#cw: past ideations

[otterpedia]

Yesterday was the worst. Vent under the cut.

Cw: transphobia, dysphoria, past ideations

I have known my friend Jake since I was 20 and his wife Amanda a few years shy of that. They're really important to me and until yesterday I considered them a strong pillar of my support system.

I don't think I need to explain how important that is for a trans person, since I think most of the people who will see this are also part of the LGBT+ community, but just to reiterate- it's absolutely elating to receive validation from the people you love, and dopamine is super hard to come by in the economy these days.

On the opposite hand, the betrayal I experienced yesterday made me crash and burn worse than I could ever expect.

I'm a bit religious, and while most of my friends are atheist or agnostic, Jake and Amanda are Christians. I'm Jewish by the way. We've always been able to talk about faith with no issue, but in this case it's relevant for once.

Yesterday while hanging out, I said I could go put on my binder or a sports bra since I don't wear either when I'm home and have no plans to go out. I made a joke about how clothes don't really have gender despite God having a shortage of male bodies when I was born.

Amanda said, "I disagree. I don't believe God makes mistakes."

I don't know why the people who are more liberal but still against "changing sex" get so hung up on science. I think they think that LGBT folks like it when they have science to back up their misinformation.

Ah yes, a line I dread hearing from the Christian community finally reached my ears.

Instead of changing the subject, my stupid ass proceeded to spin a web of lies. Lying to stay safe is an unfortunate side-effect of my gender dysphoria. I'm a Fawner when it comes to Fight/Flight/Freeze/Fawn and that almost always puts me in danger. I've been SA'd in my own home because I reacted that way to someone I thought was my friend.

"The surgery is dangerous," she said. She's worried about my recovery. She thinks I "made a fine woman" and that it's sad that I was unhappy that way.

She said she liked my old nickname more than my chosen name because it was more unique and that the backstory of how I got it was cute.

God doesn't make mistakes, after all.

My wife was talking with Jake during this whole thing and I don't really know if he overheard any of this. Mostly I just feel guilt.

Why couldn't I just tell Amanda the truth?

I've known her for ages, I love her to death, and she's always been so respectful about this until now. When she shed actual tears yesterday because she was so relieved that I didn't get angry at her I crumbled.

I'd never be angry. I'm heartbroken, but not angry.

When Amanda and Jake went home, I immediately crawled into bed for a depression nap. I slept for most of the day because I knew if I didn't, I would end up spiraling into something difficult to get out of.

So this morning around 6am I woke up with a bitter taste in my mouth- literally, because I forgot to turn on the humidifier last night and I have sleep apnea- and a feeling of numbness and confusion.

I tried to get a few more hours of sleep in but to no avail.

There's a big hole in my heart now because I denied a part of who I am, just so I could cling to a false love I receive from someone dear to me.

I hate myself so much right now. It's even worse than dysphoria. Rather than the usual desire to be invisible, I just wish I didn't exist.

[adhdandcomics]

every pharmacy is out of all adhd meds they won’t tell me where i can get some bc it’s a controlled substance so i just can’t get any my doctor wouldn’t answer my call my state ballot office told me the post office has my absentee ballot and they haven’t sent it back so i go to the post office and the post office told me they sent it back. 🕺🏼🕺🏼🕺🏼🕺🏼🕺🏼🕺🏼🕺🏼 i think i’m done being alive but i almost have a reward on my local coffee punch card 🕺🏼🕺🏼🕺🏼🕺🏼 so i guess we’ll keep on going 🕺🏼🕺🏼🕺🏼🕺🏼🕺🏼🕺🏼 ✨

[hyperfixated-on-musicals]

"Learning love is not a crime."

[Inspired by @catboyrichardkarinsky 's Quotev story]

Sexuality scared Marvin. Not in the way that a horror movie would scare a child but in the sense that opening up about it would make him want to cry. School has always been tough for Marvin.

