Sometimes, There is Light (cont.)

So I wrote a little song/poem to accompany my last blog post. Hope someone, somewhere, might like it maybe.  🤷🏼‍♀️

 Throughout the years, I always felt 

“What an awful hand in life I was dealt!” 

I grew up with nothing but hardships and pain, 

and let that define me for most of my days.

So as a teen, I never even dared to dream.

Became depressed and made it my scene.

And at 23, I just couldn’t see

Anything good ever happening  to me.

So I acted out, I took some shit

Blacked out and threw some fits

But I never knew, that by age 32

I’d be not only surviving and making it through, 

But thriving, and  living life brand new.

Much like a fine wine, I’ve improved over time, 

And I realized without darkness, there can be no light 

I’m far from perfect, but I know I’m enough. 

 So I no longer cut, and I don’t self destruct

If I were to turn back those hands of time, 

I’d tell that younger self of mine. 

You may not be ready now, but one day you’ll see, 

Depressed isn’t all that you’ll ever be!

 Some days you’ll despair, but on others, rejoice.

And the time will come when you regain your voice!  

You’ll want to dance, you’ll want to sing

You’ll feel that little spark within. 

Your inner hero will step up to fight,

And you’ll realize, just as day becomes night,

That sometimes there is darkness, sure- but sometimes, there is light. 

 

Sometimes, There is Light

So it recently came to my attention that I haven’t posted on my little blog for almost a year- how hideously neglectful of me! Creating and curating this page has been invaluable in regards to understanding and dealing with my mental health issues, and while I have only 100 or so followers, every single one of you means the world to me. You’ve embraced and encouraged my writing, shared with me your own tales of woe, and inspired me to do better. In fact, that’s precisely the reason for my lack of updates; I’ve been busy trying to better myself. 

I decided that I needed to do something with my life and that 30 years old actually wasn’t too late to start, so I enrolled in uni. Thanks to credits from a diploma I completed awhile ago, I was able to condense a 4 year degree into 2, and I’m now on track to attaining my bachelors in Applied Social Science by the end of this year (insert praise hands emoji). 

I feel this the appropriate forum to acknowledge the fact that I have been doing this while still working full time, 40 hours a week, as a department manager at a busy retail store. Additionally, I’ve been volunteering fortnightly with the Red Cross for around a year now, with a program that provides social support for isolated members of the elderly community. I’ve maintained my relationship, moved into a beautiful house, and continued to raise my cats during this time. In spite of my tight schedule and limited study time, I’ve achieved high distinctions at uni and have a current GPA of 6. But most importantly- I’ve accomplished all this, ALL OF IT, 100% medication free. Not an antidepressant, anti-anxiety or antipsychotic in sight! And, even more surprisingly, I’ve been COPING. Not always well, mind you, but coping nonetheless. 

This all may sound incredibly boastful, and that’s the point, it’s supposed to. When I first started this blog 4 years ago, I was a wreck! In the throes of a mental health crisis, dealing with a devastating breakup, and feeling like the only way I could get through a day was to be medicated to the eyeballs. I truly believed I was a lost cause. Unlovable, unworthy, pathetic. Doomed to live out my life in a mental hellscape of my own creation. 

So I AM boasting about all the good shit I’m doing with my life, because you know what? If even one person out there stumbles across this page, and it so happens to be at a time where they’re feeling like giving up, I want them to know that there IS hope, even for the hopeless! I think there’s a My Chemical Romance song by that name, but please don’t hold that against me. Emo trope or not, it’s true, I’m living proof of it. 

I’m far from perfect, or “cured”. I still have BPD, but it no longer controls or defines me. I still have the occasional bout of depression, but I find a reason to get out of bed nonetheless. I still get the odd anxiety attack, but with the help of my friends and support network, I get through it, and move on. I no longer cut, and I don’t self-destruct. Sure, I’m still broke, smoke too much weed, and have trouble navigating social situations. But it’s all good. I’m finding peace with my shortcomings. 

So take your meds, if they help you get through the day. Numb yourself out if you need to. But don’t you fucking give up on living, my friend. Talk to people. Be painfully honest. Fall apart openly! Cry in public! It really doesn’t matter. Life’s not fucking easy, and you don’t have to be ashamed for not coping. You’ll get your shit together when you’re meant to and when you’re able to. 

