Eve Unbound

The Day I Realised Not Everyone Thinks the Same (and why our systems ➡️ especially OT ⬅️ were built to fail) 🧠🖤 There was a day... a very specific, quietly horrifying day... when I realised something that permanently rewired how I see people and systems. I asked, genuinely confused: “Don’t you think through every possible angle and outcome before making a decision?” He laughed. Actually laughed. “Who the hell does that? That’s crazy. No one does that.” And just like that, the penny dropped. Not softly. Not gently. It hit like a filing cabinet to the face. Oh. People aren’t careless by choice. They’re running different cognitive software . And suddenly… the system made sense. In the worst possible way. The Fatal Assumption the System Is Built On ☠️ Here’s the assumption baked into most institutions: Everyone processes risk, information, and consequences the same way. They don’t. And when you build child-protection, justice, and welfare systems on that assu...

Fifteen years. That’s how long it’s been since my stepdad died... suddenly, violently, absurdly — falling after trying to get back into my mum’s apartment when they’d locked themselves out. 🕊️ What stays with me isn’t a neat good-or-bad version of him. It’s the contrast. He could hurt without meaning to and then own it. He once mocked my baby cry. Small thing, big impact. What mattered was that he got it . He apologised properly. No excuses. No minimising. He understood that harm doesn’t require intent. That mattered to me. 🧠 He was generous. Five-star kitchens. Sharp suits. LV wallets, Chanel scarves, the newest consoles. Care, expressed through effort and pride. ✨ He was also a fierce advocate. I watched people visibly shake as this well-dressed man calmly dismantled them. “You have to be fucking joking. Under the Act, you cannot do that. The Act is clear.” ⚖️ He understood systems. He understood power. And he wasn’t afraid to confront either. But when stress hi...

Depression Isn’t Sadness. It’s the Slow Erosion of a Person. 🧠🕳️ Depression is often described as being sad. Or worse, reduced to whether someone wants to end their life. That framing misses the real danger. Depression isn’t an emotional spike. It’s a slow, grinding erosion. It’s not crying all the time. It’s not dramatic despair. It’s the quiet disappearance of excitement. The dulling of anticipation. The moment you realise that the things that once made you feel alive no longer register at all. Not because you don’t care — but because the part of you that could care has been worn down. 🫥 In my case, depression didn’t come from a single event. It came from prolonged disruption. Repeated interference with every attempt to move forward. Over time, that doesn’t just frustrate you it rewires you. It creates a core belief that sits deep and unspoken: Anything I try to do will be interfered with. Once that belief takes hold, motivation doesn’t disappear suddenly. It disinte...

To Prevent Suicide, We Have to Understand the Cause Suicide prevention fails when it starts at the wrong end of the problem. Most systems focus on crisis behaviour — the moment someone says the wrong sentence, breaks down, or alarms others. By then, the nervous system is already overwhelmed. Intervention becomes reactive, fear-driven, and often harmful. Prevention only works when we understand why suicidal thinking develops in the first place — and what actually turns thoughts into action. Suicide is rarely caused by one thing There is almost never a single cause. What we label “suicide risk” is usually a causal chain built over time. It includes long-term drivers, factors that maintain distress, short intense tipping points, and conditions that remove natural safety brakes. If any of these layers are ignored, both risk and response are misjudged. Prolonged trauma and dissociation Suicide ideation is significantly higher in people who dissociate or have dissociative features. These pat...

What It Costs Me to Stay I didn’t lose everything at once. That would have been cleaner. I lost things in pieces, a moment here, a promise there, a child’s hand slipping out of mine while adults discussed procedure. Grief didn’t arrive screaming. It learned my routines. Sat beside me. Ate quietly. Some days it lives in my chest, heavy and warm, like a second heart that only knows how to ache. I have begged without kneeling, cried without sound, loved people so fiercely it hollowed me out and left me standing anyway. There are photos I can’t look at because I can feel them breathing. There are smells that undo me, soap, dust, warm clothes, proof that memory has a body and mine remembers too well. I keep being told to let go by people who never had to hold on this hard for this long with this much at stake. They don’t see the nights where I curl around absence like it might warm me, or the mornings where breathing feels like a decision I have to make again. I am tired in a way sleep won’...

The Phantom of 2026 In the year 2026, our town had a Phantom. Not the cloak-and-candelabra kind. No organ music. No dramatic half-mask. This Phantom was far more modern: broadband-enabled suspicion, community Facebook groups, and a permanent aura of “we all know it was him” without anyone being able to explain what “it” actually was . Let’s call him Sir Nothing-Burger . Not because that’s his name—it isn’t—but because nothing ever quite stuck to him, despite everyone insisting it should have. Grey clothes. Grey routines. Grey emotional bandwidth. The kind of man who moved through life at half-speed, not because he was dangerous, but because his wiring ran on a different operating system. Sir Nothing-Burger was, how shall we put this delicately… chromosomally non-standard . Not broken. Not malicious. Just running a slightly older processor with limited RAM and no tolerance for chaos-based operating systems (which, unfortunately, is what society upgraded to). The Or...