The feeling of sitting alone, letting the rain fall onto him as he held himself where no one could see him hurt but it also felt safe. Across the soaking wet grass, Marvin spotted a boy who looked to be around his age, probably 16 or so surrounded by a group of boys.

Marvin hated confrontation so he sat back and listened.

"Fucking fag!" One of the boys shouted.

"Get the fuck away from me! What the hell did I do to you?!" The boy in the middle shouted.

"Why don't you get your boyfriend to come help you out?" Another boy taunted him.

At this stage, Marvin stood up and walked over to the group of boys, trying to get closer but avoid confrontation at the same time.

The boys kept hurling insults at this one seemingly defenseless kid.

"You know what, Whizzer? We would've almost thought you were normal if you kept the act up."

"If you don't do exactly as we say, we'll out you and your faggot boyfriend to the whole school."

The boy, Whizzer, tried to stand up for himself.

"I don't have a boyfriend. And so fucking what if I did?! It's just a guy I like."

Marvin felt slightly proud of Whizzer as he moved closer.

Crunch.

The leaves cracked under the weight of Marvin's feet, causing the slight moment of silence to be broken and for all of the boys' eyes to be on him. Marvin froze.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt..."

He did mean to.

"Do you have a problem?" One of the boys stepped forward.

Marvin gulped, trying to ignore the anxiety building up in his chest.

"Whizzer, right?"

"Yeah..."

Marvin leaned in closer to Whizzer, his lips close to but not touching Whizzer's ear.

"On three, we run," Marvin whispered.

One.

Steady breathing.

Two.

Don't think of the guys that want you dead.

Three.

Running as fast as they both could, Whizzer and Marvin made it to the safety of the back of the school. It was the only place that Marvin felt comfortable in so it was something big for him to introduce his safe space to a stranger.

"Are you okay?" Marvin asked as soon as he got his breath back.

"They want me dead. I want me dead too."

"Huh?"

"I'm gay... They want to tell the whole school, practically sentencing me to death or at least banishment from this school due to isolation," Whizzer mumbles his explanation. "So, yeah, I'd rather kill myself than have people know what I am. And that isn't some joke. I'm not just saying that to lighten the mood. I... I've... Why am I even telling you this?"

"I'm gay too. I haven't told anyone. Not even my parents know," Marvin confessed.

"Really?"

"Yeah."

"You're not like... playing a trick on me and planning to humiliate me, are you?"

Marvin frowned at how cautious Whizzer was being but on the other hand, he couldn't really blame him. Those boys tortured him for being queer.

"It's just... I've tried to kill myself. The bullying became too much to handle. I couldn't take it."

Whizzer started tearing up. His world was falling apart and all Marvin could do to help was pick up the broken pieces. They skipped school that day. Growing old together was all that seemed to matter to both of them.

[skele-bunny]

Some misc angst rambles under the cut!

(CW - References to past assault, self harm habits, suicidal ideation, munchausen by proxy, and death mention)

•Phantom can't stand certain phrases during scenes, sex, or just casual affection. It triggers him within a second and it's so overwhelming. Things like "you belong to me"/"you're mine"/"only I can see you like this". Reminds them too much of their Master in the pit.

•I hc water to be very damaging to Dew after his transition, but he has moments where he'll keep his hands under a faucet when he feels the need to harm himself. There's been plenty of times he's thought about walking out to the river and letting himself sink to the bottom

•Swiss knows he doesn't feel much when it comes to pain. He likes to test his limits. Too often he'll put cigarettes and blunts out on his wrists and thighs - he knows what he's doing isn't okay, but he's so deep into the habit it's hard to break. That's why he's picked up vaping more than cigarettes, one less thing to try and break the habit

•When Aether gets overwhelmed to the point of a breakdown, he'll use his ether to hide himself. He's just a void, sunken into nothing but the astral plane with himself and silence. He's gone for hours, he can't control it once he enters it.

