活像个孤独患者

gardenofjaskiers:

Think of a story, any story. What do you notice? It’s rife with conflict and struggle. The hero’s journey. An arc, a circle, however you see it, it’s a rite of passage through structure. From the most intense genres to the sappiest, rarely any happy endings occur without some level of friction with others or ourselves. Our stories are supposed to exemplify the fundamentals of the human experience, or so they say. 

So tell me about our story. Had we struggled? Where is our conflict, our payoff? The redemption or the closing arc. Do we even have one?

Abed never had problems falling asleep. Sleep is something that happens to him normally but anomalies are to be expected. There are the ones that come from dinnertime coffees or overthinking movie plots. Then there are ones like tonight. It had been a normal day by his standards at least but here he is, staring at the ceiling, watching the city lights filter through the blinds and feeling absolutely miserable.

On these nights he feels weird to be in his bedroom - the once Dreamatorium then Troy’s bedroom. Abed could find pieces of Troy, the stuff he missed during his hasty departure. First it was an odd pen here, a model toy there. Eventually it was enough items that he bought a box, labelled it Troy’s Stuff and it steadily filled. He even left old high school jacket behind. Maybe it was more merciful if everything was purged than kept. It wasn’t so much the memory of him leaving but the feeling like he had never left. If there wasn’t any evidence that Troy was here, maybe he can pretend that he was in another timeline where he never met Troy. Maybe then the void wouldn’t open up every time he looked at the box of Troy’s Stuff.

The Dreamatorium was another story. Physical space wasn’t key for Abed. If he concentrated enough, anywhere could be the Dreamatorium if he really wanted to. It was just a safe space for him to play and spend time with Troy. After taking it down, it’s been quite a while since he went to that space in his mind. The Dreamatorium was mainly about having fun with someone else. Every adventure in there was based on his mind’s structures, informed with years of tv watching experience, yet authentically emotive to him and his friends. It was a thing of better memories. Plus, he’s supposed to have grown past the need for it. Now it’s just him, wide awake on his bed, staring at Troy’s Stuff, thoughts a heady blur.

Abed sighs and turns.

The room begins to rumble. Picture frames fall, glass shards splattering everywhere with a crash. He feels the floor beneath almost caving but shuts his eyes. The noise continues for a while until it slowly eases into nothingness. When he felt ready, he opened his eyes.

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Yall ever just start humming daybreak and start crying?

Undiagnosable

The main thing I resonate so strongly with Abed is ‘undiagnosable’. Within the universe, Abed’s never confirmed to have any specific disorder, but implied neutoatypicality. Of course as a viewer, it’s clear as day to us.

While I’m not neuroatypical, I’ve been living through many years with an undiagnosed chronic illnesses despite being in the medical system. The frustration of knowing that you can’t function like everyone else but don’t know how to be better is tiring. I’ve been emotionally less available because it triggers a lot of physiological and mental symptoms. I’ve felt like a blur of mosaic. I’m tired of not knowing how to explain myself. Then I come across Abed, a character who exists from 'the outside’ in his world.

Somehow I found my voice through him. While I stand parallel to him and many viewers’ stories, I’ve never felt more comforted knowing that it’s okay. That there are spaces and people for us. Seeing Abed’s character evolve and grow, gives me the motivation to be better and know that I can be better. I’m grateful to have experienced such a wonderfully complex and heartwarming character.