#when i take adderall im able to think up the words i want to say and i want to say them but everytime i go to write them | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

rsvppitkincounty · 1 year ago

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1 hour poem free style on a quarter of laced adderall I got for my 21st birthday from my sorority roommate and friend

I can only be as real as;

even on here

where no one really sees;

I can only be as real as I'm allowed to be.

Cause I hear your laughs

I feel the smirks and whispers and stones

I want to include stupid lines

but maybe you might not like it,

(might not) like me

after that

and you won't give me a chance

Certainly less than you gave me before.

So I guess I'm protecting myself from...

something stupid and arbitrary for sure,

but from something I don't "care" for I guess?

Cause if you don't like the line or

the quip my brain think fits right

then my poem and song is missing something

like the final harmony

of Who I Am.

And the thing is

I do care,

I'm an empath like that,

I want you to want me

im begging you to beg me.

Cause im not sure about my stupid lines

They're dumb and naive

and sound like a joke

that's not worth even care about.

cause its just there for laughs

and I didn't mean it.

But I mean it all,

even the things I don't know nothing about

I Mean It All

Unless I said it cause I couldn't stay quiet.

I need to say what I need to say.

You might not get it

but I want to ask you to try.

And even if you don't (get it)

or even try to

then I won't ask twice

cause I never do

but also because

that's all I need to know.

But also something light for quips

is still mine and

im still speaking so

it shouldn't be less valuable

to me.

Its hard when I can't hear your sighs ooo's and ahh's

or see your eyes shift away from mine

or hear your nervous laugh.

'that's way too much for such a commonplace joke' I think;

'Or maybe you find something within that funny' I ponder.

But I can't hear you over compensating in your language

When youre not here

And I can't feel you trying to touch me

or trying to get near.

I can't see how you go about it.

I can't hear what youre humble or boasting about.

I can't sense when you decide to let your ego drive.

I can't pick up on how much silence/pause there is.

In between words, or sentences, or ideas,

I can only sense my minds eye watching myself

and she's hardly right,

she's just a frail young earthworm on a leaf,

after all.

I want to enter any conversation asking if youre mad or still like me

I want to know what you think about it all and then about me,

take it from the top every time.

How you think

Why you think.

I want to know it all

maybe then

ill be able to predict what I don't know

or have never thought about.

I know only one perspective,

after all.

Maybe if I know your numbers and calculations,

your methods

I might know what you are willing to do,

and want to do

which is scarier

cause I've known bad men.

I see them everywhere

in you, and in me.

I see the ease with which greed

and iron fists are slung.

I know because I feel it within me too.

And I want to cry

cause I would use you like a rag doll

and call you pretty to your ugly face

and no one, especially you

would suspect me

you'd want it to be true

it could be if we were honest with each-other

you might sense, like me, that it's not right.

but you would dismiss it

like anxieties usually are;

ignored and disputed even though theyre right

cause how can you believe what you did not see,

or thought you saw, technically

You can't fully let that go

When your body convulses in warnings and fear

You can ignore it and 'be optimistic'

But you end up empty,

believing and wanting nothing

Don't let your therapist confidant tell you

what you believe is silly

before they understand you to your core and out

then once more

Cause theyre Professional and Qualified

and they Know More Than You

cause they Read Books

and Wrote tons of Essays

then got to fulfill their Purpose

of "Helping People"

Anyway

you would choose to trust me.

And I would use that

I would use you.

I could use you.

and you might not care, as you've told me before.

Even if I do with gentle hands and words

that trace slowly over you soft body

pausing when I want to stare.

You're not in my heart

the part with lock and key

stuck in a casing of a metal block

perfectly molded around every crevice

About 3 meters deep on each side.

I've just started to chip away.

I have a couple scratches so far, if you were curious.

My only tools your love

and my fake plastic nails.

Caring (about you) doesn't help with (your) feelings

cause you'll never feel like the porn star of classic literature

unless you

love me touch me right

so I can expand my love beyond the stars.

Cause I would give anything for you,

I would've left you alone with my body.

I might/could still do that

cause sometimes a touch is better than none

but in reality we know its not,

Cause caring doesn't help with feeling,

Cause how do you explain feeling empty and alone

when someones there as they scratch your back and say youre okay.

And even when you hear you're a good person

It still all falls flat

just like your face after I've left for real

I don't choose to believe that other people like me

because I know where my soul lingers

and only I know the disrespectful things I've thought about you.

I won't ask you to take care of me

cause I know you don't want to.

I would feel guilty.

I ask for too much and im never enough.

Thats the theme of my life, so far

And I know its true, cause lots of people live with sanity about the things that make me scream with pain at each fading thought

I used to want to be a rag doll for almost anyone

but the list gets narrower every time.

Then exponentially expands when I notice my problems

after opening my mouth or mind.

Anyone can open their mouth

and show me the evil man behind their curtain

playing with MY rag doll.

You selfish cunt,

it was mine, it is mine, it will always have to be mine!

but now after your disgusting hands

were given a chance to play

I am forced to have to feel them

at night when youre no where near anymore.

I'm glad filed your nails for me

and that you don't cary moldy dirt under your them.

but youre not much better than

The evil man being the curtain.

And I thought you were just a boy

who wanted to play.

With my rag doll out of love (and respect)

of the human marvel of commotion and,

sparkle within every particle.

I thought you knew my rag doll was new and

you saw the purity as a gift I've kept out of fear.

Fear of not being loved

or loved enough to be cared out

or loved enough to be respected

or loved enough to be listened to.

Fear of not being loved enough to be seen as

myself and how unique I am as myself.

I thought sex meant something to you,

besides being able to know

or tell others, if youre doomed

that my rag doll was in your hands once.

cause that doesn't mean shit you know.

My rag doll was never your

even when you held it.

My rag doll is mine and

you'll never get another chance to feel it

so you hold on to those metaphysical

pictures tingling sensations down your spine

that is a memory

and you'll never be satisfied.

I will never see you

as something other than an evil man

with his 2 inch dick in his hand.

and a puppet falling off the strings

just like your balls

which make your dick look

less emasculated,

and non photogenic.

Your rotting muscles,

like mine.

I will never stay in that mindset

that men flaunt.

Cause I'm my own human and

I want be seen

as I hold the rag doll.

You can decide whether or not

you ever want to be loved like that.

Sex and love are not separable,

no matter which whore you fuck

Then may peace be with you as you experience

eternal unhappiness, suffering, and unsatisfaction,

and complete total hell from my crystal ball.

But I'm not choosing to let my rag doll

be smacked around

and beaten over the head by an evil man.

If I can help it that is,

may those woman and their rag dolls be afforded that only greater than heaven forever more.

Woman are men by the way,

but as they've grown and stand now

we need to take accountability for the men they foster.

at the very least in this poem, in my words.

And even if I never know you felt that way,

I can extrapolate data

and build a shitty narrative

however I please

because you haven't shown me otherwise.

and youre too shy to tell me anything other than

how my beauty looks to you

and makes you feel (just that once).

So if you can't show or tell,

and want me to know how you feel

Ill have to refuse because that evil man in the mirror

Im not going to trust you

based on deep longing looks alone.

Cause everything is behind deep dark eyes

the whole fucking world

And I want to be in the world

not just watching and wishing,

I could be a part of your world.

One which you can keep secret from me

but one which I'm forced to divulge

cause I have no choice but to.

Im a person who can't be nonchalant

and keep my heart at bay

with my legs spread apart,

or when you ask me about my poetry.

I shouldn't expect people to be nice,

or care about me.

Especially the sore parts.

I learn that more everyday.

Yet more everyday

it feels like im expected

to return the favor

that got lost in the mail for me.

I know now to expect them to honor dignity

at the very least,

know some part of her, at the very least.

or whatever version it is you showed me

on wednesday.

Im not sure yet.

It was more than im used to that's for sure, so thx ig.

So look into my eyes you sweet naive human

we can both learn and grow

if you show me and tell me

about what the evil man tells you

and why you shot him out back.

cause if they choose to let him loose

or if they choose to hide him

behind the curtain

and then he peaks out into the crowd

AT MY RAGDOLL

I'll wish you fucking dead

they could've kept him chained with fear

at the very fucking least

but they chose to use it

against me

put on a fucking show in my fucking face

and then

ask me to forgive them?

or even worse

to accept what I didn't ask for.

to accept what I didn't know I was asking for

just cause I lacked enough care growing up

to be asked or even told.

I can stare at a rock

and smile at their crevices.

but if you knew how little I thought of you,

you'd be very upset with me

I don't need Love to have sex

Ive never had sex and I can't see love around and about me.

but I need, feel, and see love everywhere still.

so I guess I would have sex with a rock.

And ill continue to be easy

cause that's what I am .

My legs stay open and my heart stays closed

trying to squeeze

through the block of metal

which has no bars, yet

But you'll never feel what satisfaction is

when you act like that with me.

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clownkiwi · 3 years ago

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my long, long words about nuance that i doubt anyone will read (because wow this is long)

now that ive taken adderall and finally know the words i wanna say (like. ya know when ya wanna know what to say, but u dont know the words to say it with???), i guess i should make this clear. whenever i talk about a creator i don't like, my intention is to never "cancel" them, in the case that everybody thinks cancel culture works.

if anything, i truly dont think cancel culture is real. the names dumb and doesnt capture the nuance of what it really is: "holding people in powerful, high-ranking positions accountable for their abusive actions against others"

like, i truly feel like social media wasnt really designed for nuance like you'd hope it is. you could reblog a post with misinfo and believe its real because "it came with a source" but you never do the research for it, nobody ever wants to hold conversations. social media has come to a point where we just share memes, and thats what i use it for. there really hasnt been room for proper, nuanced discussions about drama that happens online

like, ok, an obvious example that i dont really like talking about: the unfuckable blog. while i was on the high of hearing the initial news and later news, i really didnt think that much about it other than it was hilarious and "just like sonic for real justice"/"sonic for real justice 2". i even posted a sarcastic/joking post about enjoying the drama from the sidelines as it wont affect me personally because im not a part of it.

but, taking a step back, getting off that high and thinking about it, it really isnt nuanced to say its like sonic for real justice because of the tumblr-specific drama that arose from it. if anything, its kinda more like the shitshow that was channel awesome in 2018- and that doesnt make this whole situation better.

with that said, "mod rhys is like doug walker" is not a nuanced take thats open for a healthy discussion. but there are some similarities i've noticed. the mods have left one by one, kinda like how the ccs from channel awesome all left one by one. there were only one person left at the end- in channel awesomes case, larry bundy jr, but only so he could keep the title "the winner of the channel awesome hunger games" (i dont remember if he left yet or is still there???). mod ruby, mainly bc she was petty and her host wasnt able to leave yet. and the fact that these were both real and not staged, not unlike s4rj, which as we all know, was staged.

