Post by roryanderson on Jan 2, 2010 17:56:43 GMT -5
RORY GRACIE ANDERSON.
[/size]
* FEELS JUST LIKE WE'RE LOSING CONTROL.
and if you let go, then i'll let go tonight.[/center]
TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF.
"Well, hi. My name is Rory Anderson and I am a seventeen year old female from Bellvue, Sandusky in the state of Ohio. People say I look a lot like Blake Lively, although I can't see the resemabance myself. I don't really have a nickname, my friends just call me Rory, perhaps Andy, but nothing that's really interesting. I was born on the sixteenth of december 1992, so it's pretty near Christmas, which isn't very enjoyable, in Ohio.
I am quite tall, standing at around five foot eight inches tall, that's without heels. I have long dirty blonde hair which is natural wavey, although I sometimes straighten it so it looks longer than it is, which reaches just below my breasts. I have a beuty mark which is just above my top lip on the left side, but it isn't that noticable so I don't mind it very much. I am on the slender side, weighing in at around 130lbs, which is good for my weight. I'm not overweight and I'm not underweight, I'm on my perfect weight which I am proud of. You'll usually see me wearing drainpipe jeans which are usually dark blue in color, and a lumberjack shirt with a long duffell coat and a scarf, depending on the weather, as I find these most comfortable to wear.
I don't bite my nails nor have any nasty habits, I don't smoke nor do drugs nor drink, and I have a healthy diet. I am a vegetarian, which helps keep my weight healthy and on the right track, so other than that, I'm pretty much your average teenage girl."
TELL US ABOUT YOUR MEDICAL HISTORY.
[/size][/font]"I only have one medical disorder which there isn't really much to write about. Well, yeah, I could explain to you how it affects me, I guess that would be okay.
It started getting noticed when I was around fifteen years old. I would be at school and I would be absolutely fine, just hanging around my friends, talking, chatting, laughing etc. I think it was mostly the laughing that set me off. When we were talking, I would just suddenly change. My mood, my personality, just me in general. I'd instantly start feeling threatened and I'd think that people were talking to me or laughing at me, I just suddenly though that someone or something was after me, and I'd just lose it. After this happened a few times, it eventually got worse. I'd think that I was going to die, that someone was going to kill me, and so I hid myself away and locked the doors. Because of this, my mother took me to the doctors and he did some checks, and he diagnosed me with paranoid schizophrenia.
After I was diagnosed, I had therapy and councelling and I had regular check ups to see how I was doing, but for some reason I never changed. I'd still get all freaked out and convinced that someone was out to kill me, to the point where I actually thought about killing myself to stop the voices in my head and just take the pain away, but I was always too afraid to do it. Instead, I resorted to cutting myself to focus my attention on something else, which worked for a while before my mother noticed the scars on my arms and instantly checked me in to this place.
I think I'm gradually getting better, I no longer hear voices and no longer have suicidal thoughts, but my mood does still change and I become a totally different person. It's like I suddenly split personality and snap back to myself, and forget everything I've just said or done, but hopefully this place will somehow cure me of that."
HOW CAN WE ACCOMODATE YOU BETTER?
[/size][/font]In general, I'm a pretty nice person. I enjoy to hang out with some friends and have a good time, and I especially like to make people laugh and I like having people make me laugh. I'm also pretty daring and easily persuaded, and it doesn't take much to get on my good side. I usually get on with pretty much everything when I get over my shyness. Well, I wouldn't call it shyness, more of an anxiety. A lot of people would describe me as innocent, because I tend to trust anyone and I don't have anything bad on my record, like, I don't agree with drugs and I don't drink nor smoke, just because I don't like too.
I am easily spooked, which is apart of my schizophrenia, because like I said above, when someone looks at me and starts laughing or talking, I suddenly think that they're talking about me or are plotting something against me. Because of this, my mood changes and I suddenly freak out a little, sometimes bringing on panic attacks and a feeling of discomfort. Another thing that my schizophremia brings in hallucinations and delusions, I sometimes see things that arn't there and hear voices in my head, although the voices are pretty much gone.
Some of my dislikes are in general bad habits. I can't stand it when people bite their nails or make nasty noises when they eat or eat with their mouths open, it sometimes makes me lose my temper and I'll sometimes say something to them to make them stop. Some more things I dislike are Spiders, bugs, snakes, dirty old men, etc. I hate people who are immature and liars, idiots, disprespect, people who take the piss out of others because of their condition, just things like that I can't stand for.
On the other hand, I have many likes. These include bad likes, hot cups of tea on cold days, a long shower after a hard day, a hot cup of coffee, a feeling of calm and relaxation, casual conversation, having a good time with people, quiet nights in with close friends with popcorn and soda, hot soup, sleeping, feeling happy, inspiration, iced tea, the taste of lemon, and just things like that. It would take weeks for me to list all of my likes."
