redsnacky

[redsnacky]

28 —> 29

“Old age is no place for sissies.” — Bette Davis

Original work: “Cat Cradle in the Sky” by Anneka Mia. Edited version “Human + Data” by hektorsilva.

It’s been a while since my last confession.

I have been journaling, just not posting.

But there are a couple of things that I need to get off my chest.

Lots of self-discoveries, lots of depression, lots of insights, lots of letdowns.

Falling in love habitually isn’t a personality trait. It’s a package of “what used to be and wants” mixed with the illusion of 2D animation. Puberty knocking on the dark amber door of the frontal lobe, emotions being replaced by hormones. Self vs the fantastical world of societal roles.

Discovering one’s sexuality and one’s gender are not the same. Attraction is like an autumn leaf swaying in the spring wind. Almost there, but not quite.

Manifesting is a double-edged sword. When you’re a kid, you imagine all the triumphs but as an adult, you experience all the setbacks—a learning curve from fantasy to reality in the blink of an eye.

You can become what you fear. Karma can reflect as soon as you step into its block. Instantly.

It’s okay to fail. The direction you once thought would work, has run its course. Try something new. Less expectations. Make sure to learn to enjoy versus learning how to make money off of it.

Personal goals matter to you. Not to be part of a trend or publish any otherworldly reactions for the sake of attention-seeking platforms. Don’t need to explain anything, not out of pity or wanting to belong.

Don’t read self-help books. CONSPIRACY, authors that publish these types of editions create an easily reachable target, manipulating the easy-goers whilst hiding their darkest intentions. Kind of like cults. (just a theory, don’t punish the messenger).

Age is not a setback. *Shia LeBeouf in the background* To be fair, research and then do it. I jumped out of a plane from 18K ft for my bday. It wasn’t what I expected but I was singing the Bee Gees the whole way through.

[redsnacky]

Finding Ways to Understand - Part IV

“Nothing’s so dainty sweet as lovely melancholy.” — Francis Beaumont

“Just Women“ by Margaret Durow

01/05/2023

I have the shirt on.

The one that smells like you.

And I feel calm. I feel like you’re hugging me.

Like the time you put me in your hoodie, burrito’d me and kissed me on my forehead. Forehead kisses are hugely underrated.

I still remember.

I wonder if you’re thinking of me. The way I still think about you.

So far I’ve been writing every single day about you.

I wonder if it’s going to stop or if it’s to keep happening.

This is my Therapy. For right now. She’s on vacation.

This might be my Therapy for some time. Maybe it’s my Therapy when I don’t want to reveal my feelings to anyone.

Hard to come by right? Considering the only person I told is Tasha.

But I’ve kept your name a mystery and your presence an unknown shadow.

Or have said that I had mixed drinks in a couple of bars and danced alone in my room.

My lies grin through my teeth. But my feelings are still singing “Maybe I” by Galdive.

I fell for you. I fell for me. I still do.

Or “Her” by Jalen Tyree & Love-Sadkid.

I wish I didn’t delete our conversations.

The only avenue I have left is text messages.

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss his body, his lust, his thrust, his fingers, and his everything.

He had been the one that has truly made me sink into the pleasure.

He has given and shown me what true sexual desire is.

Oh god.

How I truly felt connected within me when he would take me and manipulate my body in all sorts of ways.

Waiting for you to see my Instagram.

To check on my things, like how I’m constantly stalking yours.

Odin, why is this one harder to let go of?

I’m trying not to text you. To give you space.

To only text you on Saturdays, Sundays, or Mondays.

To not give me away.

To not be so needy or embarrassed.

[redsnacky]

Finding Ways to Understand - Part III

“To really ask is to open the door to the whirlwind. The answer may annihilate the question and the questioner.” - Anne Rice

“Where I left my lover“ by Carolina Rodriguez Fuenmayor

01/04/2023

I want to talk to you. I want to send videos and GiFS.

I want to know that you still want me because I still want you.

Saw your story today. Drinking truly, swimming in the pool. You look happy.

Happy without me.

I’m the reason we stopped because I do need time. But I’m worried that you’ll find someone better.

and it won’t be me.

To enjoy your laughter.

To look into your eyes for long periods of time.

It’s weird to me that I needed time to focus on myself and mourn but I find myself thinking of you.

Am I masking my feelings for an emotional connection or am I truly feeling the effects of loving someone new?

Love is such a strong word.

Desire.

Passion. Breathe.

Air. Wind.

Amor. Care.

Intention. Intuition.

Divinity. Power.

Love. Strength. Safe.

Comfortable. One of a kind. New. Connection.

I have to stop.

I keep thinking I have a chance.

A chance to start from scratch.

To show him security through fun dates or old videos. But I don’t know if I have the chance to tell him.

Thoughts. Whispers. Comments.