and to let it be known, heres what i think about unfuckable at the end of the day. not every mod was horrible. mod rhys was a pretty bad leader at all this, leaving tantrums whenever anybody called them out and not responding appropriately enough to any drama, leading to a toxic workplace in the blog. all the other mods hate mod rhys now, i doubt they'll ever wanna confront mod rhys again after this. but mod ruby aint an angel either, as she prolonged getting the blog taken down and didnt help make the whole case better. and then, theres mod ted. which is another case to open up, but i wont go into now. with that said, i dont think anybody that has worked for unfuckable in the past are horrible besides the very specific examples i gave.

and, like i said, i never wanted to cancel the blog as a whole or anyone really. at most, i just want people to know information that are in callout posts and warn people about said specific person on platforms with a huge following. thats it, i never want to be that person thats just waiting for someone i dont even care about to get "cancelled" because i really dont have the creative energy to get all that excited for it. and yes, im making this a general statement because this can be applied for a lot of things im sure people thought i would "cancel", but like i said. i dont think cancel culture truly exists

like, god, if i reached 2k-5k followers, im sure there wouldve been people looking through my eight year archive trying to cancel me for something i did at a young age. like, "ooooo ruby said a slur on a scratch account when she was 10 & didnt know any better" or "ruby had bad takes about trans people at 16". like, i was younger then, i really didnt know any better

but also, im not perfect. im human, im capable of making mistakes, i think we all are. and the first step to fixing mistakes is realizing youve made them. and yes, even during the specific unfuckable debacle, i did not respond appropriately. i thought it was funny because i wasnt apart of it, i joined a server full of people who wanted to talk about it. and like, yea, thats not good, and that doesnt really help my case. and if i'll be honest, i doubt i'll get any responses to this because its very long already and i doubt anyone truly wants to have nuanced discussions on here, and i dont blame them

theres a reason why politics are banned in my streams, and its because. those arent fun or entertaining or enrichening conversations to have while i play a video game. same thing can apply to tumblr drama that shouldve really stayed private and not displayed out into the public, and just discussions about them in general on blog. i doubt people follow me for my takes on internet spaces, amd tbf, id rather not be remembered for making large text posts about internet drama from my phone. these are just ramblings coming from someone who wanted to put it into proper words in a post so nobody would get the wrong idea from me

i doubt i'll write anymore posts like this, but when i do, well, there ya go??? idk, idk what else to say, i'll just post it here and see it get buried under my reblogs of funny memes

#ruby says clown shit #long post #when i take adderall im able to think up the words i want to say and i want to say them but everytime i go to write them #they basically become long jumbled words pukes like this #like there isnt any proper punctuation or etc because i just wanted to say words on here about this #but yea u can ignore this if u want i doubt people will wanna read this bc while i wanna hope theres places for nuanced discussions online #and there are. i just. doubt in social media in general there really isnt enough room for nuanced discussions because generally #people dont wanna have these discussions and i dont blame them #but also. i believe there should be room for nuanced discussion about various topics. serious and non-serious

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sadsapphicslut · 4 years ago

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chapter one - original story (i havent come up with a title yet lol)

okay so here it is!! if anyone actually reads this i love u :) please leave feedback if u have any!!

TWs:

death, drugs, medication, mental illness, references to sex, swearing, alcohol

wordcount: 8.2k

(also i dont think anyone will but im paranoid of people stealing my writing so obligatory dont copy/post to another site or steal my work in any other ways etc)

There were five of us; 4 boys and me. In hindsight I realize from the outside our group probably seemed a little predatory, but it was never really like that. For the most part they were like brothers to me. Of course, being the only girl in a small and isolated club of mainly older boys, things were bound to happen. We were in high school and it was summer, can you blame me? Regardless, however much I loved them, it was not quite in the way my father always assumed or my mother always warned (during our uncomfortable monthly visitations before I managed to get rid of her for good).

The months everything went down, which I often referred to only as ‘The Worst Summer of My Life’, (quite melodramatically but not without reason) were somehow still full of the best moments of my life. Moments I often find myself wishing I could repeat, as nothing has or will ever come close to the way I felt, sitting amongst my boys day after day, somehow light as the warm July breeze that blew past us. My entire body weightless, as non-existent as the time that passed us by. Despite the depression I’d found myself plunged into during the days after my only brother’s death, I truly believe I will never again be as happy as I was then. Laughter seemed to flow freely from our mouths, smiles plastered onto our faces no matter the circumstances, content to just exist. I don’t think I can ever forget the day it was raining so hard the entire city was flooded, but we walked around uptown well past the point of being absolutely drenched, our clothes dripping so heavily the security guard denied us entry into the public library. Something about that day made me feel so free, like we were invisible. Completely apathetic to the whims of the real world, somehow existing only in our twisted minds and intertwined fantasies.

Maybe if I’d had my head screwed on a little tighter, or if we’d met under different circumstances, it wouldn’t have ended the way it did. I used to go down that line of thought every night before succumbing to a fitful but heavy sleep (under the direct affect of 25mg of Quetiapine, working to counteract my Concerta and Lexapro). Those types of irrational thoughts were ones my therapist deemed as my habit for rumination. In regard to the death of my brother she called it ‘bargaining’, one of the stages of grief. I never liked it when she spoke about those stages as I’ve always felt them to be wrong. Maybe because I never quite moved on to the final one, no matter how many years pass. ‘Acceptance’, coined as the “Re-entrance to reality”. Maybe it’s different since I was never really grounded to reality in the first place. I still wake up some mornings, thinking I’ve heard his voice in the other room, ready to beguile me with tales from his day of retail work. Other times I swear I’ve walked past him on the street. Some people may relate to my experiences, with reasonings of ghosts, angels, apparitions, or insanity, among many other causes for the apparent viewing of a loved one long gone to the other side. I never shared these beliefs, but I am not one to deny. Rather, I always take these instances as an omen. A warning. I have come to this conclusion not without evidence, at least circumstantial, given the many occasions over the years – and especially that summer – where I found my hypothesis to be true. All I can say is that I am glad I’ve never been met with the same chimerical visions of my mother; one can only hope that is because she ended up where she belonged. Maybe I’ll see her there, though I hope at the very least they could keep us in separate rooms of Hell if the situation does arise.

From what I know of the others now, which is admittedly not much – majorly due to my own neglect, as opposed to theirs – they share the same prescription for rose-coloured glasses as I. We always were too engrossed with our own romanticization of nostalgia and sentiment that it clouded our view. I often think this was one of the reasons we seemed to fit so well together. Not quite like puzzle pieces, too self-absorbed to hold a candle to that analogy, more like complimentary colours. I wish it could’ve stayed the way it was. We did try, and I never found myself able to fully disentangle myself from James, nor he could to I, but for most of us we could recognize an ending when one arises. I used to find myself using the word tragedy a lot while reminiscing, but I no longer think that word is appropriate. Fate is a more fitting term in my opinion, regardless of if one believes in it or not. “(A)n inevitable and often adverse outcome, condition, or end,” as reported by Merriam Webster. I don’t think there’s a word in the entire English language more accurate in describing how everything ended up; and if there is, I am yet to find it.

Chapter One

A Dead Brother

I have tried to erase the day my brother died from my memory so many times I lost count decades ago. I still find the image seeping into my unconsciousness quite dreadfully on the nights I neglect to take my pills and catch myself waking up with a steady flow of tears that dampen my pillow along with the drool that always seems to pour from my sleeping mouth. The dread that pools in my stomach sometimes being heavy enough for me to lose my lunch. I frequently wonder how people managed to reassure me that it wasn’t my fault; the most painful lie I’ve ever been told and one that seemed to stream from people’s mouths as easily as the mini sandwiches laid in the living room of my brother’s wake were stuffed in. The worst part about being told it wasn’t my fault was how obviously one could tell they didn’t believe what they were saying either. His death was my fault; a fact so uncontestable I wanted to kill myself every time I was reminded of it.

My therapist often tried to remind me that even if his death was “partially” (she always used the word partially, refusing to acknowledge the truth that his death was entirely my fault) my fault, there was nothing I could’ve done to prevent it. This was another lie I despised being told. There were a million ways I could have prevented his death or saved his life and yet, here we are, with him dead and me wishing everyday that I won’t wake up tomorrow. “Begonia,” she’d tell me – she was the only person who called me by my full name, I usually went by Nia, but a nickname felt too personal and I didn’t like her very much – “You mustn’t keep torturing yourself with these scenarios. He’s dead, and there is nothing you can do to change that. I am starting to wonder if you are going to let yourself move on. This isn’t healthy.” That was a line she liked to use a lot, “this isn’t healthy”. As if anything I do is.

Barb, my therapist that is, liked to go over the details of my brother’s death a lot. She often called it a ‘trigger’, which is why she always seemed to want me to talk about it. “Trauma is a horrible thing, Begonia, and you must learn to move past it, process it. I can see you still haven’t managed to do that on your own, and that’s what I’m here for, to help you move on.” Barb was big on the idea of “moving past trauma” and “learning to cope”, she often sounded like a broken record of a motivational speech. I found myself comparing her to school guidance councillors without realizing it, they were about equally as helpful (read: not helpful) in my opinion.

Sometimes I blame my inability to forget and “move past” my brother’s death on the way Barb constantly brought it up and made me go through it. I never quite understood how that part of my therapy was supposed to help me. I asked her once, what good was it doing rehashing the worst day of my life?

“Well, Begonia,” I hated the way she said my name, always so condescending and sour, like even the idea of me questioning her in any way was as impolite as shitting on her desk.

“You have to understand that I only want to help you. You seem to be unable to process your traumas on your own, which is why we need to go through these things. As you are aware, this PTSD,” she always left strange pauses after each letter, her slow tone grinding on my ears, “you have acquired has left you unable to function normally in daily life. I want you to get to a place where you can have a normal life (Ha!) and cope without these meetings. It’s what your brother would’ve wanted.” Barb liked to tell me what my brother would have wanted at least once every session. Putting aside the fact she knew next to nothing about him aside from the intimate details on how he died, I always thought it was an inappropriate thing to say as a psychologist specializing in grief counselling. It never particularly bothered me, I was reasonable enough to realize she was just trying to comfort me, but I never liked the phrase. “What your brother would’ve wanted.” What he would’ve wanted was to not die but we’re past that, aren’t we Barb, as you so often enjoyed telling me.

I have always been quite averse to my diagnoses, ADHD at 14, Persistent Depressive Disorder at 15, PTSD at 16, issues with alcohol and drugs that landed me in rehab more than once. I’ve been on a concoction of different medications since I was 13, even before I was diagnosed with anything officially. Sertraline, Lexapro, Prozac, Ritalin, Concerta, Adderall, Quetiapine, Ambien, Zopiclone, a healthy mix of off brand and branded medications. Sleeping pills, antidepressants, stimulants. I can’t remember a time before monthly trips to the drug store and side effect surveys that I’m not sure if I ever told the truth on. It’s a wonder that people didn’t see a slew of addiction issues coming from a mile away.