•In the same boat, Aether is so used to neglecting his health for others - ESPECIALLY with working in the infirmary. He's only just recently started doing better with that

•Phil and Cowbell got severely sick when they were around 8 (human years). It had started when Spec was so curious about the catacombs and found a book specifically about ghouls, wanting to learn so much about himself. It left them bed/chair ridden until they were 10; only seeming to ease up after Nihil had started talking to them about their species. They still don't know why, but only know how worried their mother, Sister, was. They're still fond memories of her

•Cumulus and Cirrus knew each other in the pits, they were neighboring packs. Their relationship became blocked by their packs after one of Cirrus' pack members brutally killed one of Cumulus'. Cirrus was there for it, and it still haunts her mind about watching an innocent misunderstanding quickly turn to a body being torn in half. Gore spilled onto the floor, and just the eyes on the dead ghoul ringing through her skull. She can't watch graphic horror movies because of death scenes

•Sodo despises being in the infirmary. Hates the sterility, the beeps, everything and anything about it. It's nothing but memories of him crying in beds. Caused ranging from his previous pack to his transition to when he ate Omega. Dew will have Aether/Spec/whoever come to him for anything. He won't step foot in there

[theboywiththepurplesocks]

I'm so fucking repressed that I watched that whole ass scene where Owen/Isabel is crying out for help as she realizes that she is dying and I didn't remember that I've done that exact same thing many times over. Very recently.

[imperator-titus]

Ghost from the Past [Part 9]

The Gang finally figures out what Eletha's problem is.

Had this one written out for a while. Features a lot of my triggers because I'm fucking insane. Sometimes you just wanna punish yourself, right? That's normal?

CW: General Mental Illness issues, Mentions of past abuse and suicidal ideation, Also the Super Secret Weird Trigger

(Prev)[Part 8] (Next)[Part 10] [Master Post]

No one saw Eletha leave her tent for two days while they braved the shadow curse and all its challenges. Astarion would’ve stayed upset about this if he wasn’t excited about Raphael’s offer of help. Gale told him that they should wait and see before making any deals with devils and now Astarion was giving him the cold shoulder.

Worried and sick of the mood in camp, Gale convinced Bonnet to let him into her mistress’s tent. There he found her in a curious state: not quite elven trance, but not quite conscious either. Tentatively, he shook her shoulder, but she didn’t rouse. Clenched in her hand was a tattered scrap of cloth, perhaps a remnant of some once-fine robe or doublet.

“Pardon me,” he whispered as he decided his next course of action. Reaching out with both magic and the tadpole, he murmured softly, “Do let me know if I’m intruding.”

Something connected and his mind was transported to someplace else. The ground was just a shade different from the sky, creating a sense of boundless emptiness. Here he found Eletha sitting on the edge of- Well, it was a rather large hole with no discernable sides or bottom, just complete darkness.

“I’m sorry. I don’t have any tea or cake,” she told him listlessly, eyes not leaving the hole. Her skin was covered in scratches and her clothes were torn. “Poor reception for a friend. Wizard friend.”

“May I… sit?” Gale asked hesitantly, peering into the hole only to be met with nothing. Eletha nodded and he sat down beside her. “Is this what troubles you?”

“Mm. I’m losing it, aren’t I? Out there.” She didn’t wait for his answer. It was rather obvious that if he was here, he felt that she was in danger. In a haunting sing-song voice she went on, “Down, down, down. Spiraling down. Cracked like an egg, to hatch or to eat? The dry leaves sound lovely, under our feet.”

Well that’s concerning, Gale thought to himself. “What is in the hole?”

“Something old. Something bad. Lorelai.”

“Ah, your childhood name, yes?”

“Bad, evil, mean old Lorelai,” she said by way of answer, using the tone of a child talking about a monster in a book or a hated schoolmarm. Then darkly, like that hated schoolmarm, she added, “Little Lorelai doesn’t know any better.”

