#im probably gonna pretend this doesnt exist in the morning like all my other attempts to write lmao

[swampgallows]

it’s becoming harder and harder for me to find solace in places. the guilt inside me is becoming heavy. i know that if i want something, i need to make it happen, but i am so exhausted of having to do everything myself. and the things i do get help with i feel grateful, of course, but then so guilty that i’m needing to be helped that it’s incapacitating. i’m just so late in the game to everything. i’m so outside of life and what other people are doing. i’ve always felt that way, though. i’m never gonna snap into place like they want me to. 

i need to pick a career and stuff. i just have to like shot in the dark pick something at this point because there isn’t going to be some divine calling, my pittance from art commissions is not gonna be enough to sustain me (and i dont think i can get to a point where it will), im just so bogged down knowing that everybody is fuckin poor. 

part of me wishes i could wake up and just ‘be normal’. that i could throw away all the weird stupid shit in my life. the trashy little kid bracelets, the clown clothes, the nerdy interests, the ugly monsters (what on earth is an ‘orc’?), the hundreds of heavy and just plain weird records that are sooo boring and irritating and repetitive and loud and obnoxious. all the shit i’ve internalized about stuff i am beyond passionate about, the only fuel that keeps me alive and gives me a reason to wake up in the morning. i read once about brain trauma, that someone suffered an injury and when they woke up, all of their interests changed completely. they were a classically-trained musician, iirc, and ended up just selling all of their instruments and getting rid of all their books etc because it had absolutely no value to them anymore. they were completely changed. i dont remember what their new interests became, but... the thought of that has haunted me for over a decade. maybe someone will hit me in the head just right until i wake up and be a normal person who cares about normal, accessible things instead of all this fringe and abrasive fantasy bullshit. what if i woke up one day and became a devout christian? i roll over and my room is foreign to me, along with everything in it, and then i just throw it all away? i start over, stripped clean. tabula rasa. i get good interests instead. relatable adult things, like gourmet food and backpacking. i titter with the girls at the office and wear pencil skirts and focus on landing me a tall dark and handsome. 

the thought of becoming that thing is heartwrenching. painful. but it’s all obvious, of course, why i would ever have that masochistic fantasy of completely disowning my worthless oblong self. a me that isn’t ‘ruined’. 

i went through my kandi stash the other day trying to find all my kandi with bells on it (I could have sworn i had more). and going through a lot of it was a flood of memories. high school, college, raver days. when i was in high school, all by my lonesome, the only candy kid or rave-associated ANYTHING in my 4000+ fellow students, i had to wear a lot of my own kandi. and i did so as a beacon, a lighthouse, hoping that i could be a beaming signal to any other candy kids who might be in hiding. and i got so dizzy and self-consuming with my repressed interest that i became a zealot about it, being extremely rude and elitist about my interests because i felt a need to protect them. i felt the pressure of them looking to be watered down or erased. i was the same with warcraft. 

ten years later i’m not as rude about it, but i feel exactly the same way. in high school i had to wear my own kandi, would have it ripped off of my arms in big fistfuls by those who ostracized me, and had to be tongue-in-cheek and submissive about my passion, my very real and non-ironic DEVOTION to this. thank god on tumblr i can write 4000 word dissertations about garrosh hellscream and some of you crazy fucks actually bother to read it, but sometimes i still feel like that kind of pariah for having a very niche and very specific fixation. 

even people who played warcraft when i was in high school told me i took it too seriously because i roleplayed; and even roleplayers in the game told me i took it too seriously because i didnt want to sit around for 6 hours pretending to drink alcohol and trying to get laid, except as an elf. the fact that i really wanted to discuss the lore and delve into the story and the universe of azeroth, of how it would feel to be in that place, to live that life, ostracized me even from the people who claim to feel the same way. but roleplay was never about focusing on how our veins dont surge anymore as undead, how your digestive organs need to be removed post-undeath so they dont explode and rupture and hang out of your bowels like the abominations in the Undercity, how the undead are technically still the same citizens of Loraderon but are being ousted by their living counterparts in neighboring kingdoms. it was just “haha im a funny dead pirate man and i’m going to womanize 12 blood elf women at once behind all of their backs.”

in trying to become a gabber dj too, i felt like i had to take it upon myself because nobody else plays the music that i like. but alll of these things... it feels like i’m just building a house by myself. i feel like nobody truly, at the core, appreciates the intersection of interests that i have, or can only smile and nod at my fervor but not really understand it. and it’s nobody’s fault, nobody is obligated to feel what i feel. 

i’m glad people enjoy the garrosh posts and art that i make. and i’m glad that my friends make kandi with me now and encourage me to play gabber. i’m happy when i get some really good RP, even if i have to be the one to walk up every time. i’m glad that people want me to “do the thing”. i just feel like... there is no payoff once it’s done. everyone gets glad that it’s finished, and they enjoy it then, but then it dissolves. nobody is invested in it but me.