I think I’ve always had the most contention with my PTSD diagnosis though, I hate it because I know it’s undeniably true. I wish it wasn’t because maybe that’d mean my brother was still alive, but he isn’t. And I’m left traumatized and bereaved. Sometimes it feels like it hurt me more than it ever did my mother or father. Maybe it did. I should feel selfish for saying that, but I can’t, because they didn’t have to look at him while the life left his body, praying to God for the ability to turn back time. See the moment his eyes glazed over, knowing I’d never get to hear his obnoxious laugh, or make fun of his dumb face ever again.

❈

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.”

It was a cool evening in May, the end of spring brought with it the promise of summer and the air had the familiar aroma of daffodils and petrichor. I had decided to go to a party with my friend Faun, my dad having been out at his girlfriend’s place for the weekend and me having nothing better to do. I wasn’t one for partying, but I did like to get high, so I usually just hung around with the rest of the potheads and pill junkies until someone dragged me home or I fell asleep. That night Don, a friend of a friend of a friend, had brought coke and E and we were all determined to get as fucked up as possible. Faun only ended up doing one line before running into a bedroom with some guy whose name started with an M – was it Martin or Marvin? Maybe it was Mickey – and left me sitting on the couch beside a girl who was about 1 more shot of vodka away from passing out.

I had fully intended on doing some coke, but the E seemed to be hitting harder than I was used to. I was sure my Ritalin had worn off by then but maybe I was wrong. As I stood up to get a glass of water I nearly fell over and decided to sit back down. Turning to face Don, I tapped him on the shoulder trying to get his attention.

“What was in that molly?” I was vaguely aware of the way my words were slurring, but I felt weirdly energized. I was aware my heart was beating a little too fast, but I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I knew what ecstasy felt like, this was not nearly my first time doing it, but I felt really wrong.

“Don!” He turned to look at me and I felt uneasy. His eyes looked a little crazed – not that out of the ordinary but given the circumstances I was worried – “What the fuck did you give me?” It felt like I’d done 5 lines of coke in the last 2 minutes and I knew that E had been spiked.

Don’s face had an unmistakable expression of guilt written on it as he leaned down and whispered in my ear, his voice shaking, “I think it was cut with meth.” Fuck. My stomach dropped. I have to get out of here. I quickly shot up from the musty couch I was sat on, carefully holding onto Don’s shoulder so I didn’t fall, my legs still feeling unsteady. I opened my phone; the screen was too bright, and I had a hard time maneuvering it as I attempted to exit the house. Clicking the green Messages icon, I sent a text to Faun – e ws cut w meth im lesving – with shaky hands and burst out the door into the fresh air. I clicked my brother’s contact and pressed call.

It rang four times before he picked up.

“Nia? Why are you calling me it’s like 1am?” I could tell from the smooth tone of his voice he’d been drinking. He didn’t very often but he had an appreciation for cocktails and enjoyed getting buzzed now and then. He still was a year from being legal to drink but his friends we’re all 19 and 20 and bought alcohol for him. I found him fun when he got drunk, becoming talkative and giggly, but right now I wished so badly for him to be sober.

“Ray, hey listen I need you to come pick me up.” I was slurring, my voice a bit too pitchy to pass as anything but high. I knew he didn’t like it when I did this, but he never ratted me out. Sometimes I wish he did, maybe I never would’ve been able to go to that party in the first place.

I could hear a door shutting on his end, I assumed he was going into a different room. “What’s wrong?” My skin was bubbling with anxiety at the prospect of having to tell him what I did.

“Fuck, uh… I did something stupid. I’m at Emily Goguen’s, y’know up in Champlain Heights. Please pick me up.” I rarely used the word please.

“Nia, what the fuck did you do?” I almost started crying but I found my eyes to be bone dry.

“Please don’t yell.”

“Okay, really, tell me what is going on or I won’t come get you.”

“I accidentally took meth.”

“You what? What the fuck, Nia! Fuck this I’m on my way and I’m fucking telling Dad.” I cringed but I knew he was going to before I even called. The pit in my stomach grew deeper as the buzzing of my skin grew stronger. I could feel myself getting higher, everything was so clear and standing around was making me grow restless. Ray huffed on the phone and I heard him entering his car.

His tone was softer the next time he spoke. “I’ll be there in 5, just stay put, please. Do you want me to stay on the call or can I hang up?”

I felt like a child, which I was really, only 16 at the time, a whole life ahead of me. Still, I was grateful for the way he spoke to me, reminiscent of being 6 and getting a scrapped knee after falling off my pink Razor scooter. The high made me edgy, and my voice was sharp to my ears, “No, you can hang up.” I heard the click to indicate he’d done just that, and started pushing my cuticles as I waited, the task somehow greatly interesting me, and I did not realize until later I had managed to pick off all of the skin around my pointer and middle fingernails during the five-minute wait.

Ray pulled up exactly five minutes later in his ugly, blue 2011 Ford Fiesta he’d gotten the year prior after passing his driving test. What I wouldn’t do now to smell the inside of that car once again, a distinct attar of pineapple car freshener and Old Spice deodorant mixed with stale black tea, faintly present due to his ever-growing collection of empty paper cups from various different fast foods and coffee shops.

I stumbled into the car, feeling the strong impulse to clean the space, but attempting to push it down. From the passenger side overhead mirror I could see my blown pupils and sweaty forehead, pieces of my copper red hair sticking to my face. My freckles were showing through my concealer that had mostly worn off and I wanted to cover them back up. My skin was pale from winter (and probably the drugs in my system) but my cheeks were flushed like I was drunk. My high cheekbones made my face look gaunt in the lighting, but my face was wide which balanced it out, so I didn’t look completely skeletal. Ray was looking at me, the worry apparent in his eyes, but his face was flushed as well, and I could tell he’d been drinking a bit too much to drive. I had my license as well, but it was clear I was in no condition to take over on that front, so I didn’t bother saying anything. I wish I had. There’s a lot of things I wish. I wish I hadn’t gone to that party; I wish I hadn’t taken that E; I wish I called someone else; I wish I waited it out at Emily’s; I wish I walked home; I wish I took a cab; I wish I waited for Faun; I wish I wish I wish I wish I wish.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t take his eyes off me as I shut the mirror in front of me.

“Yeah, yeah I’ll be fine. Please just take me home.”

“Is Dad there?”

“No.”

“Maybe I should take you to Mom’s.”

“No!” I’d moved out of my mom’s completely just over 6 months ago, barely seeing her once a month. It was one of the best decisions I’d ever made. She never liked me much anyways, the feeling was entirely mutual. Ray seemed to have a close bond with her for some reason despite how she treated him like shit. I never called him out though, he no longer lived with her, so I didn’t really care what their relationship was as long as she wasn’t hurting him. She did treat him significantly better than me, however, so I figured maybe he managed to forgive her the way I never could.

“Okay, but I’m staying with you until Dad gets home. I’m not gonna lie to him about this shit. Fucking meth, Nia? Seriously?”

“It was in the molly.” He sighed and started driving.

My brain felt like it was filled with butterflies, or ants, some kind of movement that was itching at my skull. The paper cups scattered around were making me anxious and I needed to clean his car. I began picking at my nails again, but I needed to pick up those cups, you see. I turned around and started gathering the ones Ray had discarded in the back, filling up an empty plastic bag from Best Buy. I was fully switched around in my seat, nearly crawling into the backseat to reach the trash my brother had left. I felt him tap my side, I looked over at him and he started to scold me.

“Nia, stop that will you, you’re distracting me.” But I needed to finish gathering the cups. The car was dirty, and my skin was itching, the traffic lights burning my skin. I was elated and I didn’t want to listen to him, he was just trying to get in my way. I continued to lean over, not registering the swerve of the car as he looked over at me.

“Nia – ”

He turned over to push me back into my seat, his eyes leaving the road for no more than a few seconds. This time I felt the swerve as we broke into the next lane.

This is where I have a hard time piecing together what happened. From what I was told, we ended up running directly into a 2015 Dodge Ram 2500. In case you understandably have a lack of knowledge when it comes to cars, that is a very large, sturdy, and expensive pickup truck which I would probably consider the last vehicle you’d want to charge headfirst into while going 70km per hour. I don’t recall the actual incident of hitting the truck, whether that be from the drugs, the position I was in, or hitting my head on the roof of the car, I don’t know. What I do know is that when I woke up, we were in a ditch on the side of the road, with the car flipped upside down, and my entire body was screaming at me to Get Out!

I felt blood oozing sluggishly from my head and noted some indistinct pain in my right wrist where it had scraped something pretty badly and gotten twisted, but I otherwise felt alright. I couldn’t tell if the cloudiness in my head was from a concussion or the earlier events of the night, but I figured it was probably good I was awake, regardless of how dazed I seemed.

I turned my head to the left and was greeted by a view I will never be able to forget, it having been branded to the insides of my eyelids, scorched in my mind. Ray, with his left arm twisted in spectacular fashion, reminding me of Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, after Lockhart spells away Harry’s bones. My brother had always been squeamish with broken bones and I hoped he wasn’t aware of how his limb looked at the moment. His head was bleeding quite profusely, and I was alarmed despite how many times I’d heard in movies that headwounds bleed a lot. His eyelids were fluttering, irises appearing glassy and unfocussed. And then I saw it. A piece of glass was stuck in the left side of his neck. The windshield apparently had broken with the impact and my brother was lucky enough to get a piece lodged right in his trachea. It was thick, bright red blood – that I could’ve sworn was sparkling in my current inebriated perspective – was gushing out the side, so heavy I could smell it, taste it, in the air. I was frozen once I realized.

Do something, do something! Put pressure on it! Call 9-1-1! My mind was screaming at me, but it was all I could do to sit and watch the blood stain his clothes. He was wearing the corduroy jacket I’d gotten him for his birthday and a white button up, the red seeped into them until it was as if they’d always been that colour. My voice was caught in my throat, but I managed to push some sound past.

“Ray?” It was weaker than a whisper but in the silence that seemed to envelope us in that car, completely independent of the outside world and sirens that could surely be heard from blocks away, I knew he would be able to hear me.

He looked up, eyes focussing slightly on me, and a tear slipped down his face, only it went the wrong way since we were still upside down. He mouthed the words “I love you”. We never said that to each other. As close as we were, our relationship had always been more comparable to that of a best friend than sibling. We weren’t overly affectionate, never hugged or said I love you, hung out for enjoyment rather than as a punishment. Most people didn’t know we were brother and sister until we pointed it out, we never really looked alike and were absent of the traditional distaste and rivalry usually present between siblings. I knew, as he looked me in the eyes and said those words, this would be the last time I’d ever see him outside of a morgue.