TELL US ABOUT YOUR PAST.
[/size][/font]I was born on a cold, winters day to my parents Peter and Layla Anderson in the small town of Bellvue, Sandusky in the state of Ohio, USA. At the time, my parents already had two more kids, Jaimie and Samantha Anderson. Jamie being female and four years older than myself and Samantha being female and two years older than myself. We were a tight knit family, always looking out for each other and such, and me and my two sisters were really close friends, always hanging out and finding something interesting to do around our neighbourhood. Although, I'd always been the odd one out of the three. My two older sisters grew up very quickly, getting themselves in to all sorts of trouble with police and boys and such, where as I was the one who liked to stay home and stay out of trouble. I think the first time that my parents noticed there was something different about me was when I was around eight years old and they walked in to my room and found me talking to myself. Well, not really talking, but mumbling random facts and phrases that even my parents didn't know.
I said that I was talking to my invisible friend, because I actually thought that I could see him and talk to him, but obviously that was a sign of schizophrenia, but no one noticed until a few years later. When I was around eight or nine is when it gradually got a little worse, that was when I started seeing things that weren't actually there and I started hearing voices in my head, and my personality changed very slightly, just my mood changing from happy to angy and then back to happy. They just thought it was something that nearly all young children experienced and they thought that I'd grow out of it and grow up. So my schizrophrenia progressed slowly.
IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE?
[/size][/font]"in first person, tell us if there is anything else we should know about you that will help us help you here at the asylum. this is optional and has no word count."
THE MASTERMIND BEHIND IT ALL.
[/size][/font]hey, my name is RAE[/color] i have EIGHTEEN[/color] tracks spinning on my record. this is my FIRST[/color] character. i have been roleplaying for AROUND FIVE YEARS[/color]. the password is SILICON AND SALINE, POISEN, INJECT ME[/color].[/font][/size]
[/blockquote][/blockquote][/justify]
Taken from another site:
effing editors. effing photographers. effing ciaran and his stupid effing band.
in case you couldn't tell, miss tabitha quillan was not a happy bunny. she only,
technically, had two nights to herself a week, when there were no gigs to review,
no articles to take home and check facts on, nothing for her to do at all but laze
about in her apartment with her cat and a pint of ben and jerry's ice cream. or,
alternately, go out with her friends and watch them do the one thing she could
never do - play their music in front of a live audience in a bar. and tonight, she
had intended to do just that. ciaran had promised her a trip down to velvet rouge
after he had finished band practice, but answering the phone as a force of habit
had led to tabby's otherwise quiet night being interrupted by an emergency
assignment. apparently, one of the other reviewers had fallen down a flight of
stairs on her way out the door, and tabby had been the only contactable one
to come and get the exclusive on the fallout boy concert. the photographer
tabby had been told to meet had ditched her at the last minute, and ciaran was
still at band practice... so she was on her own. and as if that wasn't bad enough,
the bloody security guard at the front door had refused to let her in.
"we're full," he'd said, even after tabby had flashed her crescendo id card and
the green plastic of her provisional driving license. "i'm sorry, but unless your
name is on the vip list, i can't help you." tabby tried to contact her editor about
this, because there was no way now she was here, she was going to give up
without a fight. she'd missed the first half hour of the man in the iron mask on
television, and her dinner had probably gone cold by now, hastily thrown aside
to come out as it was. but no. apparently, editors were allowed to keep normal
hours, unlike reviewers, and editors could turn their phones off when it suited
them. huffing, tabby skulked off around the side of the building. it was times
like this that she regretted quitting smoking after university; the stress of being
a journalist - even as low level as she was - really wasn't worth the supposed
glamour of the job. she tried calling ciaran again, because he was the smart
one and he'd know what to do, even if it meant pretending to be the editor over
the phone, but he wasn't answeiring either. tabby groaned, tugging her fingers
disgruntledly through her hair. this was hopeless. and now she was cold to boot.
she tucked her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket and headed deeper
into the alleyway, her fingers keeping a tight grasp around her ring of keys just
in case, as her mother had taught her. but it was empty - apparently even the
homeless that graced london's streets had better standards than this grubby
club, tabby tripped over a black bag tied off, the resounding chinking from within
revealing that it's contents were empty beer bottles. the low hum of the air
conditioning system drowned out the bassline of the music, but tabby could
still hear if she kept close to the graffiti-marked walls. she came to a step and
nearly tripped, but her slow progress along the alleyway meant the change in
floor level was not as unexpected as it might have been if she was moving fast.
instead, her elbow collided with the cold, hard metal of the back door of the
club and she swore quietly. a cat screeched and ran from its hiding place behind
the dustbins, leaping over damp newspapers and bags of beerbottles, while
tabby recovered herself and forced the door of the club open.