“You know, I was quite the scamp back in my day too. That’s how I met Tara. My parents denied me a kitten, so I summoned a tressym instead,” he explained with a fond smile and a twinkle in his eyes. He went on about other ‘naughty’ things he did as a child, such as summoning mephits or destroying things with errant magic. He felt that if he could get her to accept that making trouble as a child was a normal part of growing up, then she might begin to forgive herself for whatever she’d done.

Gale’s happy memories only served to weaken the edge of the hole further, bits breaking off every now and then. While speaking about his mother, how much he loved her, the hole suddenly emitted a disturbing sound. A wail mixed with crying, piercing and discordant. Gale stopped his story, training his senses to make heads or tails of what was happening. The wail faded as voices rose in its stead. Elven voices, melodic and refined, called out “Lorelai.”

“Lorelai, you are too young to make such decisions,” Eletha said in Elvish in a man’s voice. It sounded stern and agitated, almost hostile. “Non Moverē.”

She recited the incantation for a Hold Person spell with perfect precision, but it was only an echo of a memory. Whoever had cast it was highly skilled.

“You must set aside your feelings for the good of us all. I did not raise you to be a brat, A’Sum. This is a blessing,” she said in a woman’s voice. It was sharp and disappointed. This voice called upon the Weave to calm her daughter’s emotions.

“If you cannot behave, then we will make you behave, my blood or not,” a second man’s voice said through Eletha’s lips. It snarled, full of revulsion. “Impero tibi.”

I command you, from the tongue of an expert spellcaster. Young and inexperienced, Eletha would have been unable to resist.

“I… I think I understand,” Gale said after waiting a moment for her to continue. “It will be okay. You have us now. We won’t let that happen.”

“It doesn’t make a difference,” she said in her own voice, streaked with pain. “It’s always been here. It’s not going away this time.”

“What-”

A monstrous black claw shot out of the black hole. Gale threw himself back, only to fall out of Eletha’s tent.

“What in the hells was that about?” Karlach asked, looking down at him with confusion.

“I was trying to help,” he answered, trying to rub the befuddlement out of his head.

“MmMmh, breakfast?” Eletha asked blearily, poking her head out of the tent flap. “Can I have eggs?”

“No, Lethi, go back to sleep,” Karlach told her, pushing her friend back into the tent when she appeared to be asleep sitting up.

“So. What hot gossip did you two discuss?” Astarion purred as he approached Gale’s tent, where the wizard was currently writing in his journal. Despite his attempts to seem otherwise, it was clear that the question came from a place of concern.

“Do you remember anything of your families?” Astarion glared at him.

“No. All I know is what little Eletha has told me. They were semi-important.” Gale hummed in response, distracted. “Why?”

“Nothing. Only something to consider.” Astarion huffed with false humor. Scratching his beard, talking more to himself than Astarion, Gale said, “It’s a shame Cazador made you forget your old life. Of us all, you can relate to her the most…”

“I’m not sure I understand the similarities.”

“Held against your will by someone who claims to love you, to be your family. Made to behave. Bodies not yours to command,” Gale explained rather compassionately. Then he grew pensive again. “What did she do, that necessitated such methods of containment? Is it the action, or the reaction, that is affecting her?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. It’s always ‘I did a bad horrible thing, I’m evil, I can never be forgiven.’ Things like that.” Astarion laughed then sighed a little sadly. “Oh Gale. First a goddess. Now an insane elf. How does it feel to fall so far?”

“Does driving your first lover into the arms of pain and madness hurt worse or less than all the blood on your hands?” Gale sniped. Astarion startled, then bristled.

“That’s not fair,” he warned.

“Any more fair than what you just said?” Gale asked, getting to his feet. Standing tall, he had to look down at Astarion a little bit. 

“Keep your meddling paws out of other people’s business,” Astarion growled.

“Why must you treat me like an enemy? We want the same thing: for her to get better. To do that, I’m afraid we must meddle in her business.”

“It’s not just her business, is it? It’s mine as well.”