I sat in my seat next to him with dry eyes, wishing desperately I could cry, needing to express the feeling of utter horror and despondency that completely overtook my body and mind, but I couldn’t. Barb told me time and time again that I was in shock, there was nothing I could’ve done, but I will never be able to believe that. I still remember the moment the final tear slipped down his face. He smiled at me, pain evident in his eyes. His entire body was covered in the metallic smelling red, and I wanted to vomit. I wish I could say the crash had sobered me, but it didn’t, not really. I was still entirely in a daze as I saw his muscles relax, smiling falling from his face, eyes not quite rolling back all the way but enough to give me nightmares for the next 20 years. The life had been absorbed from his body, leaving a heavy shell. I was told afterwards this all happened within the span of 10 minutes, but it felt like years. By the time the first responders had appeared I was an old woman. Grayed hair, and arthritic bones. Mourning for the brother I’d lost oh so many years ago, when I was just a girl. I think in a way I died in that car with him, I never was really the same. But who would be? Best friend and confidant, older brother, idol, dying in front of your eyes as you do nothing, knowing for the rest of your life that his death is – was – your fault. Knowing you could’ve done something, anything really, to prevent his untimely loss of life before the paramedics arrived. If I’d been the same after that night I would have to be much more disturbed than I ever thought.

I sat in that car beside Ray’s corpse for 3 more minutes before I heard the sirens closing in around us – me. I thought I might pass out, either from the toll of what I’d just witnessed or from my concussion, but I remained upright, probably from the adrenaline. I couldn’t move so I just waited, and hoped I’d die too before anyone reached the scene. It would be much preferrable to any other outcome I could think of at the time. I could vaguely register the pain in my wrist, but I felt so numb I’m sure you could’ve shot me in the foot and I wouldn’t have blinked.

A young fireman named Walter ended up getting me out of the car. The door was smashed and stuck which meant I’d been trapped in there either way. I was happy I hadn’t bothered trying to escape as I'm terribly claustrophobic and finding out I couldn’t would have thrown me into a proper panic attack. The fireman was incredibly nice, saying reassuring things the entire time they were opening the door with the “Jaws of Life”. I ended up seeing him again in the hospital actually, or at least that’s what my father told me. He wanted to check in on me and left me some hydrangeas in a vase. I always preferred chrysanthemums but I'm not that picky when it comes to a floral arrangement.

After the door was busted open I was carried out by Walter. I was shaking and apparently babbling nonsense but in my head I was trying to tell them to save Ray. I wasn’t really aware of all that much, completely blind to the crowd of spectators that had rudely gathered to witness the violence – wasn’t it supposed to be taboo to stop at a car crash? Wondering vaguely about what happened and wishing you could get a better look as you drive past the scene. My head wound had made me a bit incompetent and the meth in my system was really not helping the entire situation.

I was laid on a gurney and rolled onto an ambulance. I don’t remember much about the ride; the sirens, the bright lights, a paramedic named Alice who spoke softly, smoothing out my hair while the other put an oxygen mask on my face (which I wasn’t entirely cognizant enough to question though now I'm not really sure why they did it) and splinted my wrist. Alice asked me if I was on drugs and I nodded but was unable to speak when she asked me what ( I would find this a common occurrence after the accident, my voice seemingly stolen alongside Ray’s). She just nodded and said something to the other ME that I didn’t quite pick up. She asked if I could tell her my name and I shook my head. She must’ve noticed the iPhone in my pocket and grabbed it, turning to the medical ID page.

“Is your name Begonia?” I nodded, though the name sounded foreign on my ears. I liked the way Alice said it though, she had a light Spanish accent and a matronly tone that made me feel safe. I wondered if she had kids of her own; she looked young, but my own mother had me at 19 so who could say? She told me her name after complimenting mine. “Begonia is a beautiful name; I love the flowers. I’m Alice, okay? We’re gonna make sure you’re alright and take you to the hospital.” Her voice was sweet like syrup and I became sleepy as she spoke.

“No honey, you can’t fall asleep yet. Just stay awake a little bit longer and I promise you they’ll let you sleep at the hospital.”

I don’t remember anything of the rest of the ride to the hospital. I was dropped off at the Emergency Room at the Regional, head still too foggy to allow me to recall anything before I was sitting in a white bed, in a white room, with white sheets and a light blue hospital gown on. It was morning and my father was sitting at the end of my bed in an uncomfortable plastic chair, his eyes bloodshot and moist. He’d very obviously been crying for a long time and my chest panged with guilt. I reached up to feel my head and realized there was a cast on my wrist. With my other hand I touched the cotton that covered my forehead, wincing when I felt the sting of what had to be stitches in a nasty gash. I would spend the next 5 years of my life with a variety of diverse haircuts that attempted to hide the ugly scar that served as a reminder of the worst night of my life. Even now it is still extremely obvious, but I can’t be bothered to try and hide it, I so rarely look in the mirror that it wouldn’t matter if my skin turned blue.

My dad hadn’t looked up, so I attempted to gain his attention but once again found my voice failing me. I tapped on the bed a few times before he seemed to realize and face me.

“Nia… how are you feeling?” His voice was raspy and thin. He reeked of cigarettes and stale coffee, though this wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I remained silent as he looked at me, searching my face for something I'm not sure he found.

“Nia, I, I'm not sure how to say this to you.” Here it comes. Almost worse than watching my brother die, the confirmation. “Ray, he’s, well dead.” I saw my father’s eyes begin to tear up again as I stared straight ahead. I couldn’t feel the sobs that racked my body, nor the hot tears streaming from my eyes. I saw my dad start to move closer but sit back down when I flinched. Of course, I knew my brother was dead; I had front row seats to watching the event happen, but somehow I still didn’t believe it until the words left my father’s mouth. According to my dad, who many years later described to me how eery the whole event was, my sobs were completely silent, and I was entirely unaware of everything happening around me. This dissociation lasted the first few days after the accident, and the entirety of my hospital stay. Leaving the blissful gap in my memory I have now.

Barb told me this was my mind’s way of coping with the tragedy and stress of what happened. I was honestly just happy I had an excuse to skip some of the dreadful retelling she forced upon me.

❈

The funeral was of course a depressing and solemn event. I was still yet to speak and found myself thankful for the way people gave up on trying to get me to communicate. I dressed in a black skirt with a black short sleeved button up. A dark coat thrown around my shoulders as the cast on my right hand was too big to fit through the sleeve. I looked terrible, barely a week out of hospital before I watched Ray sink into the ground. The wound on my forehead was still quite nasty, though it looked better than it did before. I tried to cover it up with my hair but was unsuccessful. I got bangs soon after.

The matter was very traditional, taking place in a church even though none of our family was really religious. It was only the second time I'd ever been in a church, the first having been for my cousin Julie’s wedding when I was four years old. I don’t remember anything of it aside from the material of my dress itching at my neck and making me rather miserable. Of course, not nearly as miserable as I was the day of the funeral, sitting in a pew at the front of the church, listening to a priest claiming Ray would’ve wanted us to celebrate his life. I knew this not to be true; Ray was extremely dramatic and would’ve cherished the thought of everyone he’d ever spoken to moping around for weeks after his death, beside themselves with grief. He sometimes referred to himself as “Romeo” after having been broken up with by another girl he was supposedly in love with, stating he better just stab himself in the heart now if he couldn’t have her. On the rare occasion he broke up with a girlfriend, he’d lounge around, eating ice cream, pretending to not be upset and comparing his cold heart to that of Richard VIII. The concept of him being any different over his death was almost comical; Ray was nothing if not predictable.

I sat beside my father, who sat beside my mother (it was an extremely awkward arrangement that neither I nor my father cared for) and seemed to have the idea that I could evaporate if I thought hard enough about it. Unfortunately, I did not evaporate, or even come close to it, instead finding myself exactly where I'd been the whole time. I mostly tuned out the service, only really paying attention when my father and Ray’s best friend, Jake spoke. I managed to escape the duty of having to speak that day thanks to my fragile mental state and mutism. Though I'm sure I would’ve been forced all the same if I had been able to talk in any capacity, regardless of where my head was at.

Faun was sitting in the pew behind me, feeling quite guilty about the whole ordeal. Or friendship dissolved soon after, I think she blamed herself for taking me to the party. It didn’t bother me too much though; we were never the closest and I sometimes thought her to be extremely annoying. An endless stream of shitty boyfriends that she only acquired so she could further repress her sexuality. When we were 14 we kissed at a sleepover and she admitted she was in love with me. I felt bad for not returning the feeling and our relationship had been on rocky territory ever since. I don’t understand how she thought she was in love with me since she barely knew anything about me, but either way she never brought it up again and soon after the monsoon of boytoys had begun.

My brother’s friends and ex-girlfriends also attended the event. I didn’t approach any of them, far too scared they’d blame me for the death of their friend. One of them, Alex, went up to me to say how sorry he was about everything that happened. He was crying quite heavily (I later found out he was the friend Ray had been drinking with and the second last person to see him alive) and I could smell alcohol on his breath. I stood there while he spoke, telling me about how great my brother was as if I was wholly unaware. Body waving side to side as he stood with his hand on the wall beside me. He offered me some bronze liquid in a flask, and I obliged, savouring the burning sensation that followed in my throat. Alex’s voice was steady and deep, reminding me of my father’s. I’m not sure how long we stood there, him spinning a fantastic web of anecdotes and stories about my brother, some entirely new to my ears. We passed the beverage back and fourth until it was empty. My head felt lighter and heavier somehow simultaneously, and I found it much easier to listen to Alex talk. Later he tried to kiss me in my bedroom during the wake. His mouth was sour, and his tongue seemed too big for his mouth. I wondered how he was able to talk so much without it getting in the way.

We moved in procession to the cemetery after the service. The grass was a vibrant green colour, and I didn’t understand how the world kept turning after Ray’s death, for mine stopped the moment his heart failed to beat. The sky was a lovely shade of cyan-blue, with clouds so perfect they seemed animated. Pink carnations were planted near the outskirts of the yard and I could smell spring in the air; a heavy, floral aroma that never failed to comfort me. I thought it should be raining, it felt inappropriate that the weather refused to match my despair. My mind wandered as we approached the empty grave and I considered what it would be like if Ray was here beside me. He’d probably be making jokes, telling me to lighten up for a minute or my face would get stuck that way. He’d mock my silence, saying how I never managed to shut up for a minute before but suddenly I'm as proper as a nun. I'd smile, ruffling his hair to piss him off and try to refrain from laughing aloud. The absence of him only felt stronger as I imagined this scenario, so I shoved it out of my head.

The casket was lowered into the ground, my father was a pallbearer and I often think about how he must’ve felt carrying his son’s body before watching him being buried. My mother sobbed loudly which annoyed me, it felt a bit exaggerated. I had a few tears falling from my eyes but mostly, I just felt numb. Incredibly and absolutely empty inside. To onlookers it may have seemed as though we weren’t very close, my reaction being similar to that of his ex-girlfriends’. However, this didn’t account for the loss of my voice, or the broken state I was in mentally. Maybe it was better that my reaction was rather dulled. It meant people didn’t feel the need to approach me as they did my mother. Less concerned given she was the one playing up her emotions to the point of embarrassment. My father cried, more than I but far less than my mother. He didn’t cry very often – I'd actually only seen it once prior to the whole event – and I figured he probably needed it. At this point I felt as though I'd shed enough tears to last a lifetime so Ray wouldn’t mind if I was a bit subdued in comparison. He never was a crier anyways.