 I wish I could have told myself these things at my lowest points! I wish I had known that it was ok to be not ok. That there’s a certain beauty in hitting rock bottom, and being allowed the chance to rebuild. That life moves in cycles, in ebbs and flows, and sometimes you will despair, but sometimes you will rejoice.  Sometimes there is darkness, and sometimes, there is light. But the darkness can’t, and won’t, consume your days forever.  In the famous words of Leonard Cohen, “there’s a crack in eveything. That’s how the light gets in.” 

The Hall of Infinite Possibility

I had this crazy dream. 

I was in a room filled with stars, which led to an endless hallway lined with sparkly, shimmery doors. At first I thought I was in the hall of akashic records, but then my invisible guide said to me, telepathically, “no, child, it is not history you will find behind those doors, but possibility.” 

I then understood that each door opened into a different reality. I became instantly filled with a kind of overwhelming excitement that I hadn’t felt since my childhood. The doorways were infinite. The possibilities were infinite.

My imagination ran wild envisioning all the magical and mysterious worlds I could discover. Would there be benevolent creatures beyond anything dreamt up in the movies? Would there be fantastical alien landscapes with pink skies and purple clouds you could float around on? Which door would lead me to utopia? 

I couldn’t contain myself any longer, and threw open the first door on my right. I was sucked, (quite literally, as if being vacuumed up) into its reality, and a moment later I ‘woke up’ in my childhood bed. Before I even opened my eyes, I knew who and where I was, and instantly felt disappointed with the familiarity of my surroundings. 

I was 10, living in a shitty outer-suburbs duplex with my mother, and she was very angry with me for reasons I couldn’t tell. Everything seemed to be normal, except for two things: one, my stepfather was nowhere to be seen, and two, we had moved out of that particular house when i was 8. It then hit me; in this reality, my mum never met my stepdad, we never moved, and my brother was never born. That ain’t cool, I thought, and closed my eyes and willed myself back to the room of stars.

I experiemented with a few doors in close proximity, and quickly found, to my dismay, that they all led to slightly modified versions of my predominant reality. In one version, my grandparents had died early in my life, leaving my mother and I a sizeable inheritance. So we had money and an increased quality of life, but the abscence of my grandparents left a large void in our family unit. In another version, I stayed in my hometown, married my high school boyfriend and had three kids by the time I was 21. 

After going through several doors and versions of my life, I became frustrated by the lack of diversity in my human experience. “How many doors do I have to open until I find a completely different reality, seperate to myself?” I shouted in desperation to my unembodied guide. “I don’t want just another version of my own reality, I want to experience a new reality!” I wanted a new family and body and ancestry and personality and desires. I wanted to experience life as someone else. “But, child,” said my guide, “that is the whole point of being alive, of being a person, of having an individual and unique human experience.” 

“What do you mean? What is the point?”

“When our eternal being decides to separate from source to become embodied and live out a human life, we do so because it gives us the opportunity to manifest and materialize our infinite possibility.” I still wasn’t getting it. “So why can’t I explore some of that infinite possibility?”

“Because for this life cycle, you’ve chosen this body and this path. You chose this one specifically for a reason. You need to fully explore all the potential of this particular life… before moving on to another.” 

I got it. It finally made sense. I still wasn’t thrilled about it, but I understood why I was confined to this body and it’s variant realities. I needed to remember my original life intent and make the steps to restore my path before I could even think about moving on. Prior to this moment, I’d been stuck in inaction; my guide showing me this room was her way of giving me a gentle nudge, a friendly reminder of all the potential I was squandering and all the possibilities of this human life.

I woke up. 

Synchronicities

Remember that movie from the early 2000s, ‘I Heart Huckabees’? The main character, played by Jason Schwartzman, is curious about the constant coincidences in his life, so he hires a unorthodox duo of detectives help him figure out what they could mean. 
At the time, I found the premise pretentious and confusing, but right about now, I totally get it, for my own life has begun to resemble a Wes Anderson movie, albeit without the helpful existential investigators and dreamy pastel hues. 

So in the spirit of attempting to make sense of them myself, here are some examples of the synchcronicities I’ve experienced lately.

