#also had two separate language breakdowns while writing so i hope its not too bad

[happybeeps-nat]

Prompt idea: Post-war, Finn and Poe attend some sort of art therapy session together.

A/N: oooh thank you so much for this random, weirdly specific prompt, I was so delighted when I got it and writing something for it was fun! BUT I have not a single idea as to how art therapy works? And so I focused more on the art than on the therapy, I hope this is to your liking! Thank you so much for the prompt! 💕

Light angst, obviously, but the hopeful kind

Words: 1478

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Scars On Our Future Hearts

“Where exactly are we going again?” Poe asked as he was being dragged along by Finn who seemed to know where he was going at least. 

“Art therapy,” Finn replied, way too chipper considering the circumstances. Therapy. Art therapy! Poe had as much to do with art as he had with wielding a lightsaber or lifting rocks. But sure. Let’s go do some art therapy, what a wonderful idea, Finn. He sighed and said nothing. That was how it went most days. He talked a lot but didn’t feel like he said anything. 

Okay, so maybe this art therapy was actually a good idea… 

“Doctor Kalonia recommended it,” Finn explained. “It’s unconventional but says it’s actually a good approach after a war. And it can’t really hurt.” 

“Yeah, except in all the ways therapy usually hurts,” Poe muttered. 

“Exactly!” Finn smiled, coming to a stop in front of a nondescript building. It looked like all the others, but Finn with his photographic memory would know exactly how to differentiate it from their surroundings even though he’s never been here. Finn was awesome like that. 

“I promised her we’d try and if it’s not for us, we can just, you know. Not come back again.” 

The casual we that Finn threw around casually still made Poe feel warm all over. 

“Okay, okay, let’s try this thing. It it in there?” Poe inclined his head toward the building. 

Beside him, Finn nodded and squeezed the hand he was still holding. “You ready?” 

“Nope,” Poe sighed and let the p pop, but shrugged. “Let’s do this. Can’t be worse than crashing a TIE-fighter, right?”

*

Well, turned out it was actually pretty much like crashing a TIE-fighter. Or, like the moment right after the crash. The second of numbness where you didn’t know anything, not even if you were still alive. You didn’t know if anything hurt but you also didn’t know if everything was okay. You had a minute where your judgment was clouded and the only thought was “I need to get up and leave” until you realise that’s not possible because slowly, everything comes back to you. Why you’re there, what happened to get you there in the first place.

And now Poe was staring at a blank canvas and he had no idea what to do, what to feel, what to think, what to say. He had no idea what to draw. 

Future, they had said. Future was the prompt for this session, and it was a stupid shitty prompt, like, who even asked veterans about their life plans? They had none! For years, Poe’s future had consistent of the present need to not fucking die, and now here he was, in a non-threatening room full of blank canvases and he was asked about his life and he had nothing to fucking draw. He had nothing to think, he had nothing to say. He barely even had a life.

So the canvas stayed blank while Poe stared at it, feeling as just as empty. Directionless. Not a single splash of colour on his mind, not a single line to give him the vaguest idea od a direction. He was just Poe Dameron, former pilot to the New Republic Navy, former commander of the Resistance who got promoted to the rank of General because he had just enough hope and idiocy left in him to actually go through with winning. That hope was now gone, because why hope to win when you’ve already won? Why create colours when that would just be a waste of resources an actual artist could need? 

He had nothing but Finn. Finn who was painting his canvas in the brightest of colours, splashes and lines and everything all over the place, and the board looked ecstatic. It was colourful, it looked random but Poe could see an order there. A system. And of course it was there, Finn would never get rid of that part of him that needed order in everything. But now he had the chance to create the order by himself. 

Poe smiled a little as he watched Finn paint, and picked up his pencil again. Yellow, blue, green, red, in all their shades. And in the middle, right in the centre, there was a splash of orange, looking out of place but also just right. It completed the painting, gave it a meaning, an order, a direction. A centre. And it was the same shade of orange as Poe’s old flight suits from the Resistance. 