Laughter. Doubts. Questions.

Everything that my eyes have seen, I want to share it with him.

I am making myself face ridiculous anxieties from past thoughts.

I am facing my anxious fears.

Part of me explains it as a way to process it all quicker, giving me the moment he’s been waiting for.

But that’s not fair for either of us.

Hopefully one day I can show him this, but for now, you’re my journal of these feelings for him and for myself.

Anxieties checked off:

Been straightforward about how I feel about a certain person (fake hotness vs friendship).

Voicing my jokes outside of my head.

Drank chicory coffee before work shift (NEVER AGAIN)

[redsnacky]

Finding ways to Understand - Part II

“You can close your eyes to reality but not to memories.” — Stanislaw Jerzy Lec

“The Mystical World (Leading You on Travels in a Mysterious & Visionary World). Published 1990 by Jiangmen Cultural Relics, Taipei (Taiwan)“ - Found on Doors of Perception (DOP)

01/03/2023

I haven’t had enough time to go over the processing of the days in sudden sadness and pompousness.

The years of memories,

Madness,

And mourning.

But my mind has the worst organizational system.

100 thoughts are furiously filing themselves in tsunami-like form.

Soaring,

Bashing,

And leaving me crashing into various walls of lavender cabinets, sage drawers, and grey shelves my adult/child-like imagination can offer.

The only movie screening at this time is New Year's, forehead kisses, and Katy Perry.

[redsnacky]

Finding Ways to Understand

“Love is an adventure and a conquest. It survives and develops, like the universe itself, only by perpetual discovery.” — Pierre Teilhard de Chardin

“Point of Crossing” by Rozanne Hermelyn Di Silvestro

01/02/2023

I’m finding ways to text you, to seduce you like how I used to.

As if that were the way to make up for the hurt.

To make up for the big decision.

To be with you.

I feel icky. Sweaty, sticky. Like having sticky baked buns stuck to the tips of your fingers.

I feel jumpy. Like having the energy to squeal and run like a horse racing wildly in an open field.

I feel swollen. Like hives during the summer times. Under hot lights begging to cook down under cold splashes.

I feel sweaty. Like drips of newly showered dew drops falling over a red leaf from an overworked rooted apple tree.

I feel in love but anxious. I want you to be happy but I selfishly want it with me. I feel happiest when you look or talk to me.

Anything that comes from you, I get happy jitters. I feel calm but my insides feel drawn to the warmth and desire that you possess.

I need time off of commitment but I want time with you. It’s hard to see you as a friend when my emotions go haywire every time you’re in my sights.

It’s hard to imagine my life without you in it.

Anxieties checked off:

Wore a dress to work

Showing legs in daylight

Rode the train

Wore a dress in public transportation.

[redsnacky]

To Blame

“The superior man blames himself. The inferior man blames others” — Don Shula

“Ignorance” by Jada Wilson on Pinterest & Instagram

I’m to blame for everything sexually.

I don’t initiate out of fear. I don’t try out of anger.

I think of sex only in my head and fear them coming out.

Getting fucked physically is emotionally hard.

Getting fucked up mentally is physically damaging.

I’m damned goods. I look fine. I look pretty. I look okay.

That mask isn’t real. That mask is just a fake. Yet I put the blame on the mask. I put all my negative things on that mask. Once I get called out, I get confused, defensive, and offended. there are not 2 sides to me, there are many. But we hate ourselves from our past. We connect with the masks to save us. I try my best to stay true but I’m to blame for things I don’t initiate.

For things, I don’t want. For things, I can’t or won’t do. I try to mentally be ready but my body says no. I try to physically be open but my mind scars me. I can’t believe in the outside since words resonate from past memories.

Memories that never leave, memories that hold on to a part of me. That holds on to lost feelings.

Lost feelings that don’t validate what they may become. Who I was isn’t who I am. But who I am might fall into lost, alone, and desperate. Desperate for love, lust, and freedom.

I feel like a bird trapped in a cage of my own despair. I can’t speak to him. I can sing and talk my emotions out but he will only validate me if my wings do the job he’s meant to see. My wings. My body. My emotions.

I’m guilt-tripped into sex as if that’s the only way. As if that is the only way to get him what he desires. Who I was is coming back. The negative emotions.

The feelings of alone. I’m in therapy to cure and forgive. But to never forget. Who I was, was a lost soul. A lost body. A lost love. A lost child. I’ve never imagined loving or being loved by what I am because I’ve never fully opened myself to it.

I’ve never allowed them in but they forced themselves. And now mentally I’m not okay. I’m not really okay. None of us are really okay. But I’m to blame.

I’m to blame for not being sexually open. I’m to blame for not wanting to kiss as much as him. I’m to blame for not trying when the mask has been there through those times. Preventing me from seeing that he’s the one.

