is there a word for that feeling when you can feel your mental state slipping away, that slide down a rocky slope and you can’t stop yourself, can barely even slow down…just stare at the bottom and hope you don’t break too badly when you hit bottom?
It’s probably a German word. Or Russian. Something bleak and existential.
Somebody once told me that being able to create art for art’s sake is a luxury. It’s a privilege to even be able to get to where I’m at, but it’s not without its struggles. Grad school has been hard. Really really hard. The work load is brutal, and if it were only the work I had to worry about, I could do it. But it’s not. Trying to create ANYTHING at all right now is rough, and I have been in survival mode for so long that I’m not sure how to let go long enough to actually do the creative stuff that I have to do. It’s somewhat of a monkey’s paw knowing that some of your best work might not ever come from something that you have to sell, but from something you can just create and let your mind wander…but also knowing you got bills to pay, so you unintentionally hamper yourself.
One of the things that is involved in the grad school process (at least where I’m at) is the continuance exam–basically a panel of faculty that decides whether or not you get to continue on to the second year of the program. To put it bluntly, I bombed it. (I get to retake the exam in the fall, but still.)
My demons take the form of anxiety, depression, and ADHD, and my wards against them are non-existent. (Though I think that the anxiety and depression is a symptom of the ADHD, to be honest, but that’s another thought for another day.) Part of moving to another state not only means upheaving your entire life and putting everything into either storage, the car, or a dumpster, but also trying to re-establish support systems and resources, like a job and health insurance and and and. My doctor in New Mexico made sure to give me plenty of medications before I left.
Those ran out in December–my slope of misery is now covered in barbed wire and shattered good intentions. If you’ve never been on any SSRI (selective seratonin reuptake inhibitors), here’s a short explanation. First off, it’s not a cure. Full stop. Not a cure. Second, it manages symptoms, makes that slope a little smoother, the ups and downs not so extreme, slows things down so you can cushion when you hit bottom. Third, you really shouldn’t go off of them cold turkey–and that’s exactly what I did. The ADHD meds that I was prescribed aren’t habit-forming, but I definitely notice when I don’t take them. (Have I ever mentioned how angry I was when I realized how much easier everything was? I was furious.) Trying to do anything time-sensitive, like say…schoolwork, without the ADHD meds? Pulling teeth. Fingernails. Focus? Never met her. You’re probably asking why haven’t I gotten those medications refilled. Yeah, me too. Signing up for medical insurance is a pain (“but are you suffering enough“), and trying to get a controlled substance refilled across state lines, because your last doctor is in New Mexico, using state health insurance? Extra exciting, I assure you. I still haven’t gotten it figured out.
So on top of a shitty semester, because none of the projects that I did turned out the way I wanted to, and missing work shifts because the world is so goddamned heavy, and not being able to focus, with a stressful exam at the end of it, I hit that bottom of the misery slope. Hard.
Back to Thunderbolts.
I love a good redemption arc. If I had to pick a favorite narrative device, that’s probably it. So, a Marvel movie trailer using Bowie/Mercury’s “Under Pressure”, with a bunch of misfits who have a checkered past, who are also stuck in their own cycles of shame, using various coping mechanisms, but want to be better? Right in my honey nut feel-ios. And Bucky, probably one of the best poster children in the MCU for a redemption arc, filling the role as a mentor? Sign me the fuck up. The trailer made me cry. The movie made me cry too, in ways I did expect, and in ways that made me realize how much I had been pushing down and not thinking about. I have been a basket case of emotions for weeks.
Years, honestly.
I don’t remember going into detail about everything that’s happened over the last few years, but getting kicked out of my home by someone I had been with for eleven years was certainly not a great time. (Losing not just one partner, but all of them at once, ’cause polycule, was just added pain.) Trying to live on my own for the first time…not a great time. (Could I have found a roommate to make things easier? Sure…but anything resembling trust in other people got broken when I got kicked out.) So dealing with all those feelings of betrayal, of feeling adrift, of not feeling a place to call home…I didn’t. Couldn’t. How, when every day was just a struggle to survive, to get out of bed, to put one foot in front of the other and try to pay my rent, my bills, go to school? Processing feelings was not something I had any bandwidth to do. I still don’t, but as with these kinds of things, those feelings are going to come out somehow, somewhere. They ended up in my art, as they were wont to do, but that only works so far, and to do it well requires, well, focus. (Don’t know her.)
Demons grow in the dark, pushed down into that emptiness, into the void. Waiting at the bottom of the slope.
I hate asking for help. I don’t like it. Surely as an adult, I should have my shit together and be able to handle things, right? Hard to do that when your demons are always waiting for that moment of weakness, of doubt, to pull you back in–and there are so many moments that sneak in. Laying in bed, feeling numb to everything. Repeating the same brush stroke over and over again, because it’s never quite right, or you keep repeating the same mistake. Welding the same thing over and over again, burning the metal in every way except the way you need to. Something not quite right, over and over.
I hate it, and there’s not enough alcohol, weed, or food that makes it go away. It’s a shitty Great Value bandage that doesn’t stick, the cup of ramen noodles that doesn’t satisfy, a glass of water that still leaves you thirsty. It would be so satisfying to be able to punch my demons, but I can’t. (I mean, I can when I play certain video games, but that only sort of works, and I have to work through that apathy, that numbness to even do it.) What do you do when you feel so desperately alone and isolated, but can’t let down your guard enough to be vulnerable, to trust? Who even am I anymore, under all the layers of trauma and loneliness?
I don’t have an answer. I wish I did. I could probably get an unsatisfying half-answer that doesn’t fix anything, but that would require more self-introspection and insight that I still don’t have the bandwidth to deal with. But I’m going to have to at some point, if I’m going to survive this next year. (I don’t wanna. It all hurts so much, then I’m so numb that I can’t do anything at all.)
Go see Thunderbolts. Cry into an oversized bucket of popcorn that costs far too much. Sob at characters that are perhaps far too relatable. You don’t really need to know the Marvel cinematic universe to get everything–it’s window dressing to the bigger themes.
Ehrmehjerbz
I don’t have the energy to go into the catastrophic effects that the Fuckwit-in-Chief has wrought upon academia, higher education, grant opportunities, and hiring freezes. I really don’t. I went back to school in the hopes of becoming an art teacher, only to watch the Department of Education, National Endowment for the Arts, and generative AI come for all of it. It fucking sucks, and I don’t know what’s going to happen on the other side of the slope, or even if I can climb back up from the bleeding and broken bottom of the pit. It’s hard to think about tomorrow when you’re seeing things being destroyed in the present.
Speaking of asking for help.
I literally could not have gotten this far without your continued support. Patreon basically pays my business-related expenses: keeping my website and portfolio pages up. I’d love for it to do more. I need to make about $1500 a month to pay my rent, car insurance, phone, and keep her majesty Domino fed and happy. If you have any leads on remote work with flexible hours, I’d love to hear about them.
- Playing: Stardew Valley
- Watching: Agents of SHIELD
- Reading: A frankly obscene amount of Stucky fan fic
