The more I think about it, the more I realise photographs are constantly used throughout the show to characterise Blitz, represent his unspoken emotions, and showcase his insecurities and trauma.
He takes photos of every good moment in his life. The moments when he's riding those highs. The good memories he wants to keep.
The concert he and Fizz went to as teens...
The best points of his relationship with Verosika...
And the morning he woke up next to Stolas, feeling completely at ease next to him.
Most of these pictures seem to be selfies taken by him, and the rest were still clearly his idea. Look at Loona. She's not thrilled to be in that photo. But Blitz is. Because photos are how he cherishes the good moments in his life. They're his way of treasuring what he loves, of hoping a moment will last forever if he finds a way to keep coming back to it.
That's why, when he's feeling down, or lonely, or lost, he turns to these pictures. He even seems to have a folder with these specific pictures he wants to come back to. Perhaps hoping they'll remind him of the good moments? Offer him some comfort? Keep him some company?
But it seems like none of the photos manage to soothe him, and so he keeps scrolling, and scrolling, until...
He sees the photo. The photo with his mom and Barbie. The same one he imagines burning down in half when he thinks of the accident. And he realises he'll never go back to those moments. They didn't last. He fucked up. He always does. All the people in these pictures? He's either already lost, or will inevitably eventually lose.
Because happiness never lasts. Relationships never last. He's going to die alone, and it's all his fault.
So, every time he desperately attempts to surround himself with pics of the good moments he's had with the people he cares so deeply about, in an attempt to feel embraced, cared for, and cherished...
... He ends up erasing himself from the equation. Because maybe these memories are better without him in them. These people's lives are better without him in them.
Try as he might, he can't pretend that these memories are untainted. That they're whole. That they've held true. That he's worthy of them.
And, still, he doesn't stop filling his life with pictures of him and his loved ones. The giant photo behind his office desk. His phone background. His social media. His love for those around him is plastered in every corner of his every personal space, speaking the words he can't say out loud: that he just wants to keep these people around. That he can't bear to lose them. That he's lonely. That he just wants the good moments to last.
That he just wants someone to love him back. Maybe just enough to want him in the picture.
(and hold on, because I'm not done...)
