mariemoppin

[mariemoppin]

I've always found the concept of ghost appearing just as they did when they died fascinating. Imagine how terrifying it would be to come across someone who was burned alive. All the hair on their body would either be singed or nonexistent. Their burns would be fresh, still sizzling and bubbling. The parts of their body where the skin was thinnest would have bone and tendons exposed and their voice would be raspy. You can hear his his wounds squishing and sliding against each other as he walks towards you and the agonizing grunts of pain he lets out with every step.

But imagine how chillingly devastating it would be to come across a little girl with no visible injuries other than a few scrapes on her knees. Her hair is a bit messed up and her clothes are dirty. You can see the tears still spilling from her bloodshot eyes but there isn't any indication that she died a violent death... But right as you were about to ask her how she died, you can see the black and blue bruises in the shape of fingerprints on her arms that get darker and more defined as they go down and wrap around her wrists.

[mariemoppin]

Without mental illness there would be no art.

[mariemoppin]

This isn’t the sort of thing I normally post but I’m gonna do it anyway. 

I read this book called “ The Magnum Opus: Seek and you shall find” by  Christopher and  Christine Kezelos and I fell in love. It’s kind of a children’s book; like something you would read in middle school... But I have searched for years and there is no fandom for this book at all. I want a group of people to obsess over this book with me but no one else seems to have read it.

[mariemoppin]

"You look like the world is blaming you for something."

As an INFJ, I constantly bear the weight of things that I shouldn't. I feel like things are my responsibility; as if I could have done something or not have done something to prevent bad things from happening.

And when they do, I always find a reason for it to be my fault.

[mariemoppin]

Living Alone

I reside in people, not in a home. What is a home without people? It is just an empty space that you occupy. 

Yes I am an introvert and I do like to be alone the majority of the time but to live alone… To have no one to come home to, no one to wake up to or to cook for… What is the point?

I suppose it would be somewhat comforting to have a space of your own without someone else coming and going as they please. But to have no one to live for or to live with would, as I see it, take away my purpose. 

I would lose the joy in eating because I have no one to feed. I would avoid coming home because I have no one waiting for me. I would find waking up in the morning pointless because I have no one to wake up to. 

Living for myself and only myself would defeat my purpose to live. I would simply be surviving and for what? Myself? In order for me to take care of myself, I would need to be doing it for someone else. If I lived alone I would simply wither away.

[mariemoppin]

So, my mom moved into this old house on the edge of town a few years ago. We would go visit her, my siblings and I, every few weekends. The house was creepy on it’s own. It was built on on a small hill during WW2 so it had a bunch of those small closets and crawl spaces: kind of like harry potter closets. When she first moved in. My grandparents helped her clean up the overgrown yard. In it, they found old headstones with nothing on them. They also found a well in the basement. Apparently it was for drainage. 

Weird things kept happening in the house like the doors locking and unlocking without anyone going through them. For a while we thought we might have an intruder, though nothing had been taken.

I was very into witchcraft at the time and would use the basement as a space to do that. One night, I was down there mixing some oils together when I needed something from the kitchen. When I walked up the stairs to grab it, the door leading upstairs was locked. Thinking it was nothing but a practical joke, I called out to my mom to unlock it. I called and called but got no answer. I then started to call out for my brother who eventually did come unlock the door. 

“Real funny mom!” I shouted through the house. 

“Mom isn’t here.” my brother told me. “She’s been out shopping for a few hours.”

I then asked him if he was the one who locked me in the basement but he said he hadn’t either. 

Annoyed, I told him that I was tired and going to bed. I told myself the same not wanting to admit I was too freaked out to go back to the basement tonight. 

A few days later, my siblings and I were just hanging out in the living room when we noticed my youngest sister violet staring up at the ceiling fan and laughing. 

When my brother asked her what’s so funny, she answered “The people up there are getting hit.”

“What people?” I asked.

“The little kids up there.” She said, pointing to the fan. “They are swinging and getting hit.” 

My brother and I looked at each other somewhat horrified and decided it was time to move to a different room to hang out in. 

A few other strange things happened in that house. Weird dreams, a few of us waking up sleepwalking, things getting moved around the house. 

My mom ended up moving after about a year of living there. But I have always wanted to go back. 

Also... My youngest sister has autism. And this story is 100 % true.