 
NUMBERS
At work, I’m a busy person. I’m rarely idle and I don’t clock-watch, but still, almost every single day, I find myself looking at time at 11.11, 1.11 and 3.33. Usually, those times are the ONLY three times I’ve checked my watch. In fact it’s so common that if I happen to miss one, like the other day when I checked my phone at precisely 11.12, it feels like something is off.  

RUMI POEM

A few months back, I was listening to a psychology podcast on my 45min commute to work, as I am apt to do. The topic was mindfulness, a concept I’m reasonably familiar with, and the segment closed with the guest speaker providing a quote by the poet Rumi, who’s work I am also reasonably familiar with. This, however, was a poem I had never heard, called ‘The Guest House’. For those unacquainted with this particular piece, here it is:

It is a lovely poem and I enjoyed hearing it, although to be honest I didn’t give it much more thought once my drive was over. 

One of my daily work duties is selecting the store’s music playlist, and that day I randomly put the latest Coldplay album into the rotation. Now it is important to note that I have never heard this album, nor had much inclination to as I’m not a huge fan of the band (although I did admittedly enjoy a few of their earlier songs). I don’t know what inspired me to choose it that day, but I did, and around 1pm it started playing in the store. 

A few songs in, while performing duties out on the floor, I was stopped in my tracks. The music had ceased for a spoken word interlude, which in itself is not remarkable, but the words themselves gave me goosebumps. “This being human is a guest house,” a booming, authoritive voice declared. “Each day a new arrival.” Its recited in its entirety, and I later found out that Chris Martin discovered the poem while going through his divorce and loved it so much he decided to feature it on his album. 

ENTROPY IS UNAVOIDABLE 
Earlier this week, after finishing work for the day, I was sitting on the couch scrolling through Facebook. I came across this meme:

Like most memes, it provided a feeble chuckle and I swiftly moved on. The only line that stood out was ‘entropy is unavoidable’ as I didn’t really know what that meant but didn’t care enough to look into it further. 

About an hour later my boyfriend and I settled in to watch an episode of ‘Animals’, an absurd but hilarious cartoon on the comedy channel we’d just gotten into. In this particular episode, the band 311 guest star, and in one scene the main character is singing one of their songs lyrics back to them: “You can’t stop entropy so why even try, observe the conscious flow and don’t mystify.”

 So the message I’m getting is that entropy is unavoidable and you can’t stop entropy. Now I just need to figure out what ‘entropy’ actually fucking means. 

SPECK OF DUST 

Two nights ago, my boyfriend wanted to watch the aforementioned Sarah Silverman stand-up on Netflix. One of the bits in her routine included a monologue on the insignificance of individual human life in the grand scheme of the universe, likening us to a mere ‘speck of dust’. 

After the special was over, we retired to bed with an old episode of ‘The Office’. Just as I was drifting off, I heard Michael Scott’s character justifying calling a staff meeting to talk about the planets. “Because it’s a big universe,” he says to Jim. “And we’re all just tiny little specks of dust.”

So there we have it- numbers, a 16th century poem, an unusual phrase and a common quote. Some patterns I can see from listing these are that every time, the synchronicity has occurred within the same day, sometimes within hours. It’s always delivered via seperate and unrelated mediums, i.e.: educational podcast and music cd, Facebook and cartoon, stand up comedy and scripted television. Beyond that, I’m not sure. I’ll guess I’ll just continue to list them as they occur and see if more patterns emerge. 

Is my subconscious trying to tell me something? Is my higher self attempting to communicate through various mediums? Am I reading too much into it? Are they all just stupid coincidences and I maybe smoke too much weed? Who knows. I wish I had Jason Schwartzman’s number. 

Tolerance Break

It’s no secret that I’m a raging stoner- always have been, probably destined to always be. 

I received an early education from my stoner mother and cemented my habits with stoner friends throughout my formative high school years. There’s this weird anomaly that most long-term pot aficionados can attest to, which is that stoners can always seek out and attract other stoners, no matter where in the world or in their life they happen to be. It’s a gift really, like a special extra sense is activated through the THC receptors or something. 

We tend to surround ourselves almost exclusively with fellow greenthumbs, because they’re usually the only ones that don’t hassle us about our bummer of a habit. They’re also the only ones who’ll sit and smoke a quarter ounce and watch two seasons of rick and morty and devour a diabetes inducing amount of sugary treats with you and not think anything of it. Basically, fellow stoners are the only ones capable of the extreme level of chill required to hang out with us. 