He’s the one I wanted for so long. But the mask is scared to lose purpose. The mask is scared. The mask is trying to help but prevent from feeling emotions of love and lust out of fear.

I know you’re going to read this, but try to understand. I’m trying to fight this mask. I am fighting this invisible force that is scared of responsibility and actions.

Please keep writing. Please keep this note.

I am to blame for not breaking free from memories. I am to blame for not showing.

But I have shown you how much I care. I have shown you through gifts, jokes, and laughter. I have shown you who I am by little things.

My beak can speak, sing, talk, and fight. But my cage is getting smaller. My mask is growing thicker around me. I’m scared to show vulnerability.

I’m scared for you to leave me free while you suffer in a corner. My feelings have been pushed aside for 6 months. Those 6 months.

Dark, stormy, and agonizing 6 months. You’re not the only one who suffered. I lost you. In that fog of doubt and despair. The mask grew out of protection and security. And now it wants to keep me. I want to keep it for protection but doubt, anger, and frustration hold it in their power.

Sexual thoughts surround my legs and hips but my brain confuses them with attacks and distress.

I’m to blame for not trying to push memories aside. To be in the moment and forget. But how could one forget? How could I not remember the times of talking, actions, and reactions?

How could I forget the times I was at peace but then lost?

How could I reconcile with the thought of “the past is the past if you let it be”? there’s not “letting it be” there’s no actual reassurance.

There’s not a time without it but it's comforting to know these feelings. I feel validated to know that these were not okay. To feel that these actions were made out of spite and despair creates a human level of understanding. Not emotional.

I am to blame for not holding myself accountable. For “allowing” memories to fill my thoughts with salt and pepper.

[redsnacky]

Tocurr, The Shapeshifter

“Prejudice is a burden that confuses the past, threatens the future, and renders the present inaccessible” — Maya Angelou

                            “Cathedral of the Cliff” by Eugene C

“Such a pitiful display,” mumbled the old enchantress. “Not a single soldier can handle the beasts within the twisted caves. I have planned my little game well”. The room filled with glowing orange runes, colorful leather books, and encrypted scrolls with the most obscure secrets had suddenly turned into precious flowers blooming at the single instance of the enchantress’s smile, an aroma flowing so sweet that even the hummingbirds salivate at a whiff of their scent.

A while passes and a soft jingle of the greenery’s doorbell rings.

“Come in,” announced the old enchantress ever so sweetly as she got comfortable in her ruby and gold armchair set. Breathing in and chuckled as she prepared for another unworthy challenger from her labyrinth or perhaps the Chantry waiting on her final answer.

“Oh WOW! They weren’t kidding” roared the hidden creature, piquing and marveling at the details of the magic between the corners of the house. Plants were dancing to the vintage melodies of the golden phonograph hidden in the corner as if the times never changed; kitchen appliances were busy as a bee flying in whimsical patterns never to be intercepted preparing for the many chores at hand, and a variety of candles were soaring to the melody with caution helping the bookkeeper with their immense studies.

So much joy and wonder filled the air that the new guest instantly forgot about his purpose.

“Amazing isn’t it?” vaunted the old enchantress smiling at the visitor with kind eyes but with cautious vision.

“Very much so.” replied the little fellow captured by the beauty surrounding each wonder.

“Oh! Where are my manners? The name is Tocurr, wonderful to meet you!” said the excited guest as he straightened his Egyptian blue striped vest, checks his runic copper pocket watch, and reaches into the depths of his pocket for an emerald scroll to give to the old enchantress.

“Madam Pheria sent me, have you received her letter?” said Tocurr waiting for her response, but fixated and ogling at the rare blossomed flowers on the enchantress's left side, without facing her.

“I believe I have but have you completed…?” said the enchantress whilst tilting her head and sighing as she undoubtedly knew the unsuccessful answer.

With an interrupting and enthusiastic “AHA” shout, Tocurr releases from his pocket a familiar object the enchantress wasn’t prepared to hold for this afternoon.

The room’s busy objects become startled by the shout and turned to see what the commotion was all about.

“Oh yes! here’s that flimsy yellow rock, was expecting some better loot. Although the sight of the foolish participants in front of me made it all worthwhile, some tripped, some got trampled, and some even disposed of themselves in their trousers at the sight of the level 2 beast guarding the gates” laughed Tocurr, reminiscing and telling the exuberant details to the appliances surrounding him.

The enchantress was baffled by the sheer bluntness of Tocurr, there hasn’t been a single individual who could’ve achieved the prize, yet here he stands with an odd dark purple cloak surrounding his aura. He was not at all what she was expecting and a bit wary of his presence.

For the many eras’s the enchantress has travel, she had never seen anything like him. The appliances seem to be comfortable around him and in an instant, they circled him as if they were children listening to the amazing folktales they never imagined. Laughing, cheering, and whispering, the old enchantress looks at what was the prize of the caves and smirks.