[mariemoppin]

I drew this up last night. It’s a church from a recurring dream I have that I just can’t get out of my head. The dream it’s self isn’t all that bad but the overall vibe of the dream is ominous and creepy. My sister saw the drawing sitting on my bed and said “Where is that? I swear I’ve been there before.” She said that the place gave her creepy vibes but she doesn’t know why or when she had ever been there. 

I’ve never told her about this dream but she was able to describe details about the church almost exactly how I had dreamt it. She also mentioned our dad being there... My dad was in my dream as well.

[mariemoppin]

I have this recurring dream that my dad and I are walking for what feels like days. We come to this cemetery in the middle of the Nevada desert. Nothing else around. No roads, no towns... Nothing. It isn't new either. It's fallen apart with time and it was obvious that no one comes here.

We get up to one of the headstones she see a few clippings of magazines and newspapers attached to some of the graves. They were articles about the person that is buried there. Not obituaries or anything, but actual articles on the person's life. Who they were, what they did, their relationships, and hobbies, everything up to their favorite color.

I listened as my dad read some of them out loud to m me. We both started crying as of we knew them. My dad then told me that we should go. That we shouldn't stay there otherwise we'll lose our minds.

I listened as my dad read some of them out loud to m me. We both started crying as of we knew them. My dad then told me that we should go. That we shouldn't stay there otherwise we'll lose our minds.

[mariemoppin]

If you got amnesia and forgot who I am and everything we've been through together... Would you still fall for me?

[mariemoppin]

A Stolen Pride

   My whole life I was proud of being a virgin, of being pure, it was a sense of self-preservation. Being a virgin was who I was and people respected that. All of that was taken away from me that night. I was violated and the thing that I cherished most about myself was stolen from me. In my eyes, it didn’t matter anymore. It didn’t matter anymore in that I was robbed of my innocence and therefore I could give myself away without the cost of feeling guilty. I thought I was ready, I thought that I could have sex, get it over with and go on with life like a normal person... I was wrong.

     It started out fine, I enjoyed it even. His lips against my skin, his warm breath and rough hands running across my sides and down my hips. It was a familiar feeling and I was unsure if it was good or bad. I started to tremble and breathe quite heavily. Blaming it on the excitement of the moment, I brushed it off and continued. I refused to admit to myself that I was not okay with what was happening. My heart started racing and before he even got my shirt off, I pushed myself away from him. 

  I couldn’t breathe and my whole body was trembling. My eyes met his and the confusion that flooded his face made me burst into tears. I didn’t even bother to pull my shirt down. I just sat there sobbing and shaking. We both sat there in silence and fear. I was afraid that if I looked at him, I would freak out again. He was afraid that if he did anything so much as move, I would freak out again so we both just sat there.

[mariemoppin]

I don’t remember going to sleep that night but I remember the dream I had. I must have been about 6 or 7 years old because my sister was asleep in the crib next to me. I remember it so vividly, it didn’t feel like a dream. I have vivid dreams all the time but this one felt different. I woke up to my mom gently brushing my face. “Happy birthday.” she said as I opened my eyes. Her voice was so soft and so pleasant that I wasn’t even sure it was her. I smiled and rolled over to look at her. Her long white dress and soft brown hair made her look like an angel. It was my mother, but not the mother that put me to bed the night before. It was the mother that had tucked me into bed years ago as she sang “That Little Boy of Mine” and brushed my face.

I sat up and saw my brother tugging on my mom’s shirt as she nursed my sister. She looked so distant. I felt a tear run down my cheek as I came to terms with the fact that it was only a dream. That my mother was gone and my mom was all that was left of her.

[mariemoppin]

I often feel like things are not real. Like I'm disconnected from reality or that life is just a situation that I played out in my head and I will eventually "wake up" and the things I "imagined" won't be there. I also know that memory and the mind itself is malleable and can so easily be manipulated. I suppose I’m afraid of convincing myself of things that aren't true.

But sometimes things feel so real when they aren’t true or they feel so fake when they are true that I have trouble distinguishing the two… But I don't. I just think I do. I have a pretty good grasp on reality, I can just feel it slipping all the time and I fear that I may lose hold one day. I haven’t yet, that I know of.

[mariemoppin]

Love doesn't have to be romantic. I love people, platonically, not romantically. But I never really knew how to explain that to people. I didn't even know that platonic love was a thing until just a little while ago. So I would get myself into trouble and end up hurting others by getting into romantic relationships when I didn't want to. I wanted to love them and be there for them but I never meant it to be romantic.