As I sprinkled soil onto his casket I imagined he was right beside me, watching, ready to criticize as usual. The dirt stained my hand, clutching the sweat and turning my skin a muddy brown colour. As I wiped the dirt on my jacket I could hear him nagging about how I better go wash my hands, what was I, a six-year-old? He was in denial about me growing up and took every chance to remind me I was still just a kid. Not that he had much on me, but I enjoyed it. I never was one to shy away from attention; at least not before. Little quirks and inside jokes between us were always some of my favourite things, the type of humour you could only get from living with someone your whole life. No matter how much his memory will fade there are some things I can’t let myself forget. His mocking tone when he’d make fun of me is one of those things. If I ever managed to let go of that sound then I must be dead as well.

The sun beat down on my back, my skin burning in my black clothes. I wasn’t sweating yet, but most of the men around were – suit jackets aren’t exactly known for their breathability. My nose was dry and aching red, sore from how much I'd been wiping it the last couple days. Still the sweet seeping tinge of flowers and spring managed to crawl into my nose, settling underneath my skin, the buzzing from before had returned, I could feel my heartbeat loudly in my throat and had the desperate urge to just run. Instead, I just followed the rest of the party, sitting down in the passenger seat of my dad’s car. The silence that settled over us was uncomfortable and stale. He turned on the radio, Led Zeppelin filled the air around us, thankfully relieving some of the tension. I felt in my left pocket for one of the carnations I’d picked from a nearby grave earlier. The flower had begun to wilt, heat taking effect on its delicate composition. When I got home I put it in between the pages of my oldest copy of Romeo and Juliet. Ray would have found it funny if he was around to see.

The drive to my mother’s house was short and minimally awkward. We sat in silence – aside from the music – only because there was no alternative. My hand remained clutched around the dying flower in my pocket as we left the car and entered the home. Other people had already arrived, clustered in the living room, picking at tiny ham sandwiches and various desserts my mother had undoubtedly stress-baked the day before. I wasn’t hungry so I sat as far away from the food and people as humanely possible while staying in the living room, not wishing to hear my mother’s scolding about how I need to socialize more. Eventually I managed to slip away into my old bedroom, where Alex was sitting on my bed drinking a mickey of Smirnoff I assumed he swiped from my mother’s freezer. He offered it to me, and I accepted, the weird repetitive déjà vu like act, mirroring earlier and making the whole day feel like somewhat of a dream.

When I went over this part with Barb she always felt the need to emphasize that it wasn’t a dream. I knew this, obviously, which I told her every time, but she was inclined to disbelief when it came to my denial over my brother’s death. “Begonia, you must realize he’s gone. Dwelling is helping nobody, especially not you. This isn’t a healthy mindset for you to have. Always comparing living to your dreams. I want you to tell me you understand this isn’t just some dream you can wake up from.” The first time she said that to me I was thrust into a bout of wordlessness, as it struck a bit too close to home. The next time she brought it up I just told her of course, though even now I still cannot say I fully understand. How can I when all of my assumptions have been constantly disproven time and time again. How can I ever say this isn’t a dream when I'm not even sure I'm real? James always tries to reassure me, “Bee, I'm telling you, if you can feel this beat, the pulse in your wrist, your neck, your chest, you are alive,” he’ll say while pressing my hand to my wrist, but we both know it isn’t that simple.

Me and Alex made out for a few minutes until I managed to excuse myself. He was a bad kisser and tasted disgusting. I left him sitting on my old bed while I went downstairs to find my dad. He was sitting at the counter with a can of root beer, blank expression sat upon his face. When his eyes met mine he sighed, grabbing his keys out of his pocket. It was obvious neither of us wanted to be here, for numerous reasons, so we left. And if the radio stayed off as we drove home we didn’t acknowledge the silence that time. In my hand was the crumpled carnation, and for some reason it made my chest hurt. A deep ache of dread. I could feel my heartbeat, hear it over the drum of the car engine, and I crushed the flower further. I was careful not to rip it though, as if that was crossing some kind of invisible line my mind had set for me. My fingers felt waxy when I finally let go.

Back home, I opened the copy of Romeo and Juliet. I retrieved the deteriorating plant from my pocket and placed it in the center. Closing the book, I stacked it under a few dictionaries, a magazine under it so it was trapped on either side. I sat down in front of it and cried. Not the huge gasping sobs my mother seemed to fancy, nor the quiet weeping of my father. No, I cried the tears of a child who just found out their grandparents died, the soft uncomprehending grief that overcame them as they first learned what death really meant. How long forever was. My legs pulled up to my chest, hands loosely hung around knees, unable to clasp together because of my cast. I closed my eyes and I swear I could hear the sound of Ray sighing behind me, but when I opened my eyes I was alone. I went to bed, earlier than I ever had in my life, still believing it was a dream and I'd wake up like Alice after her adventures in Wonderland. But when I awoke, I was met with the slow, oozing perdure of my reality. The one which I could not wake up from, and the one where my brother was dead.

#my writing #writing #original writing #original content #original fiction #creative writing #dark academia #tw death #tw drugs #tw mentions of sex #tw swearing #tw mental illness #tw medication #alo writes

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queencryo · 6 years ago

Text

@silly-go-round is asleep right now.

i guess i should make a journal for the past few days. as good a time as any. as AMY. heh. cuz shes super good and amazing. heh.

uh...... lessee.... for the two days after the last journal i just. hung out at the house while silly worked. i managed to not keep her in bed and make her late the second day. hung out a lot, watched more adventure time, worked on my tumblr filter script (lie. i judt ran it on my main. 200 posts / day is a bitchhhh) , played a good amount of ds3 (to pointof tetris effect at a couple points the nexg few days)

also did some like. helpful tasks. washed some dishes (undone quicklu, but. eh). not enough, mot as much as i shouldve, but... i tried i guess.

alao we've like. said the same thing at the dame time a Lot while ive been here and its like. nice. its really nice. same wavelength! i feel so close go her.

oh! alxo night before last we went grocery shoping. got food for prolly enoygh for the two weeks, but i guess we'll see. also a cheesecake! it was.... echausting. hily fuck it was exhaysting. jesus. the store was big and it took like 3 hours and $200 to get everything but. we did itttt.

we both mentionef that like. it felt nice to like. have a full fridge 2gether. cuz. it feels like were gonna have a futjre togetjer? u know. like that is. i love her a lot and it feels good for this to feel like a home for a little while. we hope that it can be so in tbe future.

so YESTERDAY she finally FINALLY taught me how to play magic the gathering. it was. a long time coming. but she brought me into the store and like. sat me down w some regulars and had me play commander. i played moooostly her snake deck, so like.that was fun!! i kept talki g about how i woulda gotten lorescale Coatl up to 39/39 and flying, had i like. gotten q more turn. but on that game D was running a mill deck that was. extremely long to play (that game took like ~>2 hours ugh), and was very bery annoying, so i didnt get to actually do that.

but it was fun! part of me wants to blog everything, but i dont think i will.

im glad to be able to use silly's decks, bc i dont think i want to make my own. im considering making a cheap angel deck or smth, but we'll see if yhat actually ends up happening.

i also met her girlfriend Iz, who is sweet. i played magic w her fkr a while, which was fun! she was runni g an annoying mono black deck (i kkow all these... these Terms and Words now, its incredible...)

shes sweet and i think i like her. dunno if enough to date yet (which makes me Partially regret flirting w her so much in the groupchat but. hey)

talked w her some, mostly about magic, hung out while silly closed the store, pet her cat, silly discovered that cyddling w TWO girlfriends is very nice (not rhat id know ;;;;;;;), was good times. i dont think im as comfy w izzy physically yet as i may have implied in messages, which hopefully wull be rectified by the message i just sent her (my initial physical comfort with people varies, it depends very much on the person)

skip forward, me and silly make a pizza at home cuz were fuckin tired, she admonishes me for not eating for uh... like 11 hours or smth (that mornings bagel was VERY good tho omg), but adderall, so like... meh.

uh... i dont think anything else on yesterday...

today! we waaamted to go to the store at like. 2. but in actuality got there at like! 330.

i went back to sleep cuz im a losenerd, and she. made this breakfast casserole thing. which hse put into a bagel abd brought to me bc i guess shes the best person on the entire earth oh my GOD. jesus

skip... apparently she knows maximum the hormone and doesnt like them very much... fair fair. (cause for xeath)

came to the store agai. tofay. it was fun and good. iz didnt come in today, do played some more with regulars. played w what is apparently called a blink deck, which revolvea arounf exiling cards then immediately bringing them back, to capitalize on "when this enters battlefield, do smth" cards. neat!

i DID actually manage to win today!!! the victory was. literally handed to me, but like. thats fine! i was playing silly's uhhh... elintor the masked? idr her name :( the mask planewalker! deck, which. i had SO much land, most of wh8ch was enchanfed. meaning it could be tapped then untapped w eljntor's thing, then tapped again for DOUBLE MANA. i mean. i had like 9/turn even b4 that but. BUT. i also had. i think i drew 3 creatures total. bit anyway. i had the white card that gave me a life whenever a creature was put on tge board (and also, w another enchantment, made all non-me creagurss and enchantments enter the board tapped, so. nya). so... rob had a card what dealt one damGe to all other players whenevr he puta. creature on the board. then he played united forces, which lets each player commit X mana to create X 1/1 soldier tokens on all players' boards. so. we made 28 white soldier tokens on everyones board. this killed perry, ans gave me, uh. 56 life (84 - 28). i then attacked ron for 28 w the soldiers, and drew sacred mesa, which lets me sacrifice 2 mana (1 any color, 1 white, but i had so many cards that said "this land can instead be tapped for 2 of any color, so like. ueah) to create a 1/1 flying pegasus token. so i. ended the game w 44 white 1/1 tokens. goblins get fucked.attack w my ssoldiers cuz his were tapped, so brought him down to 7 life. i didng catch what he did w the enchantment, but i think he said he like. put a copy of every creature on my side of the board onto his board, and then. cipying that enchantment 3 times. so. holy FUCK. wow. BUT those all came in tapped and i had 18 flying yokens, so. i still won! yay!!!! i won a game of magic!!!!!

goblin decks scare me. stop running krenko you fucks. exponential goblins goddamn

silly would come by every so often and like. look over my dhoulder and say "oh that was dumb whyd u use fabricate for thay" which is fair. but also god i love her. (i used fabricate for a mana generator insteaf of lightning greaves. whateverrrr) i love her so much dear god. i wish i coukd help w the store more, but. on the same time i also. dont enjoy working. so. maybe part time.

hm. what ekse. oh yeah i kove her so much.