All of a sudden, there was a growl coming from Tocurr, a familiar sound that once again interrupted the enchantress's thoughts.

“Let’s have some lunch, I’m preparing a delicious feast and I finally have a new face to share with.” delighted the old lady as she reaches her hand to Tocurr and shows him the way.

[redsnacky]

Helping this awesome human reach more viewership, please share if interested in his stuff!!

[redsnacky]

Ruben’s Life

“If you are going to achieve excellence in big things, you develop the habit in little matters. Excellence is not an exception, it is a prevailing attitude.” — Colin Powell

The Cat by Alexander Maskaev 

I always wished to be different. In a different body, in a different cycle.

Sneaking into the tunnels lies a glorious feast. The pale giants have decided to construct their living in this land. Once a peaceful land with sweet-scented winds, pretty flowers, and space to run and play. Now it’s just big wooden planks, metal tubes underneath the floorboards, and big clear squares to bring scorching sunlight or moonlight to count the days. My name was once Ruben but now it’s just “a pest” but in screaming conditions, as if my ears weren’t sensitive enough. I have just enough sensors and abilities as the giants do.

In the corners of this wide building the hairless ones call “house”, there are stacks of food everywhere. Some are hidden in boxes and others in a resilient material too hard to chew. I found the perfect hidden hole that hasn’t been discovered by the hairless ones but it’s protected by the fat furry guardian. He is treated like a king. Fed, pampered, nails trimmed, played with, and clothed. I don’t know what for, since he is the pest, not me. He marks his territory with that awful smell and relieves himself where he seems fit. The pale giants are seduced by his soft exterior but he is a predator in camouflage.

I would be a better companion. I am fast. I am limber. I am adorable. I am smart and am willing to learn any tricks faster than that feline can. But when I’m seen, I am described as the problem. When the giants have come to the land without our permission nor the sky’s permission, then again they do create great wonder, interesting knowledge, and goodies for us to reach for. We strategize our movements with a swift of our tail and the quick invisibility of a gust of wind.

I’m closer to the hidden hole that has a hint of green mist that fills my nose with notes of salty, smoky, and tangy goodness. My mouth waters as I feel my paws approach with delicacy and excitement. There is only one giant that is kind to my temptations but is often away from the war that begins with the fat demon. I peaked from my hidden wooden cracked hole and monitor the premises for the enemy. I’m located near the white and grey flat surface, so smooth and clear I can see my reflection. I am close but unseen. The giant moved to the other part of the space. I’m safe from the enemy for now but he is still near.

I hide behind these long metal cylinders as I see crumbs next to the glowing green mist boiling within a broad, shallow container of metal having sides flaring outwards to the top. My ears twitch as I hear purring coming from the long passage with tall openings on each side. The giant comes back and stirs the glowing mist as I reach towards the Ruben-made hole near the pile of crumbs in the corner.

I have perfected the plan and as I step closer to the crumbs, I feel a chill run through my spine, and frozen fear covers my eyes with adrenalin tears. He has seen me. I take a deep breath and focus my attention on the hole. Ready… Set… Go!

Moving at the speed of light as I hear the demon yelling at the giant and trying to jump on the steaming glowing mist. I chuckle under my breath as to think this idiotic buffoon can ever pass by a boiling object without damaging its precious pampered paws. Being small is a blessing and being me is a given.

I run back to the cracked wooden hole with enough new crumbs in my hand but I feel myself floating. I have been pinched and captured by the giant and hear hisses and happy taunts from the demon below me. The giant is too slow and loud and I am terrified. While I’m desperately trying to think of ways to escape, I can’t help but shake in the hands of the hairless pale giant.

“Mittens is this the reason you knocked over my porcelain pot?!” said the giant. “You are in big trouble little mouse. Mittens might be the one who ruined my precious decor, but you should’ve gone through *** trophies. He doesn’t need that many.”

The giant was relieved. As if the fat demon wouldn’t be to blame without a cause. He is an F-A-T good-for-nothing pest. Why can’t they see that?!

“I am kind but *** and Mittens might not be.” She said as she pinched a big slice of crumb from the greenish mist goodie, carried me outside to the back garden door, and placed me near the trash can where most of my kind grabs from.

I am safe.

[redsnacky]

The year 2547

“If we continue to develop our technology without wisdom or prudence, our servant may prove to be our executioner.” — Omar N. Bradley

“eye see“ by Niko Sullo on Instagram

I’m applying for my first entry-level position after finishing college. The day is gray as the overcast sky opens to a morning and afternoon drizzle. The blue dots fall onto the same blue Teflon-plated umbrella, as blank as the path before me. Waiting at the same coffee shop, as the poisonous drops awake the day with terror and somberness. Buildings have been left with nothing but the materials of stone and cement, blocks of empty faces, making everything the same.