It warmed him to see that, to see the colours, to see that maybe this meant Finn saw a bright future, a colourful life, and Poe right there with him. Poe in his centre. Poe in his heart. 

What a wonderful thought. He smiled to himself and stared at his own blank canvas. Then back at Finn’s concentrated form, and without really thinking about it, he mixed a few colours himself. It was the same deep, dark shade of brown as Finn’s skin, yet bright in a way it looked when the sun was dancing on it. Brown with a touch of gold. 

Poe grabbed the biggest brush he could find and spread that colour on the whole canvas until there was no untouched space left. The whole thing was covered in golden brown, some places darker than others, and all of them reminding him of Finn. 

On a whim, he used more of that golden colour and painted a few traditional Yavinic ornaments. Small, fragile little things, drawn with more care than he’d thought he could use, but the result was absolutely worth it. 

It wasn’t perfect and real artists would probably roll their eyes at him for feeling pride as he looked at it, but to him it was perfect. It was his future. It was Finn. Because maybe it was okay that he had no direction, that he felt lost without a cause, even if that cause he used to have was tainted with death and killing and losing and pain. It had been a cause. And now he had none. But he had Finn, so maybe that could be his future. 

Everything else, he thought, was a bonus. Direction, meaning, structure, he could find all of that, build all of that with Finn by his side. But without Finn, there was no future. Not for him. 

He sighed. This absolute dependence was dangerous and he knew that, he’d have to do something about it, there was nothing romantic about it and it spoke more of his trauma than his lack of words ever could say, but he also knew that wasn’t the whole story. He was in love with Finn, absolutely enamored every day anew. Finn completed him in every aspect, he loved him back with his whole heart, Finn had a huge orange splash in his painting that maybe stood for Poe’s love in the centre of his world. This wasn’t just co-dependence. This was love, a love as deep and as old as time, and one he couldn’t deny. 

Finn was his future. And not just because of his past. He would be in every kind of universe. No matter the story. 

*

They got to keep the paintings, brought them home, talked about them. Not with the therapists but with each other. Finn explained every line, every splash, every dot and every brush, the order in it that still felt like chaos. Told him how he was feeling. About himself, about them, about the present and about the future. 

And so did Poe. “I, uh, I think I did it wrong? But it doesn’t feel wrong, so… Yeah, anyway, I don’t know what to do. What the future holds or even what I will do tomorrow. I may not even know who I am when I’m not a hotshot pilot or Resistance General. I never had to be just Poe Dameron, and I don’t really know who that is. But I would like to find out? With you by my side? And build a life and all that stuff, but not without you. And I have no plans. I only have you, and that’s pathetic, I guess, but-” 

Finn silenced him with a kiss. Then apologised, because Poe was finally talking and he had to ruin that, but Poe just laughed, relieved. He’d finally said it. He was Poe Dameron and he didn’t know what that meant but with Finn by his side, he was ready to find out. 

Later, Finn grabbed his hand and took him to bed, giving him a detailed insight to who he thought Poe Dameron was. There were still traces of paint on their skin, but for some reason that made everything feel more real. Like they were okay, and like they had a future. Together. 

[butgilinsky]

his fault // th

warning; language, alcohol, sad):

summary; tom breaks up with y/n, and realizes his mistake when it’s too late. 

word count; 2.7k

y/n had a extra hop in her step today. the news she received at work had been the type of news she was patiently waiting for for longer than she could remember. a promotion and a significant raise were two things she’d been silently hoping for, blowing off her friends when they insisted that she would get it. 

she walked into the elevator and pressed the button with a smile she couldn’t hide, biting her lip to try and keep the excitement at bay. she didn’t want to come off too strong, trying to play it as cool as she could. as soon as she got the news a few hours ago, the first thing though of doing was calling tom and telling him everything she had just heard. she wanted to share her excitement with him, not knowing who else would want to hear it. 

the ding of the elevator brought her eyes up from the ground and she skipped down the hall, her knuckles hitting the door quickly. he opened the door, a much less excited expression than the one she wore. he was biting the inside of his cheek, giving off the allusion that he’d had a bad day, so she skipped into the apartment, setting her keys and phone down while starting to ramble off about her day. she shrugged off her jacket, throwing it onto a nearby chair. 