I never thought I’d say this, but I’m starting to think I’ve had too much chill. Smoking weed has been my primary hobby for the past fifteen years. It’s been great, don’t get me wrong, but now that I’m in my thirties I’m wondering if I should expand my interests some. 

The problem with a chronic addiction that it leaves little time or money for anything else so it literally becomes your whole life. Attempts to introduce new habits and hobbies are usually an exercise in futility because one week you won’t have enough money to get weed and pay for whatever activity you were planning on, so a choice has to be made, and that choice will always be weed. Another week you’ll be too stoned and forget to go. After that you’re just too embarrassed or bored with the whole thing  that you simply drop it forever, and resume your glassy eyed sloth pose on the couch, watching Gilmore Girls reruns and scooping milo out of the tin.

But  then one day you emerge from your hazy-brained fog enough to remember you were once a kid who actually wanted to do shit with their life. You were bright eyed and shiny-haired and you had the world at your dainty little feet. You dreamed of being a famed author, an Olympic runner, an astronaut. You even promised your dad that one day  you’d bring him back a piece of the moon, you lying little shit. You wanted to travel to faraway places and do strange faraway things, and now you barely go outside, not even to score your precious drugs, as your dealer now does house calls. 

I’m content with my life, but can I honestly say I’m living it the best I could be? Possibly not. Probably not. 

So I’ve made a decision. Starting next week, I’m going to take a little break. I’m not calling it quitting because that’s too big of a commitment and that word is heavy. But I’m setting myself the challenge of a minimum of seven stoned-free days, a weedless week. That feels achievable, and if after I’ve completed it I feel like I can keep going without it for longer, I will. And if I can’t, a week is still a good start, and I still will have completed my goal. 

If nothing else it’ll be a good tolerance break, and I’ll enjoy a more intense high when I do resume smoking. 

I’m secretly hoping, though, that this will mark the beginning of a break in this deeply rooted, and ultimately destructive habit. I am so attached to the ritual of getting stoned that it feels bigger than me somehow, and beyond my capability to cease. I need to prove to myself that this isn’t the case; surely, deep down inside, there’s some untapped source of self-discipline, even just a little nugget of willpower that will fight its way to the surface if I just try. 

So try I will, and I have a plan to boot. Luckily my fellow-stoner boyfriend is on board- it would be near impossible to attempt this without him. Our tolerance week will commence on Feb 1st, which feels like a nice clean date, and happens to fall on a Wednesday which is payday and score day. Every night we will have a scheduled activity for the after work hours, ranging from the gym, to going to the movies, to trying out new restaurants. On the Thursday I begin a 3-week meditation course which I’m hoping will assist with clearing my thoughts of weed. I’ve recently started doing yoga and I plan to step up my classes to three times a week. We will also have wine and sleeping pills on hand in case of insomnia. 

I’m both looking forward to, and dreading it. One thing I keep reminding myself of is that if boyfriend and I can avoid buying weed for just two weeks, we’ll collectively save $500. That’s ridiculous, and when you go deeper into the economic reality of our combined habit it’s outright anxiety-inducing. I guess that’s why we largely ignore it. But if I really want to make changes, I need to wake up to these harsh realities. I can’t afford to keep burying my head in the mull butter anymore.

I’ll keep you all updated on my progress, and I’d love to hear about your experiences with anything similar in the comments. Any advice is welcome! 

Wish me luck, lovely readers, I need all the good vibes I can get. ✌🏻

A Better Son/Daughter

For the first and probably last time on this page, I wanted to post something- specifically, a song- which was not actually written by me. 

I’m not in the habit of sharing other people’s work, as there will always be an infinite amount of better writers than myself to quote and praise, and I feel it takes away from the authenticity of my personal blog.  

However, this is not just any song. 

 I discovered this obscure little indie gem many years ago, and the lyrics could have been plucked directly from my soul and written in my blood and tears. It is closer to my truest self than anything I’ve ever read or written; the words resonate within me in a way I can’t entirely explain. 

I had the tremendous honour of meeting Jenny Lewis, the singer/songwriter behind this track, about three years after I first came across it. I got to tell her how much the song meant to me, how it simultaneously inspires and deflates me to hear my innermost struggles so beautifully articulated by someone else. “It pleases me that you love the song,” was Jenny’s response, “but it saddens me that you relate to it.”

