“Kill the Moon” – The Abortion Episode of Doctor Who

I felt this a weak episode, it bugged me for many reasons and despite the few bits of great character development I didn’t like it, was left with a niggling discomfort that went beyond the bad science (I love fantasy, it really did not work here for me) This review manages to puts so well into words what was bugging me

Beyond the Browncoat

About twenty minutes into Saturday’s “Kill the Moon,” I began to feel a sensation of creeping, speechless dread that deepened throughout the episode until it settled in my stomach like a pound of lead: am I seeing what I think I’m seeing? Is this an anti-choice ad on Doctor Who? As it turns out: yes, I was, and yes, it was.

If I interpret “Kill the Moon” completely literally with absolutely no subtext or eye to metaphor whatsoever, I can admit that I enjoyed it. There have been some criticisms of the quality of the science, but that is never my hill to die on with regards to Doctor Who or basically anything. I admit that the idea of a creature hatching out of an egg and then immediately laying its own egg of almost exactly equivalent size is … a stretch, but I can handle it. If the story…

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I dont want to do this anymore

For the last 6+ years things have been incredibly difficult around this time of the year. I self harm with greater intensity & frequency. Suicidal impulses become extremely vivid, and very scary.
And I can’t talk
It’s not that I don’t try, or that I don’t know what’s going on. Though every year, life has crumbled to such unbearable shit that there’s too much broken crap to wade through and minimal spoons to do so with.

This year it’s no different. Well actually it is, I’ve been in a bad way for over 18 months. In some way I barely recovered from the crash 2 years ago and have been struggling along all this time, trying to convince myself that I’m doing well. And though I have succeeded in many things, asked for and received help in several areas and pushed myself to make those necessary alterations. And things genuinely are improving. I feel, despair.
Most of the time I feel very little at all and what I do feel is fleeting or dependant entirely upon certain circumstances (such as the company of particular people) the rest of my life is filled with a quiet rage, a desperation to FEEL with an overwhelming apathy to do anything about it, combined with intrusive images of severe acts of self harm.

I don’t like it.

Trapped

Trapped in a hell I know too well.

I can’t talk to my friends about the thoughts going through my head as it would terrify them.

My GP is, understandably, concerned about my welfare. So I’m treading that fine line between being honest and getting my immediate needs met.

Work is awful and I am on the verge of quitting. It’s just a shame I’m not fit or well enough to get a paid job.

And money. Money, or rather debt, is a big issue. Again

Am slipping from depressed to suicidal. Maybe my GP had a point earlier, though it’s never a good idea to point out that if I wanted to I could just go buy the stuff, or worse, elsewhere.