Nothing high-spirited in the real world. Gloomy, monotone, and sorrows have colored the city as the flora has dissipated into plastic and the fauna has gone extinct completely. We have given into our materialistic appetite and left the forgotten damage to the sky and the sea.

The coffee shop where I ponder on the acceptance of my resume, the results of my likeness with the stale black liquid that stirs in my mug. These glasses. Nothing but lights and fake desires as the eye only follows what it wants to see. Everyone around burrowed into their augmented world, where they have more control over the changes in their profiles versus the natural existence they so despise.

I am a sore thumb in between the crowd around me, as I refuse to wear those stupid vision guards they are so obsessed with. I have no choice but to wear them to be part of society and to be accepted by my peers. Cold shivers run through my body as I place the ugly metal circles upon my face and get blinded by a variety of artificial signs in neon lights. Never-ending diode lasers shoot promotional shapes into my eye sockets and blind me with greed. Procrastination and lack of focus circle the mind as the cartoonish fonts and drawings come in close proximity to the eyelashes that separate the impervious element from my eyes.

My online profile is as generic as the people around me. Likes, shares, and comments are the only factors ruling the world and determine whether I get the job or run the occasional swipe fest. Digital elements create a filter for the world around me. I look at people’s fictitious graphics, gifs, emojis, and shades that change their appearance and somehow make them interesting.

Adding a level of creation to the outside as if it changes something within.

Technology has advanced to the point of lust and outer appearance to symbolize wealth and convenience. It is common to have digital pets, luxurious abilities, and duplicates of silhouettes with a simple nod or a blink of an eye. As I feel minuscule in a world of gadgets and gizmos ingrained in our nervous systems, I wish for the times of simple pleasures and nature. Where our mechanical objects were outside of our organic bodies, where our voices weren’t controlled by the volume status, or where these glasses were only meant to help us see and nothing more.

I digress. As I sit and stare, there’s a notification.

The results of my acceptance weighting on the sympathy of my intellectual profile and hoping on the dismissal of the public annoyance of my web profile.

I…I have been dismissed. Rejected. Left to the expectations that without a positive ongoing selfish routine of internet productivity, I am no good for cybernetics enhancements.

For the very thing, I so desperately want to change.

[redsnacky]

Fear of Color

“The soul becomes dyed with the color of its thoughts.” — Marcus Aurelius

A Rebirth of Wonder by Harley Weir & George Rouy

I feel as though there is one color that I am drawn to that affects both a negative and positive psychological appeal.

Pink.

It seems as though we are (as women) directed to Pink because it somehow correlates with gender and femininity, but for as long as I can remember I’ve always avoided it.

I always have felt as though “if you don’t like pink, you aren’t girly enough”. I don’t remember ever having a pink jacket or tee but as soon as I started dancing at a young age pink was the only color available, to signify innocence and naiveness. There’s a certain aspect of pink that signifies happiness and beauty but I never wanted to get near it, as a fear of not being able to be taken seriously.

Society didn’t help with the marketing of said color since there are so many examples (like Legally Blonde, Mean Girls, The House of Bunnies, etc.) that all seemed to convey that certain women wearing all pink means that “they might be beautiful on the outside but they are dumb on the inside”.

It wasn’t until I started practicing makeup, I realized how much of a difference there is in saturation, in hue, and in value.

How the many shades that exist signify different aspects of life. From childhood codependency to parodies of the following ages.

Innocence, Rebellion, Opulence, Empowerment, Inclusiveness.

How neon or barbie pink may not be for my skin color or personality, but there are other shades I can still play around with and decide for myself if I like it or not.

No matter what society thinks.

Then came the Maison Valentino Pink PP collection and I was in awe.

I realized how much power and pull within the zeitgeist,

How much the definition of Pink doesn’t completely fall into one gender,

And how much I needed those barbie pink outfits.

[redsnacky]

Something Sparkly

“Only one who devotes himself to a cause with his whole strength and soul can be a true master. For this reason mastery demands all of a person.” — Albert Einstein

Inventing Anna on Netflix

I’m currently watching “Inventing Anna” on Netflix and I am HOOKED. If you have an affinity towards movies like Devil's Wears Prada, Crazy Rich Asians, Dressmaker, or Dior & I; where the fashion pulls you just enough to lean forward and throws powerful gut-sucking swirls to your abdomen and stain the blood gushing name with rich bitch energy. Pull up those old pink Juicy Couture sweats with those Swarovski rhinestones and binge with me. The attitude, the knowledge, the twists, and the game are just too fun to contain.