“so i went in today and my boss was abnormally excited to talk to me-”

“love, i think we should talk first.” he was staring at her with a look of uncertainty, but she pushed it to the side, assuming that her story would make him match her excitement. 

“we are talking! just listen it’ll-”

“y/n i’m serious.” she rolled her eyes with a wide smile, tugging on his hands as she jumped a little in her spot. 

“so am i! i couldn’t wait to get out today, i’ve wanted to call for hours but when i left you didn’t answer so-”

“y/n, i think we need to break up.” break up. the simple phrase made her hands drop his, retracted them back to rest in front of her, immediately picking at the skin around her nails. the two small words made her smile drop immediately, her eyes filling with tears, and her vision blurring slightly. 

she looked at the boy in front of her, watching the past three years play like a film reel in her mind. the two years she expected to predict her entire future. her future with tom. her future with the loving boy who she would’ve given both arms and legs for if it deemed necessary. the boy that was gone for months, but always returned. the boy she grew to love in a short amount of time, and continued to love for three whole years. 

and it was coming to an end, with a simple sentence. 

“why?” her throat was tightening, the weight in her chest growing heavier with every passing second. 

“i think it’s just best if we separate.” it wasn’t an explanation, but it became very clear that she wasn’t going to get one out of him. that weight in her chest was practically shoving her into the floorboard beneath her, while her eyes started to well up, and her head felt dizzy. 

but she pushed the questions and the urge to fight to the back of her head, not being able to find it in her to argue or pester about it. today was supposed to be the best day for her in a long time, and she was starting to realize that today was not going to end as it started. 

“okay.” it was the only thing she could say. the only thing that came to her mind that she could actually decipher, too many thoughts numbing her brain to vacancy. 

“okay?” he was confused, expecting a melodrama to appear in front of him. he was expecting the world to come crashing down in one piece, and it seemed that he wouldn’t be granted with the sight of her breaking down. he noticed the tears in her eyes, but also the lack of their release. 

“yeah.” she nodded slowly, careful to not shake the tears out of her eyes. “there’s no point in arguing with you if you don’t want to be with me anymore.” she was telling herself that this was real. this was really happening, right here, right now. “i uh, actually have to go. i have a paper due tomorrow that i haven’t started and i uh-” she was grabbing her keys and phone as fast as she had dropped them, collecting her thoughts and emotions as she made way towards the door. she grabbed her coat before she forgot, and tried to talk herself through all of this. 

“y/n shouldn’t we talk about it or-”

“what’s the point, tom?” she shook her head, turning over her shoulder to see him left to look as heartbroken as she was meant to. “you want to break up, and i know you have to pack and get ready for your trip this weekend. you have to pack and i have to write a paper so i’ll just-” she reached for the doorknob, only for the door to be pushed open before she reached it, seeing harrison staring at the two of them. 

“hi y/n.” he smiled at the sight of the girl, only to wipe it off of his face quickly when he also saw the built up tears in her eyes. 

“hi.” she pushed a sad smile to her lips, hoping that it’d be convincing enough. it wasn’t. 

“what’s-”

“i actually have to go, but it was nice to see you.” she pushed past the confused boy, walking as quickly down the hall, breaking into a jog shortly after. 

it seemed as the elevator couldn’t come fast enough, and as she awaited its arrival, the emotions continued to build up. as soon as it dinged, doors opening soon after, she walked into it and pressed the ground floor, biting her lip in anticipation. 

just as they began to close, a foot made its way between the two doors, making her face harrison once again. 

“love, i-”

“i can’t talk about it.” she shook her head as he walked into the elevator, pressing the close button for her. 