by the end of the night it was just. me and her, rob and the two regulars i started out llaying w yestwrday. theyre sweet, i like them. theyre married. the dude calls me honey smtimes, which is. kinda weird? dunno how i feel about that. i guess fine. its gender-nice, but still a lil uncomfy. otherwise i like em fien, though. but they talked abouy moving into sillys apt. so thats cool!! better than her current (awful, terrible, lazy / horrifically depressed / manchild roomate, who doesnt clean ever) roomate. i was reading the monster of the week gamebook thruout, which i... bought, for some reason. idk. oh also i wanna make a fallen angel divine, because im... predictableeee. also a conspiracy thworist whos just a trans woman w way too much time and really weird hobbies (throwing knices, butterfly knife, net friends, etc). also a spooky. i speny like. 3 hours reading thr7 the monster of the week book while ppl played magic around me. i kinda wish i hadnt bought it, but hey! its neat c:

oh, also i didnt take adderall today. i dont think it went toooo bad, i think i like. was meaner and less thohghtful with what i said, but like. i guess thats better than feared. i took a caffeine pill (200mg) at ariund 10 which is. prolly why im wide awake right now. i regret doing that, sincr from what shes said tmos gonna be big)

she says we gotta be at her moms by 4, for reasons she WONT TELL ME. bit she says its part of one of her plans, i ASSUME the romantic one? im kind of afraid that ill like. no-sell it unwillingly because im abroke and soulless human being, but uh. i guess rhats thw risks we take to be alive :shrug: im excited. were also going to a shop (diff one) tmo, which im Quite excited for, as ive only been in similar shops by accident before. also doing laundry!!! which is important ^_^

oh ysah. so we got white castle on the way home. its. yeah she was r8ght. mediocre-at-best sliders. onions are bad.

we also made a pizza. whifh i ate most of. i overate. sob.

she fell asleep halfway thry an episode of nailed it. cant blame her, she seemed really tired. i hipe i dont disturb her rwst. and i feel so utterly blessed thay i can be around her.

ih!! i also fell down the last few staies ywstersay. bruised my arms, but otherwise fine. it was. idk, it is nice to knoe that others worry fir me and like me. she was very concerned. i love her.

#blog #ohio trip 2 #journal

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kappasigmalife · 7 years ago

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Characters for a story im doing

Christopher “Chrisper” Matthews Age: 22 (chp 1), 24(chp 2) Eye Color: Brown (Chp 1), (Greyish-brown, Chp 2) Hair color: Brunette, crew cut, greyish brown (Chp 2) Identifying feature (Beginning comics): Rectangular glasses, sapphire stud on right ear Cause of death: Freezing, taken off life support Spectral Ability: Cryomancy, Emotional Calming Family: Helen Monroe: Half-sister Joesph Matthews: Little brother Laura Matthews: Mother Andrew Matthews: Father Skills: massaging people, fencing, able to write almost anything, only person who can calm Robby down without violence, freezing the school to get out of class. Interests: reading, writing, bass guitar, walking in the dark, smoking, gaming, keep his area clean Background: Fairly neutral and stands by his beliefs, but keeps them to himself before causing a scene, caring to all that aren’t assholes to him, and ready to help his friends when they need it. While in chapter one he is normally happy on the outside, but deep down has loneliness building up from failed dates until meeting the man of his dreams at pride. An asshole with a heart of gold, many see him as any other dick, but when you need a massage or a talking to, he’s your man, seen with a hand of ice in one and a joint in the other; he still can’t get to the level of chill as Paul. Despite being abused emotionally and physically by his father, he still holds his head high. While considered the heir to a major industrial corporation ran by his father, Chris was more of a reclusive creative thinker, jotting down ideas for stories in a journal he kept hidden away, despite what his father wanted, Chris went to university under a liberal studies major focusing on natural and social sciences, hoping to get into social media coordination in conjunction of being a writer. As payback his father forced him to join a frat or risk losing his college tuition as a result, this ultimately led to his untimely death. Confused of what he really wanted, Chris explored dating both genders and always fell flat on his face either from superficial morons or people who confuse lust for love. He comes to love the man of his dreams, brendan a chubby goth who also happens to be a werewolf, they moved in mated and got married, all the while during an ritual for the mateship, chris is turned into a frost wolf and remains to devote his love to his one true love. Despite everything, chris slowly becomes cold and regretful after murdering a werewolf while being jumped after a meeting, leading to his imprisonment, and trial. While detained he was tortured by the guards as a turned werewolf instead of pureblood now scarred and having no lasting look in his eyes, even when gazing in the heart of brendan. Although slowly turns back after being hugged.

Paul Stone Age: 23(Chp 1), 25(Chp 2) Eye Color: Blue Hair color: blonde hair to the neck Identifying feature (beginning comics): Wireless headset on head Cause of Death: Electrocution by speaker Spectral Ability: Technological Transport, Omnipotence Family: Eh doesn’t care to say Skills: Hacking, engineering, singing, expert gamer, arson, canny ability to remain calm in any situation. Interests: gaming, singing, listening to metal, smoking, drinking, going on warpaths, setting the campuses forest on fire. Background: stoner genius, Paul complies with society’s bullshit and tends to stay away from drama by getting high as much as he can. Completing a collection of games from the human world keeps him occupied while learning about gender studies and music production while at AU. Moreover he relies on his RD of the house Reefer to get him the good shit before he’s got to deal with more crap around the house. While knowing everything about everyone, he tends to wait for the perfect moment to pop out and tell someone off for a witty comeback or just film a sex tape with his friends involved with no consent and a measly 10% of the profits. A natural ladies man ready for a polyromantic night in or out of his house tends to go well for him, although many end up falling for another. Being friends with a cryomancer massage therapist helps his stress during finals week, but if he’s pushed over the edge, you’ll be knocking on heaven’s door with his growling voice. Born into a moderately decent home, Paul was drawn to the art of metal at a young age and developed his voice by the time puberty hit; his longtime friends formed a band originally covering popular tracks of the time but soon after making original music on soundcloud got gigs ranging from their hometown to the upper levels of city limits, growing in popularity, only for his dreams being shot down by a bolt of lightning hitting a speaker and ending up being the newest edition to AU. despite knowing everything the only thing paul does know is why helen falls for robby, which baffles him to no end, until he tokes up again.

Robert Esposito Age: 21(Chp 1), 23(Chp 2) Eye color: Green Hair color: Dirty Blonde, cut short Identifying feature (Beginning comics): Naruto headband around forehead Cause of Death: Exhaustion from a 13 day watching spree of Naruto from beginning to end Spectral ability: Can enter any known fantasy world, accumulates a cartoon body Family: repressed so much of his childhood he doesn’t even remember being born. Skills: Filibustering, knowing way too much about anime and manga, sketching and painting, taking a punch, getting a girl out of his league to go out with him. Interests: Reading manga, fighting his roommates on chores, peeking on Chris’s failed romance life, making smart jokes, making his own manga a reality, organizing his dvd collection Background: Not much known in the past of his 6 ft. muscled nerd and his manga collection, he just showed up out of nowhere and was sent to live with Paul to get off Arthurs back about the amount of “flaws” of the afterlife. Going through 4 houses, he finally found someone who could tolerate his filibuster, or at least stoned enough to not care. Although ready to jump into a issue and help as much as he can, he is far more doing harm than good, probably from being doped too much as a kid. Usually buried in his collection of every one piece and Naruto issue known to man, he usually fights Chris on his taste of bad anime like gurren laggan, fate/stay, and Magi. Always ready for an adventure while everyone else wants to smoke and chill with a few games, he’s ready to drag them into any world he chooses, even without consent. Known for his abrasive commentary the housemates have their own way of dealing with Robby’s tirades of ranting, mostly with a hammer to the head or ice to the mouth, either way he’s quiet for an hour. While many find his words confusing, no one can compete with his art style and his attention to details and knowledge of chemistry

Helen Monroe Age: 24(Chp 1), 26(Chp 2) Eye Color: Hazel Hair color: Light brown Identifying Feature (Beginning comics): Black choker with a rose petal Cause of Death: Overdose of Adderall Spectral ability: Magic bag of weapons, can pull them out of thin air for comedic relief Family: Sophia Monroe: Mother Andrew Matthews: Father Christopher Mathews: Half-brother Joseph Matthews: Half-brother Skills: Weapon proficiency, singing, fencing, dealing with Robby’s attitude, make people pay for their crap against others. Interests: Singing with the band, cuddling with Robby, listening to Chris’s stories, smoking joints, singing Disney songs with Paul. Background: Born from an affair with Andrew Matthews and a woman he picked up from the bar one night while engaged to Chris’s mother Laura, Helen was born into a bad part of the neighborhood after Matthew viewed her mother as nothing but a druggie and herself a waste of life. She struggled with her mom’s issues but saw the love Lauren gave her working two jobs to make ends meet. She put herself through college thanks to odd jobs in babysitting her bitch of a landlords child and being paid with cash and half their rent taken down as a result. She made it to university where she finally met her half-brother during the first day of orientation, while the two saw their uncanny resemblance from their mutual bastard father, the two found no ill will towards the other, knowing in each other’s eyes that they had it rough. Struggling with classes led her to purchasing Adderall just to focus on the majority of work piling up, only to later overdose one night while her roommate was away. When in the university she’s placed with Chris and his friends and finally feels like she got a family, a horrible dysfunctional family, but one she loves, and while loves Robby with all her heart, doesn’t stop her from correcting his behavior when he does something stupid. A true badass at heart, even Paul warns never to get on her bad side.Reefer Age: Unknown Eye Color: I don’t know red I think Hair color: Bro I’m a skeleton Cause of death: Something stupid I’m sure Family: All dead Spectral Ability: reap souls, create weed, somehow can be high without getting high Skills: Growing and cultivating weed, reaping through super smash brawl in one hour, smoking a literal farm of weed in a day, pyrotechnics. Interests: Watching the gang grow up, play with the band, smoke weed, go on crazy adventures with Paul, customize his scythe to fit his mood, disobey Arthur's commands. Background: a lovable dealer from god knows where and god knows who, reefer comes from the command of Arthur and acts as the groups guiding force of growth and weed collection. Knowing Paul since he got to AU, considers him to be his little bro and chilliest of anyone on campus, randomly sleeps in the house and allowed to stay, he lurks around cleaning and cooking while everyone does their own thing. His main prerogative is to follow the few rules he keeps close to his few remaining brain cells, being that no more than 3 pets at a time. also provides many gadgets and pieces that result in consequences later on usually in the form of Arthur visiting the house enough times to have a welcome mat saying, hi Arthur sorry don’t care. Generally the calmest RD in the whole campus, but can lose his shit whenever he senses shit going down.