1hr 5mins of each episode brings you closer to the wishes of being so supreme to afford high couture rags, complimentary silhouettes, and sweet honey chains melting from your fingertips. It’s wanting to become the queen without any of the controversies. It’s the wealthy youth of the old hierarchy that paves the way of desperate starving glances and blank meek sheep following into their empty promises of being known. It’s the game where nobody can be trusted but everyone needs something from you, moving from sinking ships to playing into the strategy of 64 square spaces of alternating realities.

It’s the looks. The way these characters position their faces, their auras, their audacity with poise and fury. The eyes — from puppy innocence to treacherous aristocratic kitten — whimper a fake cry to the enemy in which the hero so desperately sponges and manipulates for resources. A trickery to deception and artistic perception comes to play. Shadows of the wealth are replaced with carton copies of self-centered moves to only gain good name and public mention.

The clothes. How daring to bring a soft-spoken genius to the mix of uncertain images, status, dramatic numbers, and wardrobe. “Dress to impress” is an understatement for which Anna brings to a halt, “dress to confess, to stress, to impress, to direct”. It’s the “wanting to be known” without the weight of high stressors and old manipulators. It’s always being pampered and receiving compliments without giving it all back. With customer service kindness and low degree manners, Anna Delvey brings a virtuous evil to the fame, fortune, and bling of the fashion industry. Of the art industry. Of the high-end taste of the moguls we so desperately want to be.

It’s the fashion type world of the fashion type girl.

[redsnacky]

Once upon a time

“Some people think that the truth can be hidden with a little cover-up and decoration. But as time goes by, what is true is revealed, and what is fake fades away.” — Ismail Haniyeh

by Mcptato on DevianArt

Long ago in a kingdom far far away, there lived a family of witches hidden in an underground city named Mumpsimus. It was protected by an enchanted forest, a labyrinth of caves, and tortuous traps for any creature that would dare to break the land. The citizens lived in a strict Black and White world. Were muted colors were barely allowed and talents were forbidden. This family had a broken past and fled to too many stars beyond the horizon.

There was the mother and the two daughters, the father was far away but helped the family from time to time. Mother with her interchangeable golden ruby to silver grey locks, the oldest daughter living within a shadow, and the youngest with still so much to learn. The oldest had once a wondrous mind and youthful eyes that the Mother adored yet feared for her naiveness to become captured by the evilness within the city. For her own good, Mother cast a spell on her oldest to camouflage her colors and kept them sealed in a locked box, so that no one would dare to use it. As the years went by, Mother became overly protected and obsessed with the true power of her oldest gift. From chains to scars, from screams to torment, Mother had become the evilness she so despised and the oldest had turned into a skinny shadow. So weak and grey floating through the streets.

One day, the youngest had fallen ill and Mother couldn’t leave her side. The oldest escaped from the Mother’s clutches and ventured into the city, “At least, for a moment”, she whispered. As she wandered into the lines that blurred the traps underneath, she noticed a moving color hiding within the cracked corner of an old ruin. The oldest hadn’t seen anything like it but felt pulled into the mysterious path of awe and fear. Her steps changed into a flowing melody, so eerily familiar that could break a branch off the strongest tree. This melody grew as she came closer and noticed a hidden door unlocked, waiting for her touch to open. The moving color was waiting for the oldest on the grayish doorknob and squealed as she approached with such vigor. After opening the door, she felt the shadow melt within the cracks.

Her Mother’s voice had disappeared from her mind and her eyes broke into tears, the wonder had returned into the light that only she had been able to see.

[redsnacky]

Me, out of focus

“Writing, to me, is simply thinking through my fingers” — Isaac Asimov

Summer Nights - Akageno Saru on DevianArt

For someone who just dedicated a whole day to letting out all of the hurt from my angry obsessions, I sure do take my time when it comes to writing something new. There are a lot of articles on this website when it comes to followers, viewerships, claps, and programs, that make me feel like a small ant. Creating a line of hard workers and rushing them into publishing another heartfelt or destructive statement every day 24/7, starts to feel more like a chore than an outlet, a scream, or a sigh of relief.

I haven’t been quite myself after finals and have been going in circles of how much I have yet to figure out. Here are some of the conversations in my head:

Deciding what’s my next career step:

“Now that I chose menswear, I know that this branch is much more easy-going… but what if it’s not enough for me?”

���Well… you wanted to be in Bespoke suiting?

Isn’t that challenging enough?”

Figuring out new talents and letting people in:

“OMG. I can’t believe I just got published!! Oh my god, why did it get published?”

“This is not good… THIS IS GREAT! But what will they think? WHO CARES WHAT THEY THINK!”

“Actually, they have to care to relate to my words right? that’s how writing followers work right? RIGHT?!”

I now proceed to create a morning routine of opening Medium, Tumblr, Facebook, Linkedin, and Reddit to review comments, likes, or follows.