“that’s okay. can i at least take you home?” she kept shaking her head, raking her mind for more excuses to get away from anything that seemed connected to tom. 

“no that’s okay. i can walk, or-”

“y/n it’s freezing outside.” he shot her a pointed look, and she sighed softly, a single tear finally finding its way down her cheek. her hand shot up to wipe it quickly, but more seemed to fall. “fuck.” harrison whispered to himself before bringing the girl into his chest quickly. 

she screwed her eyes shut, biting her lip softly to try to push the emotions further back in her mind. 

“i just don’t understand.” her voice held every ounce of emotion she had been trying to keep under the surface, but harrison saw right through the girl. 

“i don’t either, love.” he held the girl against his chest, their friendship trumping any loyalty he had towards tom in this moment. he had no idea what his friend was doing. he was fully convinced that the pair would never split, being far too infatuated with one another to even think about a fatal moment for the two of them. tom always talked about her when she was gone, and he was certain she did the same about him. 

when she got home, she continued to dismiss harrison’s pleads to let him come up and comfort her. she wanted to sink into the floor, and she wouldn’t be able to do that with harrison there. she had no intentions of speaking or being spoken to, so she went up by herself, throwing her phone in a drawer for the night and sitting down with a bottle of wine. she watched whatever trashy drama she could find on the tv, begging anything to rid her mind of the breakdown just waiting to crash over her. 

she had been three glasses of wine in when the rain started, and four glasses in when there was a knock at the door. she huffed to herself, intending to ignore the knock until it turned into banging. she finished the wine sitting in her glass, and grabbed the bottle between her fingers before walking up to the door. she pushed up onto her toes to look through the peep hole, seeing a boy she wasn’t all too surprised to be seeing. 

she swung the door open, her appearance catching the boy off guard. the girl that was usually all smiles and warm welcomes was wearing a pair of baggy sweatpants and an even bigger sweat shirt, her hair pulled back and her glasses doing a poor job at hiding the redness in her eyes. the bottle of wine in her hand didn’t go unnoticed, but he had hoped that it wasn’t opened tonight, as it had been more than halfway gone/ 

“what the fuck happened?” he was confused when harrison called, not sure how his brother could’ve fucked up so immensely that he’d have to cancel all of his plans for the next day to dedicate it to the girl. although he didn’t mind, obviously wanting the best for his friend more than sitting through meetings of upcoming projects. of course, he was in a position to cancel those meetings without anybody questioning him. 

she needed him, and he was going to be there for her. 

“how am i meant to know, sam?” she rolled her eyes at the question, believing it to be stupid and unanswerable. she spun on her feet, retreating further into the apartment, but leaving the door open for the younger holland. 

“how did he manage to throw away the best thing that’s ever happened to him?” she let out a soft laugh at the comment, finding it endearing that he wasn’t jumping to tom’s defense. 

the two had always been close. closer than some would’ve liked, but the pair knew the platonic level their friendship would always remain, and grew a stronger bond than either of them had imagined. 

“can we just, not talk about tom?” she faced him when she fell back onto the couch, laying her head against her hand as she poured herself a new glass, holding the bottle out towards the boy in offering. 

sam looked at the girl in front of him, realizing how broken she truly looked. he’d never seen her so upset in their years of friendship. he’d seen her cry for hours on end about things in her life that crushed her, but never had he seen the shine in her eyes dull down to a sheen of tears. he’d never seen the flush in her cheeks not being caused by a cheeky comment or a loving memory. never had he seen her so glossed over with intoxication in an attempt to forget the day behind her. 

and it was all because of tom. 

so he took the bottle, and found another glass in her kitchen to pour the wine inside of it. he explained that his next day was empty, leaving out the part where he cancelled two big meetings. he knew she wasn’t working the next day since it was a saturday, and she always had the day off. even when she asked how tom was meant to get to the airport, knowing the sam often took him, he rolled his eyes with a small smile and replied with, “who cares”. 

the two sat on her couch, drinking wine and talking about everything that had nothing to do with tom. they talked about a knew idea sam was having for a script, along with her new promotion. they watched movies and talked about how bad or good they thought the acting was. 

and when she fell asleep on his shoulder, he woke her gently to make sure she slept properly in her bed, making his bed on her couch after she was safe and sound in her bed. he put away the glasses, and returned the wine to its home in the fridge, making sure that every window and door was closed and locked before falling asleep on the couch. 