i know the solution is to be more accessible, but i can’t seem to imagine anything other than swinging the pendulum in the opposite direction. like, all or nothing. either you take all of my german expressionism with the warcraft meta and the rave shit, or you get nothing. i dont know how to dilute myself and that’s part of what was killing me at my job. i felt like a novelty. a doll. but it wasn’t their fault.. they couldnt relate to what i was talking about and passionate about, and it’s not their fault. they liked me because i was well-spoken and funny and a diligent worker, which are all nice and accessible things, but when nobody can cathect with me, really empathize with me, i feel like a jester. a consumable. 

my college roommates would tell me that they loved me because i was so funny. and that’s it. i existed as entertainment, but anything human about me—my passions, my interests, my insights, my memories—meant nothing. even my family will ask me a question and then cut me off in the middle of my sentence, expressing more of just their disbelief or confusion about something than actually seeking information. it’s why i stopped answering customers when they’d ask “how did you dye your hair?” and, like an idiot, i attempted to explain the process to them, thinking they actually wanted to know. but a few words in and their eyes glazed over, probably because they weren’t expecting a “real answer”. i began to accept that any questions directed toward me were closer to passive acknowledgements of me just standing there and existing in their field of vision than any sort of actual desired input from me. it’s like when people ask “how are you?” and you are obligated to say “fine” because it is the rote response. if you actually start talking about how you are doing, you are violating the socially agreed upon script of pleasantries. 

i cant do small talk. i cant do scripts. i dont get it. it doesnt make sense to me. and i think retail killed me because of that. i wasn’t a person. i wasn’t even an NPC. i was just a doll. an actor. a pull-string action figure with 5 fun phrases. i was so wacky and weird with my green hair and my silly bracelets and funny observations. ho ho what fun it is to work here with our personal jester to tell us funny stories about her cuh-razy antics she gets up to!

like how nate said “the craziest thing of someone’s year will be seeing someone play the legend of zelda theme on an accordion at a convention and for us that’s just like a walk down the street”. 

my feet straddle two divergent worlds and i cant pick just one but im about to fall in the crevice.

man i fuckin love ratatouille man. i fuckin love that film. i cant choose between two halves of myself. even when the halves want the other half dead.

i need a liaison. where’s MY linguini????

[raitrolling]

The Right Thing

You’ve always liked being helpful - well, to be more accurate, you’ve always felt obligated to be helpful - and tonight was no exception. It took a while for your plan to fall in place; Mister Espino wasn’t kidding when he mentioned how difficult it was to get in contact with her after you politely asked him for her trolltag. Even sending her a scanned copy of a certain coworker’s schedule to entice her to visit the mansion more often didn’t seem to provide any response. Then you mentioned a free wine tasting festival in the city, in which over one hundred wines were available to taste test.

-- avariciousAmbition [AA] began trolling melodicMimicry [MM] --

AA: <( … Ok. )

AA: <( I guess… ‘Ll go. )

-- avariciousAmbition [AA] gave up trolling melodicMimicry [MM] --

In hindsight, perhaps over one hundred wines was too big of a number.

You’ve been a bartender for so many of Mister Espino’s parties that you’ve lost count of how many drinks you’ve served to however many guests, but you don’t think you’ve seen anyone as drunk as the troll you offered to accompany. Miss Rissah is somehow still standing, but her arms have been so tightly wrapped around yours as she stumbles around and drags you to the next booth that you’re certain that you’re the only thing currently keeping her up.

“C’mon, ‘Chioooo, y’ g’tta try ‘t least th’s one…!”

A glass is shoved in your face, it’s contents almost spilling out and onto your work uniform. You’ve been very lucky that no red wine has fallen onto your suit, while you know how to get alcohol-related stains out of clothing, it’s still quite a hassle. You hold out a hand (the arm not currently trapped by the redblood’s drunken vice grip) and shake your head to decline, much to her pouting dismay.

“Oh, no, it’s fine. This night is just for you! I just want you to have fun, so you don’t need to worry about me!”

“F’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’’ne,” She sighs, downing the offered wine instead. You come to realise that your constant refusals to drink is probably contributing to the reason why she is in this state. So much for your promise to make sure she doesn’t end up dead. But, you fear that if you try to stop her she’ll get upset, which is the complete opposite of what you want to do. She seems to be content right now, if acting a little childish.

These same exchanges continue at every new stall. She takes two glasses, you decline one, she drinks both, the stall owner gives the two of you a dirty look (possibly for being lowbloods, but also possibly because you’re supposed to spit the drink into those specially-made containers instead of actually consuming it), and then you move on. It seems that she’s having the time of her life, smiling and laughing and even getting a little cheeky at times. It’s a side of her that you’ve never seen before, and the kind of reaction you were hoping to get. She’s happy! And having fun! It’s an accomplishment that’s making you feel all warm and fuzzy inside. Even if you do keep turning down all the drinks she offers, you do so with a smile, one more genuine than the generic pleasantries you always give. But eventually, you run out of stalls, and Miss Rissah runs out of enthusiasm.