“The business of a man buried over two centuries ago.” Gale tilted his head and the harshness left his eyes and voice. “You’re worried that she can’t forgive you.”

“Of course I am!” Stupid wizards. Why did they have to be so smart and also so slow at the same time?

“Mm, I find it unlikely. You hold a special place in her heart, broken or no,” Gale told him rather academically, picking something up from his desk. In his outstretched palm he held the scrap of cloth from Eletha’s tent. With a pair of tweezers, he carefully dissected it, revealing a lock of curly white hair. When his tweezers tried to brush the hairs, they were rebuffed. “A preservation charm. I can only assume that this hair once belonged to you, perhaps the garment this cloth came from as well. With a few tools and a wizard’s expertise, she could have easily found you in Baldur’s Gate.”

“But she didn’t. The one civilized place on the Sword Coast she’s never visited,” Astarion said harshly, hovering between shock and anger.

“There are many possible explanations. Eletha is a proponent of choices. You chose to leave, so she respected your choice. Perhaps she was afraid that you never loved her, or that you hated her for waiting so long to follow.” Gale carefully resealed the token so that it could be replaced in Eletha’s tent. “Perhaps she had no choice but to let you go. There’s no telling until she feels ready to explain.”

“I’ll put it back,” Astarion said after a moment, holding out his hand. Gale placed the token in his palm, only to gently take hold of his hand.

“It is a shame. I was hoping to encourage a relationship between us. Eletha was always interesting, a mix of mysterious and open, having lived a rich life of adventure. I had an impression that she found me interesting as well, but she is so clearly afraid of being hurt again.” Gale looked at their interlocked hands fondly. “I suppose I could say the same for you.”

Astarion clicked his tongue and emitted a soft sound of sweetness before threading his fingers through the loose waves of hair at the back of Gale’s neck. Pulling him down slightly while raising himself up on his toes, Astarion pressed their lips together in a needy kiss.Gale’s mouth opened slightly in a surprised gasp and Astarion found his tongue with his own.

Neither kissed like a novice, but it felt different. Electric. With the orb stabilized by Mystra, Gale didn’t fear the sudden excitement of flesh touching flesh or the sound of someone’s moans in his ears. Even Eletha’s light touches and chaste kisses on his head threatened to explode his heart after so long without a person’s touch.

He was suddenly aware of how clammy his hands had become. His body was shaking and his head felt like it might float away without him. A pit of sickness sat in his stomach and Gale pushed Astarion away just a little bit. Before Astarion could misunderstand, he said shakily, “I think it has been too long for me. I am a starving man eating more than his stomach can handle.”

Astarion’s face went through a range of emotions, from hurt to annoyance and finally thoughtfulness. “Eletha had that reaction too. I just assumed she was drunk, but the only thing you seem drunk on is the taste of my lips.”

“There is some truth to that,” Gale agreed with a light laugh. Holding a hand to his heart, he said, “I assure you, I enjoyed that very much.”

“I should… put this back,” Astarion said hesitantly with a small smile, indicating Eletha’s token. “Maybe I’ll come around later. Discuss… what was it we were reading now?”

“I have no clue.”

“Mm… I have done a number on you,” Astarion purred in self-satisfaction before leaving Gale’s tent.

Thankfully, Bonnet wasn’t sitting in front of Eletha’s tent when Astarion attempted to sneak in. The bear would’ve probably mauled him on sight otherwise.

He sat for a moment, just watching her breathe, fighting some internal demon. Very carefully, he placed the token in her open hand, which closed and retreated to her chest.

---

It was late and everyone was seeing to their evening routines when indecipherable elvish yelling grew louder in Eletha’s tent.

She emerged, a leather wallet in one hand, her face red with anger. Everyone was gathering, but she only had eyes for Astarion. Pointing an accusing finger at him, she yelled, “How dare you go through my things!”

Astarion chuckled nervously, holding up his hands in surrender. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, like anyone else has an interest in my journals? The place where I keep all my intimate thoughts and memories?” Eletha sneered, narrowing her eyes. Astarion went from nervous to confused.

