#and still my brain is the saddest motherfucker alive

[curlyhairedprince]

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[smallblanketfort]

Tell me a story?

ive been trying to think of one for ages and i suck, so here are some things that happen when you work at a library:

one time someone came up to me and gave me a tomato? idk? also recently we found several opened cans of pineapple? they were full and just scattered around the children’s section?

jenny was helping someone and police appeared, tackled him to the ground, arrested him, and left, without a word

a little tiny boy asked me for chapter books about dinosaurs and when i gave him a stack, he literally fell to his knees and wailed “yeeeeeesss!!!!!”

the saddest part of working at a library is getting a tiny peak into someone’s life and mind. it breaks my heart when someone returns a stack of books about cancer or bpd. the worst was when there were about 7 books about “dealing with grief as a young widow”

there;s a pudgy boy with dark curly hair who ranted to me about adventure time, so i watched it to honor him and found my favorite show

a girl gave me a little illustrated book she had written about “destroying trolls” did you know they only eat boys with short hair

every tuesday during the summer we have a read to a dog event, and one therapy dog is enormous and black and i love him so much

once a youth services librarian brought her black poodle to work bc he was having anxiety and it was lovely

we had a wasp invasion once and so we were all stalking around the library with pans and raid, ready to kill the mofos in the children’s section

there’s this woman who always fights me on my age, that i can’t possibly be over 16. plot twist i;m 21 but she refuses to let it go

one time this man came up to me and asked what my major was. after i said “english” he went on a sermon about how i should go to school for ac repair bc then i’d actually have a job (even tho.. i have a job?)

there was this man named larry who i became good friends with. he helped me get a scholarship, but then he got cancer and moved to georgia and he refused to say goodbye i hope he’s okay :(

along those lines, i only see certain patrons when they’re in town for chemo. when i see them, i’m so happy they’re still alive, but so sad that they’re still in treatment. i worry when i haven’t seen one for awhile bc i don’t know if they’re in remission or… not

this man came up to me and asked if i could help him find a cd. he couldnt remember the lyrics, or the name, so he hummed to me

the librarian who brought her poodle had to move to louisiana or something, to the town where duck dynasty is? apparently to get a librarian job there, you dont even need a high school diploma. you need a masters here :/

people always go wide eyed and tell me how smart i am that i can answer their question, and i cant figure out if they know that google exists or not

my favorite event of the year is the lit and art magazine reading. we do it in a museum and an author/comic artist comes and lectures, and then we have a poetry slam, and it makes me so happy

last summer we found envelopes of photographs from the early 1900′s, of teenagers riding horses and hugging, and they’re the cutest!

sometimes i get to hang out with authors for a weekend. my favorites were a.s. king and andrew smith. we sat in the office and a restaurant and i got to just pick their brains. i love them. 

this woman once would not stop arguing that “graphic novels” should never be placed in children’s sections. she would not believe me that it was “graphic” as in “graphic design” rather than “graphic language”. her son was just standing there, so i made a stack of quality comics, glared at his mom, and set them in his hands. made sure he left with them. 

there’s this meme in the library world called the blue book. legend has it that someone came into a library once and said “i’m looking for a book. i dont remember what it was called, but it was blue, can you find it for me?”

a family periodically brings us cookies with little kid drawings it is v nice

sometimes people will pay for fines by mail. we’ve gotten envelopes from turkey and japan and such, filled with coins. but we love when they dont include a name or a library card number bc we dont know whose fines to clear.