Letting them see these hidden sides of myself:

“They are laughing at me… wait they are laughing with me? HOW did I do THAT?”

“Oh god, they are reading it right in front of me.” “WHY?! Oh… a warm embrace?”

“Wow, they must really like it!”

“Way to go Red, you just offended them… I need to be careful with the way I word things, not all people like to hear sassy truths.”

“Huh? they appreciated the comment? That’s odd.”

“Sure, anytime”

Found out that I have ADHD. For most of those silly memes or jokes of these symptoms, for me, they are all true. I’ve never trusted doctors cause 9 times out of 10 (of my personal experiences), I’m never heard and I’m labeled as a “crybaby, hysterical, or hormonal”.

I’ve never trusted psychologists.

Since the age of 4, my choices and my way of thinking were always analyzed and tried to be corrected to the “normal way”. It’s not until I decided to go back to therapy and decide to process everything that I’ve experienced to understand how that inner child had to cope with all of it throughout the years.

It’s not until my writing professor, Cybele Zufolo, loved my writing and pushed me to start publicly putting my work out there. To start feeling good about how I express myself regardless of how dark it is.

It’s not until I realized something. I wasn’t truly focused on was me. I’ve lost sight of myself when I was stuck in the city of trauma and fakeness. I became a zombie looking through social media wishing that I could move on from an endless empty reflection. It wasn’t until I met my boyfriend, Matt, that I truly understood what love is, and how it feels to be loved.

It’s not until I stopped whatever I was doing, grabbed my phone, sat on the wooden or carpeted floor, set a timer for 5 mins, and started breathing. I started meditating and creating a mantra of words I truly believe in. Words that have carried unsuspecting weight from my inner child, and I could become one. Words that started my vision board path into success and divinity.

We focus so much on what we have to do that we forget everything that we have accomplished so far.

[redsnacky]

An Angry Obsession

“Adrifts” by Henrik Uldalen

I’m obsessed with the life of my enemies. I’m obsessed with their downfall, their success, their breaths, their souls. I keep logging in to Linkedin, Facebook, Instagram, Snapchat hoping that I would see what could happen. What could abolish their minds and bring pain into their souls? If they have any.

How is it that I’m supposed to forgive/forget about every past instance, every scene, every mention, every word that came out of their mouths when they have tortured me into repetitive silence?

How is it that moving on is the best for my future? When they say that negativity can bring you intensity to succeed. This is different. This is years of feeling empty, lost, and the kind of different that can’t forgive within.

After writing about letting go of a friend, after hours of contemplating posting a response. This is different.

I can’t move on from traumatic memories that are ingrained in my head. Yes, it happened when I was a teen. A moment of learning, of puberty, and disappointment. A time where mistakes are detailed has a parody of age. From bullies, from classmates, from teachers, from adults, from parents.

Parents that believed I was the problem.

Teachers that believed I was stupid.

Classmates that believed in all the rumors and spit in my face with disgust.

Bullies that believed in chaos, drama, and poison to extinguish me from their lives.

Every human being of the time failed me, they didn’t believe me and now I’m supposed to believe in myself because “it’s what’s best ”? “it’s the right thing to do”?

Was it the right thing to do to silence me instead of suing the person that was responsible for manipulating my body for his own pleasure? After saying no? After saying stop? After classmates laugh in your face and say ��you deserved it”? After being locked in, with nothing but a window to look out into the darkness, my reflection cried out into the sky.

Was it the right thing to do when the authority figure forced you into being in the same room, in the same class, in the same bus because his family has money and can’t afford another failure in her practice?

Was it the right thing to do when the majority of the classmates trick your mind, carve out my name in a juice box, and dump nail polish to see if they could trick me and my allergies? To create a virus within my system cause they already have many in theirs.

Was it the right thing to do to isolate me from my peers just to push down words like “slut” and “easy” down my throats because I get along with boys more than girls?

Was it the right thing to do when girls try to record me, try to humiliate me, try to silence me, try to bury me, and just for the entertainment? For their smiles? For their eyes to shine as bright as empty cardboard boxes waiting to be recycled for a new use.

Was it the right thing to do to lie to my family because you couldn’t handle your school in order, so you invited the future predators to maintain it?

Was it? Cause so far my obsession with finding death within my bullies, my enemies, my oppressors has been a tick with reason. A tick of hatred, a tick of poison, and wishings of ending their existence with the power of my mind. To twist their eyes into blackness and extort their muscles into pretzels, and watch as they get fried into a liquid plague.

My frustration has gotten so bad that I even googled “worst torturing methods”. I have resorted to posting stories on Instagram in 2016 because I couldn’t “let it go”. The #Metoo movement happened and I couldn’t hold it any longer? How could I?

When it happened on my 18th birthday.

On a bus. For a school trip. It was graded.