So without further ado, I present to you my life’s penultimate theme song- I hope you get something out of it.  

“A Better Son / Daughter” 
by Rilo Kiley

Sometimes in the morning I am petrified and can’t move
Awake but cannot open my eyes
And the weight is crushing down
on my lungs, I know I can’t breathe
And hope someone will save me
this time

And your mother’s still calling you insane and high
Swearing it’s different this time
And you tell her to give in to the demons that possess her
And that God never blessed her insides

Then you hang up the phone and feel badly for upsetting things
And crawl back into bed to dream of a time
When your heart was open wide
and you loved things just because
Like the sick and the dying

And sometimes when you’re on, you’re really fucking on
And your friends they sing along and they love you
But the lows are so extreme that the good seems fucking cheap
And it teases you for weeks in it’s absence

But you’ll fight and you’ll make it through
You’ll fake it if you have to
And you’ll show up for work with a smile

You’ll be better you’ll be smarter
And more grown up and a better daughter
(Or son) and a real good friend

You’ll be awake, you’ll be alert
You’ll be positive though it hurts
And you’ll laugh and embrace all your friends

You’ll be a real good listener
You’ll be honest, you’ll be brave
You’ll be handsome, you’ll be beautiful
You’ll be happy

Your ship may be coming in
You’re weak but not giving in
To the cries and the wails of the valley below

Your ship may be coming in
You’re weak but not giving in
And you’ll fight it you’ll go out fighting all of them…

Tired, Stressed and Existentially Depressed

 The lights are out and the curtains have finally been drawn on the shit show that was 2016. The audience waits with breathless anticipation as the next act is ushered in- a new year filled with new hope, new fears and new problems to be played out on the worlds’ stage. Everyone’s hoping 2017 will provide a better, more positive performance, but personally, I didn’t find the past 12 months to be as evil and arduous as the public en masse seemed to.

There was a kind of collective condemnation of the offending year, as if 2016 was a storybook villain wreaking havoc on the innocent citizens of the world, rather than the intangible measurement of time that it actually was. 

For me, it was a period of transformation and awakening. I reached the milestone age of thirty, and surprisingly didn’t haven’t a breakdown about it. I began experimenting with altered states of consciousness and entheogens, which unexpectedly propelled me onto a path of spirituality, and discovered a lot of new things about myself, the world, and this reality which I inhabit. I found several of my long-held beliefs challenged and subsequently smashed to smithereens.

Now, its been awhile since I’ve added any updates to my DMT Diaries, and I must explain that this is not due to a shortage of things to say; rather, my silence has been the result of a recent ‘spiritual fatigue’, for lack of a better term, that has washed over me.

I spent most of the last year on a quest for deeper knowledge, embarking on fervent esoteric research and experimentation. I’ve attempted to document my experiences and findings and connect with the psychedelic community. Some would say my fascination bordered on obsession. The result of all this has been, at best, a mystical, eye-opening journey into the realms of the unknown, and at worse, a frustrating exercise in mind-fuckery. Frankly, the whole thing has been quite exhausting.

So now, I’m a just a bit over everything. I’m bored with reading about interdimensional travel and Planck time and sick of trying to raise my vibrational frequency. I’m tired of monitoring my thoughts and trying to manifest positivity. I know I have so much left to learn, I’m just lacking the passion to do so.

But it’s not like immersing myself in regular old 3D reality is overly appealing, either. I know too much now; I will never experience the bliss of ignorance again. I can’t just plonk myself down in front of a sitcom for hours and chuckle along with the laugh track anymore. I can’t just scroll through my Facebook feed and read the endless mind-numbing expositions of my friends and acquaintances or be bothered weeding out the click-bait from the genuine articles. Everything just seems to tedious and irritating to me, and I don’t know what to do about it.

So I’m stuck in this uncomfortable state of restless dissatisfaction; itching for change, but unable to see any viable opportunities for it. I want things to be different, better, more exciting, but I don’t know how to make that happen. 
I think I need a mentor. 

Someone to guide me through this period of transition, to re-motivate and inspire me, to help illuminate my path. 
I must remind myself that I’ve come pretty far on my own, and even give myself props for that. I not only ventured out of my comfort zone this year, I came tearing out of it, naked and screaming, like a bat out of hell. The past 12months have seen me shed a huge amount of negative constructs in my life: for example, I no longer rely on pharmaceutical drugs to regulate my moods and sleep, which is huge coming from a girl who has been heavily medicated since 16.