during the summer, a montessori school brings their classes, and i always end up playing games with this group of little boys. i love them so much

recently i left the back door open bc it was warm and breezy out. this random man walked through the back door, up to my manager’s closed office door, and knocked. she opened it and he was like “i walked in through your back door lol” and when she told him to leave through the front, he did. he apparently didn’t come in for the library? it’s bc of him we cant have nice things smh

one morning my coworker went out to smoke and found a raccoon stuck in the dumpster. he spent literally 3 hours building a ladder for him and luring him out with cheetos

robyn found a cell phone once and set it on her desk so she could find who it belonged to. the ownder started texting the phone that he was going to bring his gun and kill the motherfucker that stole his phone. he was very sweet and apologetic when he realized he had left it at a public library

once we found a turtle in a garbage can and we adopted him. his name is yertle. sadly tho he got too big and a teacher who always came in adopted him to be a classroom pet i hope he’s having a good day

basically, i really adore where i work. i work with an incredible and badass group of women and men who really care about words, the world, and art. we preserve free speech and strive to create a safe place for everyone, and it gives me a lot of hope and inspiration. we laugh a lot. anyone who says that libraries are dying clearly are not using libraries. public libraries are thriving and essential. do not forget this.

ok i’ll leave it there. but i really love working in libraries. it’s always weird and wonderful.

[sini-sterility]

Y’all finally get my backstory now.

@weaponizedhorse I FINISHED FINALLY

Alright motherfuckers, you asked for it; you're gonna fucking get it. You've finally unlocked Sini's tragic backstory.

Let's begin with the childhood depression due to intense emotion abuse and manipulation, causing me to try to kill myself, not once, but twice before the age of ten. However, it seems that my body liked the idea, because within two months of turning ten, my legs began to go numb, and I would experience random pain. I told the nurse at school; she didn't believe me. Stir this mixture of reckless negligence and bitchy old-lady nurse until two years have passed, and I am now completely paralyzed in constant literal agony 24/7, to the extent of not being able to sleep, stand, sit, lounge; you name it.

I wasn't nauseus, but the pain was so horrible that I would fake getting sick every day in order to stay home and not face the ridicule the least liked person in my entire school (I am honestly not exagerrating. I got into my school's spelling bee, and was the last 6th grader standing. They called your name, you stood up, waved to the crowd, and they cheered. They got to me, and I shit you not, less than 1/5th of the 6th grade class, none of the other students, and three teachers clapped, and that was as good as I got. Maybe I was annoying or something, I don't know. I was a very, very quiet kid, so I actually don't know what their deal was; there were much uglier people there than me, too) would get from acting like they can't feel their limbs or stand up, or be constantly hunched over in pain.

So I'd stay home with my dad and watch old cowboy shows, trying to ignore the pain. I remember how we treated it was Icy-Hot and a fuck-ton of Ibuprofen.

Eventually, my bullshit quack of a doctor finally clued in that, no, I was not just suffering from a particularly bad UTI. She actually fucking told us that I had a UTI. Because UTI's are reknown for causing pain so bad you literally can't think straight.

So, one day, a week after my 12th birthday (which was the saddest shit you've ever heard of; my mom made my favorite cake and my favorite food (Flan Cake and Chicken Curry), my Godmother was there with a bunch of books, I had a few really cool presents; my sister Shirley even got me a hair straightener at Goodwill, because I'd finally learned that thick curly hair with the mind of it's own (that mind being one of a psychopath) didn't stand a chance against hot iron. They sang happy birthday to me, and I remember that after they finished, I just put my head down on the table in cried. It was the single saddest moment of my life, aside from April (which is another can of worms all together, and very few people know about it).

Anyway, a few days after my mom took me to the doctor, and at this point I had given up on trying to present any semblence of an ability to walk or feel anything at all, so I was in a wheelchair. The doctor saw how much pain I was in (fucking finally), and that I truly felt no sensation anywhere, and immediately sent me to a Neurologist in Indy.

We got there an hour later, and the Neurologist took one look and ordered an emergency MRI – that turned out to be a very traumatizing experience, as the even more amplified pain (metal + back issues of the highest caliber + loud noises + bright flashing lights = Literal torture. To this day I can't go in MRI machines without being knocked out (But I secretly love it because I get to play a little game I like to call 'Resist'. It's basically the game they have you do where you count up to or down from 100, only you ask the Anesthesiologist to push the anesthetic in as slowly as possible, and start counting. When you start to feel it kicking in, you count as fast as possible. My record is 128 bitches <3).