-

in the morning, tom’s head was pounding with the sound of the alarm. he slammed his hand down onto his phone so the shrill sound echoing off the walls would come to a stop, even though he had to get out of bed after it. he took a shower, and got ready for the airport, only slightly surprised when harry showed up instead of sam. he didn’t have to ask, he knew where his brother was and what he was doing. although part of him was slightly thankful for his brother’s relationship with the girl, he was slightly hurt by the fact that he hadn’t said anything to tom within the time frame. 

he boarded his plane and spent the entire flight dreading the past events. the bags under his eyes were a new look, along with the severe lack of a smile the entire way over. 

the next few weeks blurred together, not hearing from the girl. he knew he messed up, and he knew there was no excuse for his actions. he knew it was stupid, but for some reason, he couldn’t find himself to call her and apologize. 

-

weeks turned to months, blurring together as she hadn’t heard from him. the first time she did, was a drunk call in the middle of the night. she answered on impulse, halfway through asking herself if it was a good idea. but she ultimately convinced herself it was better to answer, since he probably needed something if he was calling at all, let alone in the middle of the night. 

“hello?” there was a pause before he responded, the smile on his face taking too much time to grow before he could respond. 

“hello love.” she rolled her eyes in the darkness of her room, rolling onto her back as she continued to hold the phone to her ear. 

“why are you calling, tom?” she had work the next morning, just in a few hours. she realized his schedule wasn’t like hers, having different hours and different days off than she had. it had been that way throughout their entire relationship. 

“i just needed to hear your voice. your real life voice. i tried to listen to voicemails and videos, but they don’t do anything. they’re nothing like talking to you for real.” his slight rambling made her head spin, not knowing where all of this was coming from. 

“tom it’s the middle of the night.” he sighed, not realizing the time difference in that moment. he hadn’t taken anything into account, the alcohol coursing through his veins far more prominent than anything else. 

“i’m sorry, love. i didn’t count the hours like i normally would. i just needed to call, i needed to know if you would answer.” his voice was getting quieter as he spoke, realizing how foolish he sounded. 

“you could’ve called months ago, tom. it doesn’t need to be in the middle of the night. i’ve got work in the morning.” she was growing agitated as their conversation carried on. there was no reason for it all. she knew that he knew his effect on her. that at the snap of his fingers, she’d do anything he asked of her. 

“wait! y/n i’m sorry i- i should’ve called earlier. i should’ve called months ago, i know. i’m sorry, love i just- fuck this movie is fucking with my head and i really just need you here with me. i should’ve have fucked all of this up. i don’t even know why i did it, and now i know that there truly was no reason to leave you that day. it was stupid. i’m stupid. y/n i love you.” although they were the words she wanted to hear, they were coming months after she wanted to hear them. 

“goodnight tommy.” she ended the call, throwing it onto the nightstand beside her while tom stared at his own, biting the inside of his cheek hard enough to draw blood as his vision blurred. although the nickname brought a funny feeling to his chest, it wasn’t enough to mask the heavy ache he felt. 

he’d lost her, and it was all his fault. 

[nikofrussia]

THE LOST OF LOVE LETTER

February 7, 2021 / written by Nikolai Khrennikov

The first time you have your heart blown apart as a young man is an unforgettable experience. It’s akin to having your emotional introspection. Comically enough, your mind keeps vacillating between what hurts more — the waves of dry heave inducing nausea or the soul crushing emotional pain. This was the state I found myself in having finally professed my affection for a woman I had been enamored of for the three years.