 I’ve also shed all the external artifice that for years acted as armour against my insecurities, and no longer get the costly and painful hair and eyelash extensions I’ve worn since I was 19. I barely eat fast food anymore, and I drink liters of water a day, something which might seems simple and insignificant to those who naturally embark on these basic healthy habits, but no so to myself, a soft-drink and takeaway addict. I’ve also started weekly yoga classes and regularly practice breathing and mindfulness meditation. 

However, I still smoke what is probably considered ‘too much’ weed, have the odd cigarette if I’m feeling particularly nervy, and divulge in heavier drugs occasionally. So I’m far from being a holistic temple of purity, but I still like to think I’ve come along way. 
I have a good life, all in all. I’m in the healthiest place I’ve ever been mentally, my relationship and home life is filled with love and stability, and I have a job that pays a decent wage and allows me to spend my days around music and movies, two of my favorite things. So what’s the problem? Why do I feel so empty? Why, on most mornings, am I filled with dismay upon waking? 

Maybe it’s because I’ve had a glimpse of something more, something bigger, something divine, and it’s difficult to readjust to the mundanities of everyday life. Maybe I’m experiencing a ‘dark night of the soul’, a period of tumultuous inner chaos that many report suffering while on a quest for enlightenment. If this is the case, it means I’m embroiled in a kind of tug-of-war between my spiritual self and my ego, both fighting for dominance over my consciousness. 

If anyone has experienced a similar feeling, or had overcome a ‘dark night’ of their own, please reach out to me. Any and all advice, tips, stories etc is welcome! You can comment here links to your own accounts, or email me at little.psychonaut@gmail.com. Thanks in advance, and safe travels to all of you in 2017. ✌🏻

The End of Anxiety

Oh hello there anxiety, my oldest friend
Back for an unwanted visit again?
I thought I told you, I no longer have fear
I’m stronger than ever now, didn’t you hear? 

You were like a cloak that I wore all year round
Heavy and stiff, always weighing me down
But I cast off that cloak and I’m learning to breathe
So if you don’t mind now please, I’ll ask you to leave 

Oh what’s that, anxiety? You’re Constricting my throat? 
Reducing my voice to a whimper and croak?
And now comes the part where you get in my head
Try to convince me I’d be better off dead

But I’m smart now, anxiety, I know that’s not true
The days of you poisoning my mind are through
I won’t let your vitriol dictate what I do
And the only thing better off dying is you 

So I’ll let you visit this one last time
But then you can fuck off out of my life
You weren’t invited, and won’t ever be
So thanks for the memories but now you must leave.

2 am is for lovers

 

Though sadness once seduced me 

And melancholy held me tight 
Now 2am’s for lovers
And Lust’s reclaimed the night

Let’s together be wild and disgraceful 

Allow ourselves to come undone 

Though our passion may overwhelm us 

Though our fire may blister the sun 

 

Let’s escape to our secret universe

Where our entire existence is us 

Where outside of these four walls

Nothing is or ever was

 

Let’s embrace these sacred moments

Share lungs and single breath

And when the daylight hour approaches

Together die a little death.

@totallyborderline

The Little Psychonaut

Some of my more eagle-eyed followers may have noticed that I recently published, then  removed, a series of posts related to my DMT experiences and transformation into a psychedelic moonchild. 

I started totallyborderline as a way of dealing with my mental health diagnoses and reaching out to others with similar issues. It’s been an incredibly cathartic, albeit narcissistic journey, and one that will continue throughout my life. As such I will continue to document it on this blog. 

I realized after 3 DMT-related posts that I had more to say on the subject- so much more. My mind has been opened to a whole new way of thinking and a lot of weird existential shit is flowing through the floodgates. In fact, I had enough material and thoughts on the stuff to fill its own blog.

My current fascination with spiritual pursuits is certainly intertwined with my mental state, however it is such an intense subject that I decided it best to seperate the two. If anyone cares to follow that journey, please head over to Little Psychonaut and check out my DMT Diaries. 

For everyone else, I’ll try and refrain from clogging this feed with trippy ramblings of transdimensionsal time-lords and star children- no promises. ✌🏻️