“I didn’t take your journals,” he insisted, biting off the urge to call her ‘darling’ or ‘my dear’. He knew by now that it could upset her more just as much as it could make her melt. “And even if I did, it would only be to figure out what’s wrong with you so we can move on.”

“What’s wrong with me?!” Those closest to her tensed, preparing to stop her if she decided to settle this with a fight. Those closer to Astarion gravitated towards him, to get between them if anything went wrong.

Instead, Eletha undid the complicated tie of her wallet and dumped the contents out onto the ground. A seemingly endless flood of books, papers, and scrolls fell out. Giving it one last shake to make sure it was empty, Eletha dropped the wallet on the pile.

“They’re yours now. Have fun,” she growled at him before returning to her tent. 

Those nearby rushed forward as a slight breeze caught the papers, threatening to blow them into the campfire. Everyone gathered to deal with the mess.

“Interesting. A bag of holding, but just for paper?” Gale pondered aloud as he inspected the leather wallet before setting it aside. Astarion snatched it up with a little glare. He was pretty sure he just got blamed for Gale’s sticky fingers and he wasn’t about to let the wizard take something Eletha just entrusted to him.

“She certainly needs it,” Shadowheart remarked, gathering some journals into a stack and setting them next to Gale, who immediately started organizing them.

“Wow, so many for this Lorelai person,” Karlach said after a while of picking up letters and putting them into a semi-neat pile. 

“That’s her childhood name,” Gale explained, becoming excited by something he’d noticed. “Elves pick their own name when they reach one hundred years of age.”

“Oh.” Karlach went from confused, to understanding, to confused again. “Why are they all still sealed? Seems weird, keeping letters you didn’t even bother readin’.”

Gale was deaf to the question, reading the oldest of the journals. In a stilting manner, as he not only had to translate Elvish, but a child’s Elvish, he read aloud to himself loud enough for them to hear. 

“Father said that I should keep a journal, so I can always remember what happened to me. Today isn’t my birthday, but another elf was born last week. Mother said they were worried I would get upset that I was no longer the youngest and wouldn’t get all the attention, so they gave me a gift. I don’t think the new baby wants the attention I get. All Father and Mother do is yell at me for not doing what they want, but I don’t understand what they want. Maybe Astarion will understand. But right now he is just a squishy ugly baby with BIG GOBLIN EARS. They are SO BIG. I hope he grows into them, like the hunting dogs’ puppies.”

On the other side of the page was a crude child’s drawing of what appeared to be a fat baby’s head with cherubic cheeks and some rudimentary curls. Attached to either side were massive elf ears. Surprised, Gale guffawed most uncharacteristically and turned the journal to show everyone. They all laughed, except Astarion, who grumbled in embarrassment.

“Mother says I have to take care of Astarion, it is my ‘role.’ All the Mothers tell me that I should prepare myself, even if it might never happen. Having to take care of him makes me feel gross. The way the Mothers talk about babies makes me feel grosser. I tried taking him away from them, so they’d stop making me feel bad and wouldn’t make him feel bad either, but they yelled at me and made me sit in the rocks again. It’s not Star’s fault. He’s just a baby. One day he’ll be my age, will he feel like this too? All the other children are so much older than me, they treat me like a baby too. I feel like I’ve grown up a lot in a year. I have to grow up just enough to protect Star but still be his friend.”

“Oh, that’s heartbreakin’…” Karlach breathed, holding her breath as she listened. The others were listening, reacting in their own little ways. Lae’zel was still cleaning up the mess. Shadowheart knelt, appearing as if in prayer. Wyll took special interest in each thing he picked up so he could put it in the appropriate pile. Halsin listened with compassionate sadness, while Astarion sat like a statue, frozen in place.