What she didn’t know was that I’d fallen in love with her the first time I’d met her. The moment I saw her I thought she was the physical manifestation of the actress character Winona Ryder in 1995, less the spiritual and existential breakdown. She was, in other words, the most pretty woman I’d ever set eyes on. She had chestnut brown hair with one naturally occurring black streak in the back. She had brown eyes that destroyed me. She spoke like she was born in the wrong century. To me we were perfect for each other, and using retrograde logic I concluded, myopically, that she’d never considered me a romantic prospect simply because I’d never positioned myself as one. What was needed was a declaration of affection; what was needed was a powerful, heady statement of intent. The problem was this: for whatever reason, I was appallingly bad at talking to women, especially regarding anything serious. It’s as if my brain would enter a fugue state when an even remotely attractive woman struck up the mildest form of conversation with me. It’s still true.

And so it was that, on that one fateful night, and what I intended to be a simple expression of affection turned into an inebriated soliloquy on star-crossed love incorporating a hackneyed and baffling analysis of the love poems of Sylvia Plath. At least she had the honesty to explain that while she considered me a last love, before she also considered me too immature to consider having a romantic relationship with.

Not knowing what I wanted to do with my life, when the question of my future was raised, I immediately said, “I want to go to America”. I made my way back to the United States, ever I send my CV to some companies supply foreign labour.

So what does this outpouring of emotion have to do with my desire to destroy the interwebs? This for three year ago, my wife and I lived in separate countries, and while the prevailing belief is that long-distance relationships never work out, ours did. Why? Because of our letters. Because we would write each other long, beautiful, incredible letters. The act of letter writing, the idea of making every sentence meaningful, the idea of connecting and communicating with someone through our thoughts gave us the most incredible relationship despite the innumerable miles that separated us. And it made me understand the beauty of writing, which motivated me to start my story life.

No one writes letters any more. Maybe not. We now live in a world profligate with instant communication, with a constant and insurmountably endless barrage of emails, instant messaging, Telegram, Facebook and Twitter feeds, and as a result no one cares about the craft of writing, because interpersonal communication even at its most intimate has become conditioned by the short-form inanity that has supplanted proper language. No one talks to anyone through writing any more, they just bark in short-form. Worse still, no one experiences anything any more. They just take pictures of life to post on their blogs or Facebook pages.

I am glad that our love story happened to get through the encroachment of the information age; otherwise, I am not sure we could have had that extraordinary first year. As with the majority of love stories, we broke up, thinking we might be able to find the same affection we had for each other in other people, and not realising until much later in life how difficult this is. We’re family now, and that makes me happy. I can only say that I treasure our time together; the moments of intense passion and quiet companionship equally - as two opposite sides of a valuable coin which makes me a wealthy man.

Dear reader, Do you understand what I am trying to say? Reality is what is perceived to be real by the individual. I hopes stop checking your goddamn mobile phone; stop valuing your life based on your Instagram likes, or replacing actual conversation with group chats. Because, if not literally then at least metaphorically, in order for real emotion and human culture to survive we must destroy the interwebs. Stop and revel in the world around you. If you commit to it, sometimes the world gives you back gifts of truly immeasurable beauty.

I too have a smartphone and use it. But how exactly am I using it? That is an excellent question to ask oneself.

K.

[doomednarrative]

2018: A (Personal) Year in Review

I put off writing in general so much, but I’ve put off this particular post long enough. 

And no, this isn’t about the general world or the country. It’s about my personal life, and it’s mainly a vent/personal rambling post, so I’ll put under a read more. If you don’t care to read it, that’s totally fine. 

But anyways. Here we go: 

2018 was...a fuckin ride, to put it in simplest terms. 

For those who are new and unaware, lemme briefly bring you up to speed about the end of 2017 for me, cause it’s important to the context of this entire thing:

December 17th of 2017, when I was on my third day home for Christmas break from college, I packed a backpack, and I left my dad and stepmom’s house for good. 