Brendan Balfour Wolfheart Age: 21(Chp 1), 23(Chp 2) Eye Color: golden brown/ red when turned Hair color: black Nickname: Fluffy butt Cause of death: Illness when an infant Family: Alasdair Wolfheart: Father Veronica Wolfheart: Mother Baltair Wolfheart: Grandfather Alicia Wolfheart: Adoptive younger sister Christopher Matthews Wolfheart: Husband/mateship Helen Monroe: Sister In Law Joseph Matthews: Brother in law Andrew Matthews: Father in law Laura Matthews: Mother in law Spectral Ability: Echolocation Growl Skills: Photography, hunting, cuddling, making chris happy, flaunting his body, tracking people Interests: Getting to see chris naked any chance he gets, cuddling to him every night, making sure paul gets the best angle of his furry ass for the channel, trying to get his dad to stop being so embarrassing, eating (like a lot of food), the only man who can make chris smile like an spaz. Background: Born to a wealthy family of werewolves, brendan is the firstborn son of alasdair and veronica, whom were pleased to shower their pup with acceptance. By the time high school hit, he came out as homosexual but kept it within the family to avoid bullies, like being chubby wasn't bad enough. Not being much of a musical prowess like his father, brendan would focus on film and photography as a hobby always getting the latest equipment, until Azazel got to them. Going to AU began a new chapter of his life and was welcomed into the gay community with open arms, and asses. He was nervous of meeting someone special, until he took western civilization and noticed a certain brown eyed cub sitting next to him who got his attention, but being shy he turned his tail and ran off when he offered to help him study. Only after running to the bathroom and feeling his chest pound did he think otherwise to respond with a yes to the question. Brendan would see him around campus smoking and drinking with his friends and get red faced by his genuine smile and wisecracks. It wasn't until he went to pride with link and was given an invite to Pans wedding that he was given the chance to talk to him, after 15 shots of liquid courage though. After talking and finding their love of art, scifi, fantasy, horror, and mythology, they danced under the spotlight gazing with him making the first move by stepping on his foot, leading him to follow his heart. While normally a shy boy and a little self conscience of his appearance, chris would always reassure him he loved him no matter what, to the point that he was asked to move in with the gang not one month after beginning to date. But was hiding a side of himself, and showed chris his werewolf form with a sexy striptease only for chris to look shocked but ultimately showed who was top dog that very night. It wasn't long before they became mates for life and engaged, with hijinks ensuing including robby kissing his man, flying into a blind rage, trapped in castlevania and falling into a coma, only to see his love in his lap worried. All together this shy boy knows how to come out of his shell but also has a habit of stepping back in when times get too rough.

Alicia Fiona Wolfheart Age: 20(Chp 1), 22(Chp 2) Eye color: Emerald green Hair color: Raven black Cause of death: Stillborn Family: Alasdair Wolfheart: adoptive Father Veronica Wolfheart: adoptive Mother Baltair Wolfheart: Grandfather Brendan Wolfheart: Adoptive Brother Christopher Wolfheart: brother in law Spectral Ability: Matchmaking Skills: swordplay, event planning, playing piano and guitar, being daddy's little girl, blood draining, matchmaking, spying on paul. Interests: Being with paul, making sure daddy doesn't embarrass the family with his nudity, wrestling her brother, trying to get Robbie to stop being a idiot. Background: oh bet you didn't expect a vampire to be adopted by werewolves, well that just makes you a bigot, now it may be shocking but alasdair and veronica love their badass daughter even if of different blood and race. From an young age alicia ran around crapping on alasdair's car changing into a bat and spooking the neighbors around the islands. Her mastery of swords comes from teaching of veronica and how to cut a bitch who messes with your man, although alicia depends more on sabotage and mental torture. Her affection for paul comes from a odd attraction to him despite not feeling a connection using her skill as a matchmaker. Growing up with brendan was all about chases and seeing his werewolf dick running around the house, truly he grew up to be dad. While developed early, alasdair played overprotective daddy by hunting them and keeping the boys from hurting his baby girl. In high school, she did fall in love, only to be played as a fool and humiliated by the boys saying she was just a rich girl looking to play. After being homeschooled, she discovered her love of music playing guitar and piano and working with her father at the record studio, although only for the summer as she demanded to go to college. Being sent to a werewolf school kinda sucked without brendan, so after meeting paul the first time, she decided to transfer to AU where she would bunk with helen, further cockblocking robby and enjoying every minute. After seeing chris and brendan marry, as well as copious amounts of alcohol and weed, she slept with paul and soon began a nice relationship that would be short lived after not seeing her matchmaking working with the two of them, only to discover her limitations are on herself, while she can see the matches of everyone else. Telling paul her true feelings, even after seeing him marry led her to find happiness with another, a man named hiro who she would meet in the later chapters and help raise a child together. Her father may see her grown up but will tackle pounce at any second to hug and praise her as his little angel.

Alasdair “Romulus” Wolfheart Age: 42(Chp 2), 44(Chp 3) Eye color: Orange Hair color: Reddish Brown Cause of Death: Impaled on Excalibur Family: Veronica Wolfheart: Wife Baltair Wolfheart: Father Brendan Wolfheart: Son Alicia Wolfheart: Adoptive daughter Remus Wolfheart: Older brother Christopher Matthews Wolfheart: Son in law Skills: Music production, tracking, loving his family, giving it to veronica all night long, flaunting his stuff, tearing apart anyone who messes with his daughter, metal music, stoning out with paul and chris, stripping naked in a matter of moments. Interests: Planning weddings, ensuring his children have a bright future, getting belly rubs from his wife, reminding robby to pay for his busted wall. Background: raised to a middle class family of werewolves, alasdair used to go by romulus by his family until college when he met his best friend Arthur, while the two were utterly different, they both saw the good in each other and would hang out around the house as much as possible. Although when the years came to a close at university and a race war was starting, arthur would change his demeanor and go on an all out kill spree against the others that stood in his way. In the chaos romulus lost his love and committed suicide on arthur's sword telling him to live with his choices before dying. As he awoke he was reunited with veronica and his son, who he lost at the age of 1 to illness, now able to grow as a healthy child and start a new life, he gave himself the name alastair to repress his old life and make himself a new man. While in the afterlife he is able to create his own record label. While his personality is optimistic and cheery at least for the first few chapters, he does come with some things in his life he keeps secret, like why he wants to break arthur's neck, why he's protective of his kids and why he never goes to a council meeting. Joining the crusades at the age of 22 way back when really cost him after seeing nothing else of the world after losing the child he and veronica loved most. Only to be reunited later on.

#lgbt webcomic #lgbtpride #lgbt #fantasy #comic idea

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bootisimo · 8 years ago

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ok so i dont care if im spamming my personal shit bc this is fucking tumblr & i need to just talk abt things

so im going to talk abt my best friend audrey. i havent had a best friend since around 7th grade (I’m a graduating senior this year) & my overall friend group has been really unstable & changes a lot, so I didn’t realize it at the time, but I haven’t made any deep connections in high school and it’s kinda sucked. Pair that up with me being super insecure because everybody talked about me behind my back in middle school and literally nobody outside of my group of 5 friends could stand to be near me (which I only learned around 2 months ago & it’s fucked me up so much, especiallyl because i was so oblivious & for all i know the same thing could still be happening), so I’ve felt very isolated and alone without realizing it for basically all of my scary developmental years. & then this new girl comes to school, and I meet her a the beginning of senior year! & she’s so wonderful and we click so well and after knowing each other for barely any time i felt so close to her and I was essentially drunk off of finally being close to someone again and she was all i ever thought abt bc i loved spending time with her so much! ((that sounds weird and obsessive but i promise im exaggerating i just kinda accidentally started idolizing her and absorbing her mannerisms bc thats what i always do)) & following my stupid fucked up pattern for people im clsoe to, i was all over her for a few months then i started doing that isolating thing and i convinced myself that her & the rest of my friends barely tolerate me (it didn’t help that this is senior year & shit actually did happen w two of my other close friends so my friend group is shrinking rapidlyl and i dont want to put effort into roping it back together), so I became really unhappy without realizing it bc i repress everything and i literally have so much trouble processing and actually feeling what’s going on around me . thats where my problems with derealization come from, because it crosses the line into literally not being able to say if im awake or in a dream, or if i exist or not, so how the fuck would i be able to know if i was happy or unhappy? im realizing tonight that ive been actually, truly depressed for an indeterminant amount of time, and that really scares me with the whole bipolar issue bc ive figured out that i cant live life without control. i need independence and control over my entire sense of self or i can’t cope, and its super unhealthy but its the only way i know how. and if im bipolar like im starting to believe i might be and like my therapist thinks is a definite possibility, then kind of by definition that means that i don’t have control, over my actions or my moods or my life, especially if it’s bad enought that i need medication. and judging by just how bad things have been recently, right when i start being able to feel my emotions without automatically shutting them down (so I’m feeling them to the full extent that i shielded myself from, in other words), i don’t think i can succeed, or even survive, on my own if this is what my daily life becomes. I’m losing my control right before I’m really going to need it, right before i turn 18 and go to college and actually need to take care of myself, and I’m so anxious about it that I constantly feel like I’m going to vomit, and like there’s a dumbbell sitting both on my chest and at the bottom of my stomach. when I repressed everything, i was always relaxed. i literally could not make myself stress or feel bad about anything, which is super unhealthy, but now it’s like i can’t make myself not be stressed, and i can’t reverse it!! I’ll try to feel like I used to because not feeling is so so so much easier than feeling, but it’s like I’ve forgotten how!!

anyway part of the reason my relationship with audrey is so good and so bad is bc it’s super hard for me to actually talk to her, because I always struggle with guilt because of how easy my life is compared to my friends. feeling like i have things better than anyone makes me feel so guilty that i want to die, which is probably a part of the depressive episodes, so I’ll go through periods where I’ll talked to audrey but i literally wont’ say anything to her bc i feel so guilty about how much she has to deal with, and then it’s like we aren’t even friends anymore and its 100% my fault because I consciously pull away and just think about dying for a week or two and convince myself that i dont need or deserve any friends or anyone to talk about the issues im having with. when i actually do share things with audrey, i lover her even more, because she never makes me feel guilty for having things she doesnt, and she always reminds me to that im trying to be conscious of the differences in our lives, and she always makes me feel so good about myself because that’s the kind of person she is. she’s been through so much more than most people, and I don’t even know a lot of the details about her life. its amazing though not just because she went through it--it always pisses me off as a trans person when people tell me i’m “brave” just for living and transitioning, and i know she would feel the same if i thought she was amazing just bc she’s survived so much. but she’s amazing for how she deals with it, mostly. you can tell she has a lot of problems coping but she still always makes an effort to make people feel included, and to better herself, and to be fucking kind. I’m always so amazed by how kind she is and how little she deserves all the shit that life throws at her, and I dont say that to her bc it’s always uncomfortable when people tell you that, but I’m really starstruck by her. i very often just start thinking about what a genuinely caring, selfless person she is--not like me, who does everything because of the reaction that I anticipate from other people. when she’s kind, you can just tell that it’s because she wants to be kind and doesnt care about the consequences. she is a good person far deeper down than I am and its amazing to see that at work. I’ve actually been standing up for my beliefs and saying something when I think someone’s in the wrong just because I’ve been around her and I’ve seen her do that