She’s been quiet for a while, and while you had noticed, you admit you weren’t paying as close attention as you should have been. You were more focused on politely thanking every stallholder for letting your partner try their wares and then quickly catching any glasses that fell out of her hands before they hit the ground using your psiionics, which you think that at one point became a bit of a game to her. With all the wines successfully sampled, you ask if she’d like to go home now, and she responds with just a small nod. You take out your phone so you can look up directions for the way back to her hive, but you feel her grip of your arm loosen for the first time in hours.

“Is everything alright, Miss Rissah?” You ask, concerned.

“‘T’s f’ne.” She doesn’t sound fine. She steps away from you, though its more of a sideways lurch.

“Would you like to sit down, maybe? There’s a park bench nearby, if you need to take a breather. Or I could get you some water? You might be feeling dehydrated.” You rattle off a couple more suggestions, but she shakes her head at all of them.

“Are you sure?”

No response.

The trip back to her hive is uncomfortably quiet. Occasionally (and by that you mean, almost every couple of steps) she sways and stumbles, but you’re quick to make sure she stays on her feet. You offer your arm again to help keep her steady, but she just shakes her head once more. As concerned as you are for her right now, you respect her boundaries to not wrap your arm around her waist for support despite her turning down your help. Also, you’d rather not get stabbed. You’ve heard about her tendency to pull out knives without little warning. You make it three quarters of the way to her hive before she finally speaks.

“S-S’rry… I ruin’d t’night…”

You’re taken aback by that response.

“Ruined? Oh no, I don’t think you ruined anything. I’ve been having lots of fun! As long as you’ve been having fun, I’m happy! You have been having fun, right?” You hope she was having fun. It looked like she was having fun.

She ignores your question.

“No, no… Y’ prob’bly j’st… Y’ d’n’t ev’n l’ke dr’nk’n, ‘nd here I ‘m…” Her words are slurring together - well, they usually have a bit of a slur to them, but it’s reaching the point of being unintelligible. She sniffs, wiping her eyes.

“No no Miss Rissah it’s fine!! Really!! Don’t worry, everything’s fine!” oh no she’s crying now you messed up eichio you stupid idiot now mister mitius is going to be really mad “Really! It’s okay!! I just thought that you’ve been feeling down recently, so I wanted to cheer you up!! I should be the one apologising - I’m sorry, Miss Rissah. I really am. I just wanted you to be happy!” You mean what you said, but your words are sounding desperate. You’re really worried, she was happy just a minute ago, why is she suddenly crying? What did you do wrong? You know alcohol tends to have this affect on some people, but still. It’s not right.

She shakes her head, still slurring some apologies together.

“It- It’s okay! I can fix this- Or at least I’ll try! Wh- What can I do to help?” You hold your arms out to offer a hug. “I can help, honestly! Just- Just tell me what to do!” You can’t help but feel like what you’re saying is painfully hollow. This seems to be a common occurrence lately. You used to be good at this! But now, it just seems like you’re just going through the motions or saying the wrong things and not being helpful at all. First it was Mister Mitius, then Miss Zatter…

“No, ‘t’s my fault… Y’ don’t… H’ve t’ do ‘nythin’... ‘T’s just… I shouldn’t ‘ve dr’nk so much ‘nd n’w ‘M cry’n’ ‘nd ruin’n’ th’ngs ‘nd ‘M sorry I shouldn’ ‘ve come t’night…!” It seems like your own frantic energy is rubbing off on her, judging by how quickly she’s speaking. “‘T’s j’st… Y’ c’nt f’x ‘nyth’n’ ‘cuz ‘t’s my fault-” She continues drunkenly blubbering words that you can’t understand. You can’t understand her, and she won’t listen to you.

Your shoulders slump as you suppress a sigh, lowering your arms. You feel hopeless. You guess this is what Mister Mitius meant by there being some things no one can repair. It was silly of you to think you could do more than what he - someone who had known her for a lot longer than you had, and was in an actual relationship with her as opposed to just being some guy who occasionally made her drinks - could do. As much as you want to help… You can’t. You can’t do anything for people who don’t want to be helped - or rather, are unwilling to accept your help.

But still, you need to do something.

You hesitantly reach out to rest your hand on her shoulder. She flinches, but luckily for you doesn’t respond by taking out any knives.

“If you want, you can just let it all out until it passes. I’ll be here if you need me,” You say reassuringly, still a little nervous about how she’ll react. You find yourself feeling very conscious of your words. Do they sound helpful? Is it the right thing? Will she think you’re being fake? Are you sounding hollow? Condescending? What would anyone else do in this scena-

The last thing you had anticipated was for her to suddenly embrace you in a tight hug. Still sobbing (now with the occasional hiccup), still not giving up feedback as to if you had said the right thing or even telling you how she’s feeling (at least in an intelligible manner), and still not smiling like how you had hoped the night would end. But, it’s a start. You at least got a positive response out of her. 

You may have accomplished nothing that you had wanted to do for her, but somehow it still feels like you did the right thing.