With the principal sitting a couple of chairs away. With the authority figure hearing everything that happened and not stopping it, because she was too tired.

Having my mom find out through another mom, because my phone died, and I was hours away from home. Because my supposed to be best friend’s mom slut-shamed me. Said: “you should’ve seen it coming” on the other side of the phone to my mom. Not knowing what was going on.

Having to be semi-alone because all females shared one room. Bunks bed. Hate beds. Tragedy beds.

Having to be indifferent and showering in cold waters, for an excuse to stay in my bed.

Not eating. Coming back as thin as a vermicelli noodle and as blank as a sheet of paper. My sugar levels dropped. Fake smiles, fake chatter, fake concerns, and fake manners.

Fake caring, fake wonder, fake sickness, fake laughter. I still remember that they are dead inside. That I escaped the facade, but they still reside within me and I won’t stop saying. I will not stop being quiet. I will stop caring for their safety, their lives, their hopes, their dreams.

I’m obsessed with writing every comeback down as if it was the moment I was waiting for to strike at their lowest and succeed through their sadness. Honesty bar and “giving a shit” attitude have risen to a level of darkness that many are surprised by. Yet I feel unsatisfied.

I wish I could turn back time and bring all my powerful punches to their faces. Powerful words to their last breaths, powerful statements to their ignorant past times. Powerful whispers leave them deaf and confused.

Am I happy? there’s a spectrum. Am I awaiting revenge? one day. Revenge is a dish best served cold, but the impact of ice can carve out a soul.

[redsnacky]

The ugly one is real

“The fact that logic cannot satisfy us awakens an almost insatiable hunger for the irrational.” - A. N. Wilson

“Mr. Pronoia” by Muhamad Ikbal Arifin Suradi on Instagram

I’ve recently gotten into spirituality… well to be specific: Heathenry. I’ve had a couple of visions come to me… but that’s a story for another time. I started writing down every experience I’ve had. Every dream and every meaning. Every sign and every reason. 2 nights ago, I saw 2 sides of myself.

I was visiting what I thought was New Zealand (I’ve never been). I arrived at a wooden cabin-like hotel filled with families, kids, teenagers, and some people I knew from my high school years. People that I’ve considered enemies, bullies, and strangers. (Yes, I’m in therapy. Yes, I’m dealing with it) Nonetheless, there were beautiful tall green hills, snowy mountains, some cold winter winds, and a huge building with a high bridge that people would go to and take pictures of. Y’know, tourist stuff.

Underneath the bridge, there was an ocean of sorts that was the same size and length as the bridge. It represented the depths of people’s fears. On one side there was a positive bubbly exterior of yourself and, on the other, was the ugly side that nobody sees. Here is where it got confusing.

These high school acquaintances wanted to take selfies and pushed me time and time again to go with them. I was a little hesitant but felt the desire to be flying through frozen clouds and feel the energy within my reach. While standing on the bridge I saw a mirror rise up from the waters beneath me, and the mirror determined my level of reflection as a human. This is what I saw:

On the positive spectrum was a mermaid. The typical Disney representation of a mermaid. Ariel. The shiny green tail, the dark purple bra, and the intense red hair. A purple starfish as a clip-on my wavy hair and pearl earrings with golden details circling around me. The kind where your cartoonish fantasy becomes a reality. The kind where fakeness gets you places and colors bring you demises. Once her image appeared it was set aside to the right.

Now, this is where it will haunt me. When it came to the negative spectrum, I saw my body distort into a creepy black stick with brown, grey, and yellow roots rising from the ground. I saw my face distort into a creepy balloon. Inflating as I looked into it, black goop engulfed my whole physical body. Bulging eyes turn pale white with a single black dot, as the pupil pulsed in anger. The smile becomes eerily familiar as it stretches to each side of my jaw. Teeth became sharp knives angled in my direction as I stepped back in horror. I was haunted yet intrigued by how I could suppress the deformed evil that surfaced from my mirror. The shock.

I looked down at the illusion of the mermaid and it became a blur. The feeling of the sea creature became censored to my vision, while the slender disaster grew into a tall walking tree. With growing eyes and starving dentures that smiled at me with the sentence “this is who you really are”. I closed my eyes, inhaled deeply, and smirked. I knew that part of it was true. There is always poison lying between failures, doubts, and hatred. But there’s a third side that no one has seen.

My mask may be closed to outsiders but the only true version lies beneath the surface. A wall that only my partner has seen. A wall that accomplishes fantasies and visions without creating an emergency red button with the greed of a honey badger. We may be adorable on the outside but we hold darkness within.

Do I want to let it go? Yes and no. There is still a bottomless pit of goals, hunger for life, and dreams that I have yet to accomplish. Anxiety helps and destroys, but what I do with that energy relies on my strive for life, for joy, and for freedom.