but the worst thing is that we met so close to the end of graduation. we just found out we’re all staying in the area next year but with my habit of suddenly dropping people for no reason, I can’t guarantee we’ll stay close, and that makes me so so sad because I genuinely think the more time I spend with audrey, the better a person I become. it’s hard to balance because I also make all my bad decisions with audrey because we fuel each other because w’ere so similar, so that makes it hard to. (haha we’re both geminis after all, and i dont believe in astrology but the idea that two geminis always have short, intense bursts of relationships, so they’re hard to make last, seems super accurate for us, and I’m afraid that tha’ts whats going to happen)

anyway I’m just typing a lot because dear audrey gave me an adderall to take so i could last the night & not die, and it’s more than I normally take, so my focus on this post is so intense, and adderall makes you rambly anyway. it’s good to take a lot every once and a while though because just thinking things through in this focused, controlled but optimistic and basically unbiased outlook that adderall gives you can be super helpful--typing this out has actually been pretty similar to my therapy sessions, except nobody has to ask me questions and prod at what I say to interpret my thoughts. damn i hope i can get a prescription because i feel like this is exactly how people who can actually ge their work done and not drift off constantly feel like, and I feel like now that I know how adderall feels and how homework is actually feasible when I take even a small dose, like half of a 30mg pill, I can’t expect myself to keep fumbling through my academic life once it costs 20k per year, and when I’m not on adderall, I’m always, always fumbling and confused, no matter what I’m doing. I feel like I’m just realizing how much I need it, and the people around me aren’t as surprised because they’ve always seen it, because it’s literally always been there, but they just assumed I was disorganized and spacey, and when I say “I think I have ADHD,” theyre’re jsut like “oh, I never thought of that but now that you’ve said it I absolutely believe that, I can’t believe I didn’t see it before.” It’s inhibited me enough in my life, especially in school, that in my freshman year all of my teachers called my parents in and told them to test me & my sister for ADHD, and the only reason it never happened is because there was a miscommunication and my mom thought the school had screend us for free, when me & emma have never ever seen a doctor about it

things are jsut bad rn bc it’s like i stand on both edges of a really small planet. on one side is the adhd stuff, and the realization that if I get treatment, life could be a lot more possible for me than I ever knew it was possible to me. on the other side is the emotions that I’m not able to repress anymore (maybe it’s the bipolar vs the adhd, maybe not--again, not diagnosed, and definitely not self diagnosing). these emotins that I’m actually starting to be able to process are a lot worse than I ever realized they were, and it’s promising the opposite of the adhd side--that things could get much worse than I ever knew they could get, and that they’re already headed that way.

sorry for making you all scroll past this thing, but it’s been really helpfulto be able to sort my thoughts out like this. I definitely feel like i just prepared myself to make progress in my therapy session on friday, at the very least. maybe things can actually be ok after all

#personal #really fucking personal #also very voluminous personal jfc #i just spent 40min typing this instead of doing math homework #nice

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makesureee · 8 years ago

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1-30 ty~

omg no thank yOU ogm ur so swe e t im sorry if i’m not able to answer all of them cause my memory is an actual pile of shit and my favourite songs are constantly changing but so HERE SO WE GO

*viewer discretion is advised because this user is annoying as shit on adderall*

1. what album do you feel best describes your mood?at the moment, i am like, OBSESSED with the album “my bad” by Good Dog. like. i relate to EVERY. WORD. EVERY. SONG. in that album. i just. i cant cant cant nope.

2. if your name had to be a song title which song would it be?“Oh.” ~courtesy of Good Dog

3. what is your go to sad song when you need to cry?i don’t have a go-to sad song. i don’t cry that much anymore either. like, my pain is like, background noise that bubbles to the surface for a second (and on the rare occasion explodes) but usually like literally 2 seconds later im like im good whats up lol. as far as the last song i had a good ass cry to…..i think it might have been A Song For the Late Night People by Kate Micucci. literally not sure tho

4. what band would you want as the rest of your superhero team?the FUKIN FRONT BOTTOMS

5. if you had to live in the world of an album which one would it be and why?i think this question is asking which one album i would want to listen to for the rest of my life? to that, my answer is, fuck you my good sir(in middle school and freshman year of high school my ipod had one album on it. one. on repeat. for years. i literally knew the SHUFFLE by heart that shit was miserable and i do not want to listen to those songs anymore)

6. what song best describes the person you think your soulmate would be?i don’t believe in soul mates, but as far as a compatible partner goes (based off of my most recent song obsessions) i would choose Scarred Pinkies by Walter Mitty and His Makeshift Orchestra. i’ll just drop a few lines riiiiiight here damn this post is gonna be long.“Ah, here lies all hope of being normal, all chance of an epic fate,bussing tables in Lake Tahoe, eating scraps off stranger’s plates.Ah won’t you cure me? Take me to your bug out location off the grid.I’ll tell you how I scarred my pinkies,and we’ll await Armageddon,or take a long nap.Then teach me to write well,and clean my lungs.Watch the love of my life sewing dresses on fireflies.Go and get me some real drugs to paint my blood,All while the thighs of women have lost their church,and the hands of men are shaking in the search.”“straight to hell, might as well clock out now and rail that cinnamon.”“The cops knocked, someone soon might let them in.They’ll find our strawberry cough. They’ll find the secret voice that shepherds towards the droughts in our thoughts until it snows, listen i know you know this,i’m losing it.”sry i posted like, all the lines in the song i relate to in regards of a romantic partner. but basically, in this moment i want a girlfriend i can do a lot of drugs with and shit (permitting they’re not into harder shit than i am), but i have so many problems with drugs that i’d also want that person to help me but also no. idk. in the long term i’d like someone who can help me heal from this shit but in the short term, i want to experience the romance of doing drugs with someone because i haven’t experienced much of life at all

7. create a poem out of song titles.far away, aimless, (johnny goth/johnny goth)i have no idea what is going on. (sweatertooth)the kids on the bus with their heads against the windows, (movies)straight kids playing dress up, (the official suckers)and a body washed ashore. (johnny goth)face down, share the blame. (sweatertooth/the official suckers)no choice. (major persuit)fine, thanks. (walter mitty and his makeshift orchestra)wow that one was depressing and political lolol i just went with the flow

8. which album art would you get tattooed?a question i dont have to write a paragraph for cause i already know the answer!!! the knife on the front bottoms album cover for talon of the hawk. i don’t want it to be my first tat tho. still brainstorming.

9. is there a song that you feel could have been written about you?BRUH I JUST CAME ACROSS A WHOLE ALBUM WRITTEN ABOUT ME SHIT. well, obviously it wasn’t written about me but i relate to e v e r y word fukin hELL. again it’s “my bad” by Good Dog. but i think the song i relate to the most off that album is “Oh.”

10. if you could only speak in the song lyrics of one artist who would it be?walter mitty and his makeshift orchestra. his new album is one i also hella relate to. my previous obsession before Good Dog came out with their new album XD

11. if you could have your favorite artist sing one of their songs to you which song would it be?well this one is just impossible. my favorite artist changes and my favorite song changes like every week like fuck

12. describe where you want to be in ten years with a song title.booger storm by walter mittynah jk how bout Set Phasers To Fun; Alarm Clocks To One by sweatertooth. you know they only have one album but it’s chill af

13. which song would be the national anthem of your country if you ruled one?attention class….please stand for the pledge of allegiance…….. COLT 45, 2 ZIG ZAGS, BABY THAT’S ALL WE NEED.WE CAN GO TO THE PARK AFTER DARK, SMOKE THAT TUMBLE WEED,AND AS THE MARIJUANA BURN WE CAN TAKE OUR TURN SINGIN THEM DIRTY RAP SONGS.STOP AND HIT THE BONG LIKE CHEECH AND CHONGAND SELL TAPES FROM HERE TO HONG KONG.SO ROLL, ROLL, ROLL MA JOINT. PICK OUT THE SEEDS AND STEMS!WE’RE HIGH AS HELL FLYIN THRU PALMDALE SKATIN ON DAYTON RIMS

14. what is your go to happy song when you need to feel betteri never really go to songs to feel better but kimya dawson is really comforting. she’s like, my song mom. her music is like a warm hug until you get sad cause you’re alone and all your problems are still there

15. is there an album that feels like a friend to you?yeah actually. Hard To Be Around by Lovers Turn To Monsters

16. what is the album that you always blast too loud?usually all but ESP my drinking album XDD it’s called Too by FIDLAR. i dEF recommend a listen next time ur drinkin

17. which album do you always listen to with headphones?i don’t use headphones in my house unless i’m so upset and relating to the music so hard that it needs to be as loud as possible. which again, most recently, has been “my bad” by Good Dog

18. what song are you unable to resist dancing to?none of them. i do not dance, have never danced, and will never dance

19. what song do you always have to sing along to?every song i know the lyrics to. im a singer. i cant…not….sing….

20. what song do feel would be a beautiful painting?if i knew i woulda goddamn painted it XD i actually used to think that way about a specific old instrumental pink floyd song once but i can’t remember which one

21. what album do you wish you could unhear and discover again?all of them!!!!! i love them so much but when i relate to music so hard i can’t stop listening to it and then its mundane and i have to go bandcamp hunting again

22. which album do you want to be the soundtrack to your life?i don’t rly listen to positive music but as far as my life is going right now i’d say the soundtrack is Well Soon by Walter Mitty and his Makeshift Orchestra

23. which band would you want to be your family?i can’t answer that because i do not know any of them personally XD

24. what song do you think of in association with beauty?what

25. what song do you think of in association with pain?like???? all of them???? i suck ????

26. what lyrics do you feel were written especially for you.none specifically FOR me. i’m the writer :p i can write songs about/for people and i’m kinda jealous that i’m not on the other end cause idk who the fUCK i am. but as far as lyrics i’ve found that are mE on the dot:“I’m an artist. No, I fake it. I repeat myself all day.I tell the same sad storiesin the same pathetic way.When I’m sober I am boring, when I’m drunk I talk too much,When I’m stoned I finally like myself. I shouldn’t just becauseI’m a filthy fucking liar. I think I’m nice when I am not,And I only feel like I can talk when I am smoking pot.”“Oh.” by Good Dog

27. what lyrics do you want to doodle on every piece of paper?none that sounds boring

28. what music do you listen to at 3 am?the same music i listen to all throughout the day because i get fixated on music i relate to

29. pick three albums to take with you into the afterlife.none because the afterlife doesn’t exist fools get wit tha program

30. what is music to you in one word?music

like, do you even read this? like homie it’s so long i feel like i get charity asks but like, I DON’T MIND I LOVE ASKS but holy fuck i’m annoying and i would stop being so specific and rambley if people just told me to shut up

#finally finished!!!!!#that took forever!!!!#but the adderall kicked in and im bored and asks make me happy and thank you #i feel like i got one homie out there that just sends me all tha asks #u gr8 #<3 #anon #anonymous #answered #good dog #lavapocalypse

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