They were only able to get 15 minutes of an MRI with me, before the panic and pain were too much for me and I started convulsing. After that, they checked me into the hospital overnight while they went over the results.

You know that shit's bad when the next day the ICU Oncologist comes in at 7 am the next morning to tell your mom that you need emergency surgery right away, but don't tell you why.

It turned out that I had stage 4 (better known as terminal) Neuroblastoma. There were three main problematic tumors; one that was slung over my left shoulder and attached to the upper left lobe of my lung (bigass motherfucker holy shit it was enormous. They had to cut out a piece of my lung to get ride of (most) it.), one the size of a softball pressing on my brain, just above the temple (They drilled my skull open, and scooped it off my scalp like a blob of strawberry preserves, which is what it looks like anyway btw. They were nice enough to honor a request I made, and take a picture of the tumor. BUT THEY DIDN'T FUCKING SEND IT TO ME, THEY SENT IT TO MY DAD VIA TEXT, AND WE ENDED UP LOSING THE DAMN THING >:O), and then the worst one; the mac daddy of Neuroblastoma tumors.

It was a long, thick, malignant tumor that had infused itself with my spine, and was subsequently cutting off my spinal cord – thus causing all of the pain and the paralysis and numbness. It gave me a hella sweet scar though, shit looks like a zipper along my spine!

After they removed what they could of the spinal tumor (which still to this day causes me a great deal of pain. I'm on 10 mgs of Oxycodine up to 6 times a day, and more often than not I need 7 pills in one day.), they told my parents that I had maybe two months to live. That they were going to send me home with them with a car full of all the medical supplies they could spare us, and that I was going to be very dead, very soon.

Needless to say, everyone was shocked when the third month rolled around and I was still alive – and learning how to walk again. It's taken me 6 years to be able to walk up and down stairs, and depending on the treatment or how long they keep me in the hospital, I occasionally still need my walker. (Sparkly red thing with little stickers all over it. I think we gave it to my grandma, but I'm not sure?) They upped my prognosis to 6 months and then it would be all over, but by then Obamacare went into effect, and that got the ball rolling for CHIPS, and that little thing that so many Americans hate because they “don't want to pay for a stranger's abortions!” (actual reason I was given once. I know that there are real reasons, but I still am okay with paying a little bit extra each month so that another kid who's like I was six years ago today, might have a chance to beat the odds in an overwhelming way. Again, that's just me, and I'm probably over simplifying the matter.), is most likely the main reason I'm still alive.

See, because I was accepted into two (or maybe three, I'm not sure?) forms of health insurance because of the Obamacare plan, I was able to begin treatments within almost a month of diagnosis. After four months passed, they began to fit and train me to use a wheelchair at home, as it was an impossibility that I would ever walk again (or use fine motor control for that matter).

Two months after that, just six months after being told I was already dead; six months of hellish PT and OT; six months of taking chemo and painkillers and throwing up blood – and I fucking walked out of that God forsaken hospital with my walker and my family.

That was six years ago. My body is still healing, and I've had plenty of physical and psychological horrors since ( ie. Kathleen aka 'The ex that raped me last year', my mother becoming even more abusive towards me, to the point of egging me on in cutting myself, and losing most of my cats because they were outdoor and we weren't around enough for most of them to want to stay, for starters. Fortunately, the one that did stay was my kitty, Alice. She moved into my current house with my dad and I after my dad won sole custody of me during their divorce (those two NEVER should have gotten married, they hate each other so fucking much.), and she's been a driving force in my will to live and fight ever since. The week she went missing was the most miserable week of my life.) the beginning, but I've got something I never had as a child now; a will to live. A reason to live. It's honestly the reason I still believe in God, as twisted as that sounds. I had actually been begging God to just kill me and get it over with in the weeks leading up to my diagnosis, and though it seems like being told you have terminal (which, just incase some of you guys don't know this, does not actually mean that you're totally deadsies; it means that there are no approved treatments or treatments that are proven to be effective, so you have the two options of going home or staying in the hospital while they make you as comfortable as possible as you wait to die a slow, horrible death of cancer; or you subject yourself to potentially deadly, painful, and horrible experimental trials to try and find a cure for yourself and others like you. Guess which one I picked! Ahh, the stories I could tell you... I'd be willing to write another one of these if anyone is interested in my hospital horror stories.) cancer would be your answer in the affirmatory. But for some reason, that's not how I took it. I took it as a sign that I'm supposed to live, at least for as long as I'm needed to do something to make the world better. It sounds crazy; superstitious; egomaniacal to say this, but when I think about everything I've been through, the multiple attempts at killing myself yet living through each time, and the overwhelming feeling I got when I was told I was as good as dead, but I honestly feel like I'm supposed to do something big, even mildly so. I don't know what, but that thought drives me every day to quite literally be that change that I want to see in the world.