it was surprisingly warm in here, even with the air conditioning going as full-
pelt as it was. tabby blinked a couple of times to adjust her eyes to the change
in lighting and squeezed her way through the crowd before establishing that she
was at the very back of the vip area. she sighed, flicked her hair out of the way of
her line of vision and headed for the most empty area of the floor that she could
see. oh, but if only it were that easy! managing to navigate her way around a
couple of tables and some gyrating members of the crowd that barely looked
legal, tabby came to the bar and ordered herself a beer, before moving on. well,
at least she felt more natural now, and comfortable to boot. she fished her work
id from her pocket one-handed and passed through the crowd, but at the last
minute, some - well, tabby didn't think the word she would use to describe him
could be repeated - decided to step back onto her foot. much shuffling ensued
before tabby could remove herself from the situation, and took a deep swig of
her beer.
"excuse me... can I help you?"
tabby supressed a chuckle; unless this woman worked for the band, there was
no way in hell she could help.
effing editors. effing photographers. effing ciaran and his stupid effing band.
in case you couldn't tell, miss tabitha quillan was not a happy bunny. she only,
technically, had two nights to herself a week, when there were no gigs to review,
no articles to take home and check facts on, nothing for her to do at all but laze
about in her apartment with her cat and a pint of ben and jerry's ice cream. or,
alternately, go out with her friends and watch them do the one thing she could
never do - play their music in front of a live audience in a bar. and tonight, she
had intended to do just that. ciaran had promised her a trip down to velvet rouge
after he had finished band practice, but answering the phone as a force of habit
had led to tabby's otherwise quiet night being interrupted by an emergency
assignment. apparently, one of the other reviewers had fallen down a flight of
stairs on her way out the door, and tabby had been the only contactable one
to come and get the exclusive on the fallout boy concert. the photographer
tabby had been told to meet had ditched her at the last minute, and ciaran was
still at band practice... so she was on her own. and as if that wasn't bad enough,
the bloody security guard at the front door had refused to let her in.
"we're full," he'd said, even after tabby had flashed her crescendo id card and
the green plastic of her provisional driving license. "i'm sorry, but unless your
name is on the vip list, i can't help you." tabby tried to contact her editor about
this, because there was no way now she was here, she was going to give up
without a fight. she'd missed the first half hour of the man in the iron mask on
television, and her dinner had probably gone cold by now, hastily thrown aside
to come out as it was. but no. apparently, editors were allowed to keep normal
hours, unlike reviewers, and editors could turn their phones off when it suited
them. huffing, tabby skulked off around the side of the building. it was times
like this that she regretted quitting smoking after university; the stress of being
a journalist - even as low level as she was - really wasn't worth the supposed
glamour of the job. she tried calling ciaran again, because he was the smart
one and he'd know what to do, even if it meant pretending to be the editor over
the phone, but he wasn't answeiring either. tabby groaned, tugging her fingers
disgruntledly through her hair. this was hopeless. and now she was cold to boot.
she tucked her hands deep into the pockets of her jacket and headed deeper
into the alleyway, her fingers keeping a tight grasp around her ring of keys just
in case, as her mother had taught her. but it was empty - apparently even the
homeless that graced london's streets had better standards than this grubby
club, tabby tripped over a black bag tied off, the resounding chinking from within
revealing that it's contents were empty beer bottles. the low hum of the air
conditioning system drowned out the bassline of the music, but tabby could
still hear if she kept close to the graffiti-marked walls. she came to a step and
nearly tripped, but her slow progress along the alleyway meant the change in
floor level was not as unexpected as it might have been if she was moving fast.
instead, her elbow collided with the cold, hard metal of the back door of the
club and she swore quietly. a cat screeched and ran from its hiding place behind
the dustbins, leaping over damp newspapers and bags of beerbottles, while
tabby recovered herself and forced the door of the club open.
it was surprisingly warm in here, even with the air conditioning going as full-
pelt as it was. tabby blinked a couple of times to adjust her eyes to the change
in lighting and squeezed her way through the crowd before establishing that she
was at the very back of the vip area. she sighed, flicked her hair out of the way of
her line of vision and headed for the most empty area of the floor that she could
see. oh, but if only it were that easy! managing to navigate her way around a
couple of tables and some gyrating members of the crowd that barely looked
legal, tabby came to the bar and ordered herself a beer, before moving on. well,
at least she felt more natural now, and comfortable to boot. she fished her work
id from her pocket one-handed and passed through the crowd, but at the last
minute, some - well, tabby didn't think the word she would use to describe him
could be repeated - decided to step back onto her foot. much shuffling ensued
before tabby could remove herself from the situation, and took a deep swig of
her beer.
"excuse me... can I help you?"
tabby supressed a chuckle; unless this woman worked for the band, there was
no way in hell she could help.