Their house had been abusive for years, and my mental health was in the absolute tank in college. I was feeling casually suicidal and had a full on breakdown about having to come home for winter break. After a fight I got into that night with my stepmom after she found me texting some friends on Discord (which I wasn’t supposed to have, even tho I was almost 19 and an adult at the time,) she got Pissed, and so did I. I had finally had a group of friends who supported me and helped me out so much, and I didn’t want to loose them. And I couldn’t stand the abuse, the treatment of me like I was a child with no privacy or personal autonomy, the constant pushing for me to date my one long time friend and to be straight, or my parent’s inability to accept me as their son and not their daughter any longer. 

I was given a choice, and told if I decided to leave, I wasn’t welcome back. A few months before, my best friend had said that their parents had a safe space for me to go if I ever needed it. They had been aware of how bad some things had been with my parents and feared for the worst, so they offered me a home if it came down to that. And that night, it came down to that choice. 

I packed one backpack of stuff I was allowed to bring (solely because it was stuff I bought) and I walked to my friends mom’s house, and by the next morning, I was at her dad’s house, safe and sound. 

2018 became the year of learning how to be an adult in a house that treated me as one, and in a house that didn’t put my personal safety and mental health in danger. 

2018 was...well, it was simultaneously the worst and best year of my life. 

Early on, I could tell my parents weren’t going to let my off easy for leaving. My mom wasn’t a problem, she had been out of my life for almost two years at that point, and hadn’t attempted to make contact with me for a long time. 

But my dad and my stepmom? Oh, they were determined to make my life as bas as they could while not being physically around me. 

First thing they did? They tried to take all of my possessions from my dorm at college without my knowledge, because they thought that They owned that stuff. I only found this out because I called the college to formally drop out and ask when I could pick up my stuff, and they informed me my parents were already planning on picking up my stuff for me. 

Me and my now adoptive parents ended up making an impromptu trip, four hours up and four hours back, that night to my college campus to make sure that I could get my possessions before they could. And we were successful.

Next thing my dad did to screw me over after moving out? 

That bastard stole about 700$ from a joint bank account I had with him to use for college. That was money I earned from about 7 months of work at my summer food truck job. And he took it because he legally could since it was a joint account, and didn’t tell me. i found out when I went into the bank to withdraw that money and open a separate account. 

So I was starting off the year with already some setbacks. 

Thankfully, I Was able to replace my birth certificate and social security card relatively easily, so that was in my favor at least. 

Then, come my birthday on January 26 last year, I got a letter. Two letters to be specific. One from my stepmom, and one from my dad. 

Both were full of manipulation and guilt tripping language and just. Gaslighting and more emotional abuse. They had somehow gotten my address from when I had set up my separate bank account and changed my information in the bank system.  And they decided to send me abusive shit as a birthday present. 

I’m not gonna lie, it hurt a lot. 

They continued to try to do stuff like that. They called me multiple times from different numbers, they called police on my adoptive family to say that I was crazy and that my parents were like. concerned for my safety because i had blocked their phone numbers after the first two phone calls. They texted me from different numbers, just. A lot of different bullshit. 

February was the first time I saw my dad since leaving. I had gone to a screening of Love Simon, as it was really important to me, and somehow thru some stalkery methods, he knew i was there and he confronted me in the theater lobby after the film. (When I asked how he found me there, his answer was ‘I have my ways.’ I never posted about this encounter when it originally happened.)

He proceeded to be transphobic to me in public, demeaning me and humiliating me in front of everyone in the theater, told me I was the reason my siblings were now in therapy (which is a lie, my brother was already in therapy for anxiety long before I left), calling me crazy, telling my adoptive mother that I “needed help” and that “she’ll outstay her welcome.” He said a lot of awful things, and eventually I left the theatre in tears after screaming at him that I was his son and that this shit was why I left in the first place, and that he should go fuck himself.