I haven't made a suicide attempt ever since diagnosis; I rarely try or succeed to hurt myself anymore, and when I get in that state, my first move is to call up my sister Lilly, or talk to @typical-atheist-scumbag, or even talk to my dad nowadays, rather than just go ahead and grab a razor blade. I'm entirely about absolution and forgiveness as long as a person is genuine, and I try to be as passive and understanding – yet not quite neutral – to other people's beliefs as I possible can be. I stretch myself thin trying to help other people, but I honestly feel all the better for it.

This lovely little “inspirational” (*eyes roll into the back of my head*) piece isn't even half of it, but it's the major stuff. I included that bit at the end to show that even though I've had a pretty bullshit lot in life, I absolutely refuse to let it kick me down.

You may laugh at how stupid and pretentious I sound now.

[virgil-at-hot-topic]

Lets pretend they All like horror-

Lucius: The lights go out, the dark comes in There's something here, the chase begins You hear it calling out your name The lights go out, the dark comes in You start to scream and then you fall You sink into the floor as life is drained out of ya Edward: Mike Myers on the mic, something's not right Why'd you give me a voice, my thoughts are not nice There are so many things that are living?! How do I stop them all from breathing?! A kitchen knife should cut clean with swipe You'll be quiet like me, take out your windpipe Then I stand back and admire what's on show Cus your face now looks like a Picasso Would I even be satisfied if I got Strode? No! The goal is... I don't even know I just wanna kill all people that I see With whatever tool's available to me Even if it means beating out ya teeth With bare knuckles bleeding, hygiene no need I'm simple, brutal, beautiful on screen The best you ever seen, Halloween

Alastair: Hi kids, you like knife tips? Or when your nightmare comes alive, like this? You can't hide, so close your eyes tight, quick Let me inside your mind, now you're mine, bitch! I'd like to welcome you to Elm Street Where everybody gets a real sound sleep Kick back, relax, lay down, now dream Inception - I'll drag you down deep One, two, you bet I'm coming for you Now three, four, don't let me hear you snore Five, six, nighty night, bitch Seven, eight, you'll never wake Now nine, ten, you ain't getting far When I hit you with a little ASMR I'll help you get to bed way sooner Or my name isn't Freddy Krueger Lucius: The lights go out, the dark comes in There's something here, the chase begins You hear it calling your name The lights go out, the dark comes in You start to scream and then you fall You sink into the floor as life is drained out of ya

Virom: Andy, pandy, pudding and pie I'm a good guy doll, that'll make you die I'm the big surprise for your birthday boy Got Charles Lee Ray in your Chucky Toy You'll see me here, see me there Not hard to miss with my orange hair I'll sit and stare, just love to scare And when I speak I'll fucking swear With chronic aggression I'll brandish this weapon I'm clearing the pathway for Andy's possession There's never discretion when killing's in session I'm telling the truth, you can call it confession Twist knives like a corkscrew Smashed in like a bolt on a horseshoe You're just the preview! You're dead, the main event Hold Andy's head and I'll summon the voodoo Victor: If you go down to the woods today You'll find a few ways to suffer great Six arms 'round your throat to suffocate And bury you in a tree, what a fate! Feeding of the youth that play But I can't seem to gain weight Torment a looker, I'll tell her to bring her Friends to the forest or she'll go insane Folklores usually formed before you're born Vampires - boring, werevolves - *yawn* Digital villain, given life by a forum But unlike this roster, I ain't fiction Found the net via Eric Knudsen's brain And made my way into your movies, games Then tap into your phone for a facetime