[mariemoppin]

Your Pain Is Valid

I feel like people think that their pain isn’t valid because other people have it worse than they do. Some people make up trauma or stories just so that they can have an excuse or an explanation as to why they feel depressed whereas others never talk about their pain because they feel they need a reason to be depressed. Some people have gone through trauma, heartbreak, and loss but feel like they still can’t talk about their pain because it is not enough to explain why they feel so empty or broken. 

What people don’t realize is that depression, along with any other mental illness/disorder does not need a reason. Just like any other sickness, it just happens sometimes. Any hurt, sadness, anxiety, is valid no matter what you have been through. Just because someone else has it worse than you do does not mean you can’t be hurt too.

[mariemoppin]

Hunger

There are different types of hunger. There’s the type of hunger where you haven't eaten in a few hours and your stomach feels like it’s about to cave in on itself. There’s the type where you aren’t really hungry for food but for something else and the only way you know how to fill it is by eating. And there's the type of hungry where you haven’t eaten in days but the thought of food is so revolting that you cannot even force yourself to eat. That is when it gets dangerous because you can feel your body getting weaker and you start to get the shakes but you just can’t bring yourself to eat anything. 

It’s either that or you get so hungry that you start to smell food when there is no food. You fantasize about the food you have had in the past but you are so desperate that you’ll eat anything. Even the crumbs under the table took mouth watering. You start to get mad at other people for eating and not offering you some but you won’t ask because… well… that's rude. You contemplate getting whatever they didn’t eat out of the trash or stealing some when they aren’t noticing. 

I used to get mad at people who wasted their food. “Don’t you know other people would kill to eat the rest of that?” But now I find myself wasting food all the time. I just can’t bring myself to finish anything. Once I look down and realize that I only have one bite left, that bite turns into the heaviest weight I could shove down my throat. I cry sometimes when I throw that last piece away because I know that younger me would have been looking at that single bite of food like it was the biggest chocolate pie she had ever seen. But now food makes me feel sick.

[mariemoppin]

Is Your life Story Worthy?

I think that most kids like to think that they are in a TV show or a movie or that they are being watched. My siblings and I always joke around that our life is a TV show or a book. We do things like “breaking the fourth wall” or pose for the cover of the newest season/book. We gather certain “scenes” in our lives and explain to each other how the “book” would portray it. It is just something that we all like to joke about and have fun playing around with. One of my favorite questions to ask people “Is your story worth telling?” To my surprise, not many people think so. This is disappointing and even a little sad because not many people think that their life is exciting enough or meaningful enough to be heard. People spend so much time trying to speed through life that they don’t make the most of it. This results in what they consider “a boring life”. My story, I would say, is worth telling. I think that my story is exciting enough that people would want to hear it. I love telling my story too. I feel listened to and understood like I am explaining why I am who I am.  Though it is a story filled with love and heartbreak, it doesn't have much to do with boys and high school drama. My story is different.

[mariemoppin]

A Need To Preserve What Once Was

I have this subconscious need to preserve things or bring back what once was. It isn't that I feel I cannot move on from the past but that it cannot be forgotten. Like I cannot lose those moments, those memories, or I will lose a part of who I am. The memories that live in the back of my mind built who I am today. If I somehow lose grip of them, I will have nothing to hold on to, nothing to tell me who I am. My past is not exactly pleasant but I still find myself longing for the way things were when I was young. I mourn memories as if they were people I've lost. I get depressed over the fact that things are not the same as they once were. The thought of never being able to experience that moment for the first time again. I think that we remember things differently than how they were because we want to believe that there was a time when life wasn't so shitty. When in reality, life will always be the same. I also think that life seemed better then because we were younger. We didn’t think about the things we do now. We didn’t have so much to worry about. Every time I pass by my middle school I feel sad because I miss it; everything about it. But I don’t really miss it. In reality, I know that middle school was the worst time of my life. I had a horrible home life, I had horrible friends, and yet… I still find myself wanting it all back. I keep wanting to contact people from my past. People that I know were toxic or people that have no interest in me whatsoever. When I do, I am always disappointed because I feel that somehow, they will fill that longing for the past, but they never do. Sometimes I will watch old cartoons that I haven’t seen in years. Or I will try to make a meal that I ate when I was little. I do this just to feel the nostalgia. I think that doing this will bring back old memories that I forgot about. Or moments that are too valuable to be forgotten.