Thankfully, I didn’t see him for months afterword, not til october, right before I left my retail job that he and my stepmom found out I worked at. I saw my stepmom three times at that job, once with my siblings (which is the only time I’ve seen them since leaving and that was. Very hard to deal with and a very emotional time), and twice without my siblings. The times she came without them, she was an absolute fucking asshole to me, still spewing her abusive rhetoric about how I was in the wrong for leaving, and how my father did nothing wrong when he saw me in February. 

She and my father only left me alone after I told them that I would not get into an argument while I was on the clock, and that if they didn’t leave I’d call the store security guard. 

After that, they haven’t done anything else. Yet. We’ll see what 2019 holds. 

But, aside from the bullshit with my parents, 2018 had its other ups and downs. More ups than downs, but it still had it’s rough moments. 

I got a job in early May as a sales associate/cashier/fitting room attendant for a well known Coat Factory chain store. 

That job was pure fuckin hell, and I’m glad I don’t work there anymore. The last week that I was supposed to work there before leaving for my new job, I got pulled into the side office by the manager on duty (she wasn’t an actual manager, she just had closing priviledges) and she Screamed at me about how a customer complained about me, she hated me, my coworkers all hated me, all three of my managers hated me, and how she was tired of my attitude and how she couldn’t wait til I was fuckin gone. The whole issue that night had started because of her and how she couldn’t properly communicate to me where she wanted me to be that night and what duties she wanted me handling. She took out her frusteration at her own mistakes on me, and I had had enough. I stood my ground with her and didn’t let her walk all over me, but I went home that night, bawled for about two hours because being yelled at is a trigger for me, and she had been all in my personal space like she was going to hit me, and then I emailed my general manager the next day and told her she could replace me for my last two shifts and I wouldn’t be coming in for them. 

I haven’t stepped foot in that goddamned store since I left that night. 

I have a different job now. I work as an overnight personal care assistant at a nursing home, but it’s a higher end one, and it’s not bad. It can be stressful and super draining at times, but enviornmentally its a better job than the retail one ever was, so it’s good. 

My mental health has been a wild ride as well. I won’t get into the full details here, but let just say that uh. I’m 99% sure that I’m both ADHD and autistic, and I’m thinking I have some form of ptsd as well from years of trauma shit. I’m not suicidal anymore, but I have bouts of depression and anxiety and sometimes anger that last for days to weeks at a time. It’s...rough, to say the least. And dysphoria doesn’t help any of that. 

But I’m alive and fighting, and that’s the important part. 

Not everything this year has been bad tho. There’s been a fair amount of good too, and I’m greatful for it. 

December 23rd I celebrated my first year aniversary with @curious-corvids, and i couldn’t be happier about that. He’s been there thru this Entire ride, and he’s been such a positive force in my life, and I hope to keep him around for years to come. 

Similarly, March 18th this year will be my one year aniversary with @sinclair-solutions, and that I’m immensely happy about as well. They’re such a wonderful person and just. i’m very lucky to have them, I really am. they’ve also been here thru everything, and I could never thank then enough for that. 

I made some friends in the past few months that I can’t imagine what my days would be like without them in it. Kathy, Jay, Fi, and Evan are such great people, and I’m lucky to have them around. 

I got the chance to meet Ren, Lu and Erin in person for the first time at DragonCon, and went to both my first comic convention and my first out of state trip alone with them, and it was honestly the best five days of my life. I can’t wait to do that again with them this year. 

I’ve been steadily improving at art this year and took commissions for the first time, and that’s been a very fun thing to do. 

I’m actually able to like. Afford to buy things for myself and spend my money without interferance, and thats such a change from how my parents used to control my finances. 

Overall 2018 was just..a wild ride. 

2019 is sure to bring better things. With luck this month, I should be starting the process of legally changing my name, and that will be a very freeing thing to do. 

I turn 20 on January 26th, and just. 

I didn’t think I’d actually make it to 20. That’s a personal milestone for me, to have made it this far. 

Whatever this new year brings tho, here’s to hoping it goes better than 2018. 

Here’s to hoping I’m better this year than I was last year.