But there's no face on mine, time to hang up on a line

Lucius: The lights go out, the dark comes in There's something here, the chase begins You hear it calling your name The lights go out, the dark comes in You start to scream and then you fall You sink into the floor as life is drained out of ya Xavier: We are the Cenobites, we deal in pleasure I'm one kinky motherfucker You opened the box, now we'll open you With hooks and chains through your skin tissue If you can think it, we will do it If it's sick and twisted, I'm all for it But don't think you'll escape, or get a break - you submitted High pain threshold people eventually forfeit Is this not what you wanted, you seeked our skills Pain is pleasure, you have eternity still There's limbs and skin on the floor We had a little party the night before We cannot be harmed, we cannot be hurt By mere mortals, that's absurd So do what we ask, be smart Or we'll tear your soul apart De: Hey viewer, I'm knocking at your door Wanna play a game, answer correct or I'mma gonna gut you like a fish Hit you with a lotta plot twists I insist upon a big list of questions Which killer on the track had an obsession With just one girl? And no, it ain't me I got over that silly bitch, Sidney I'm not even the same guy, dummy! Guess what - I'm actually Dewey~ How the hell of all sequels he survives?! How'd he not shoot himself, I'm surprised?! The saddest part of Scream's when they kill me Whoever that person may be Now before I go, I just wanna know What's your favourite scary movie?! Lucius: The lights go out, the dark comes in There's something here, the chase begins You hear it calling your name The lights go out, the dark comes in You start to scream and then you fall You sink into the floor as life is drained out of ya

[luna3141]

A lil’ sneak peak at the sequel to Runaway...

TW: MINOR SELF-HARM, TRAUMA, NIGHTMARES, DEPRESSION, DEATH

              “How are your nightmares? Any better?”

              Stiles paused, trying to imagine what better would look like. “No,” he said, gaze fixed on his hands, clasped together like they might otherwise dissolve. He looked down at the red line scratched into the side of his thumb, blood beginning to seep out. His hospital-appointed psychiatrist—Dr. Rosa “Butterfly Earrings” DeMayo— had been trying to get him to stop, but sometimes that slight burn was the only thing reminding him any of this was real. Like he might otherwise dissolve. Don’t misunderstand, there was plenty of other pain Stiles felt at all times, but that was different. You got used to that. And, technically, those were all healing. Slowly, but surely.

              “You said that they’re always the same.”

              “More or less.”

              “That it’s always you fighting off Peter and losing.” He couldn’t help himself, a small laugh escaped his lips as he considered how fucking insane this all was. “What?” Butterfly Earrings Dr. DeMayo said, tilting her head slightly.

              He sighed and rubbed a hand over his tired face. “I just think it’s ridiculous that I still wake up, every morning, in a pool of sweat, afraid for my life, when the man I’m so terrified of is…” She’d been urging him to say the word “dead,” but considering the circumstances, coming even that close was progress. After all, was he dead? Or murdered? Or passed on? As far as Stiles was concerned, Peter was alive and active as ever—even if it was only in his mind.

Some random bits I like...

- Lots of people said stuff like that—stuff that basically meant: “I’m glad you aren’t totally dead inside.” To which Stiles’s brain always wanted to respond, “Jokes on you!”

- Within a few seconds, Scott was back on the first floor, glasses and pills in hand, presenting them to Stiles like he was his ninety year-old grandpa. So fragile. So breakable. Thanks, sonny. Have a butterscotch.

- “That’s not funny at all. It’s actually the saddest thing I’ve ever heard.”

- She described the conviction as “a human rights abuse” and the prosecutor already assigned to it as “Satan in heels.”

- Pleasantries out of the way, the doctor gave him a look he hadn’t seen since they first met—a look of “this poor motherfucker. What’re we going to do?”