Gale skipped ahead, his wizard’s mind able to quickly read and catalog the information, especially as the Elvish got better. Something made him smile. “Astarion keeps stealing my socks. Why socks? At least they’re clean socks. A lot of stuff keeps going missing and showing up somewhere else and I think it’s him. A lot of them let Astarion into their caravan for no reason and let him do what he pleases, but I’ve seen him sneak into our caravan before to steal my socks. Whenever I catch him, he sticks them on his ears and says ‘I can’t hear you! I have feet for ears!”

Everyone but Astarion laughed once more.

“That’s so strange… It looks like she wrote or drew something every day, but there’s a whole year missing. The pages are ripped out.” Shadowheart pointed out, having flipped through a few of the journals herself. “She said Astarion left when she was 35, so the year after is missing.”

Everyone was making comments about him, but Astarion was deaf as he picked out a bundle of papers from the pile. One edge of them was jagged. He undid the piece of string holding them together and unfolded them.

“Lorelai will behave. Lorelai will eat. Will drink. Rest. Do as she is told. Stay. Not bite off her tongue. Not use the fire. Not practice the sword or the bow or with hands. She will not talk back, she will not scream or raise her voice. She will speak only when spoken to and always be polite. She will not interact with outsiders. She must always be accompanied. Always be clean. Lorelai will be a good girl. Lorelai will apologize for what she’s done. I am a good girl. I promise to be good. I am sorry for what I’ve done.”

The torn pages lined up with those tears in the journal. The first page after was a depiction of a black circle. Taking the journal from Astarion, Gale pointed at the picture. “I’ve seen that. In her head. ‘Something old, something bad. Evil, mean old Lorelai.’”

Gale flipped past some more drawings and lists of typical adventurer things like how many supplies she had and where she was going. Then it went back to a sane depiction of a journal.

“I am not a good girl. I will not do as I’m told. I will not behave. I will eat and drink to spite them. I will bite my tongue when it suits me, when its sharpness cannot aid me. I will speak loud and clear when I please. I will be alone. I will not apologize. I am not sorry for what I’ve done, my only regret is that I let them control me. I won’t let anyone control me ever again.

“I am never coming back. I will never forgive these transgressions against me. I will not forget them, but I will bury them, in a hole deep and dark and bottomless inside me. The hole they made in me, where my heart and family should be.

“I don’t believe that Astarion left in order to leave me behind. He loves to chase and be chased. But I will always wonder, if that was true, why didn’t he turn back to find me? Maybe they were right. I will grant them this small token of grace. Maybe I was abandoned, as I abandon in kind.

“I am far from my 100th year, but I shake off the yoke of my name. Everyone I meet will know me as Eletha, a name Astarion always liked, and I will fashion myself a Nighstar. Who will ever know it’s not true? I might not ever be important, these might be the only words ever written about me, but when I speak this name, I will know that I am more than what I was meant to be.”

“I can’t tell if that’s sad or brave…” Wyll whispered to himself.

“What’s… E… Sum? Hey, I’m getting pretty good at this Elvish thing!” Karlach said excitedly, holding up a letter she’d been inspecting. Gale, Shadowheart, Halsin, and Astarion went blank-faced.

“It says, ‘To my Son’,” Halsin explained gently and quietly, so Eletha couldn’t overhear them.

“I do not understand. As in a male child?” Lae’zel asked.

“Yes, Lae’zel. And seeing as Eletha is a female child…” 

Shadowheart laughed nervously, pinching Halsin’s arm to get him to shut up. “Maybe it’s for Astarion! And she just… forgot about it.”

“As nice as that seems…” Gale started darkly, holding Eletha’s journal with the pages ripped out, “With the knowledge I have, of all the theories I’ve considered, and the fact that I can recognize Eletha’s hand, it is most likely that this is to her son…”

Everyone sat in stunned silence for a moment. Then Karlach looked at Astarion and offered him a strained smile. “Congratulations?”

“That paper seems awfully old. And it looks like it was never sealed,” Wyll pointed out, taking the letter from Karlach. “She never sent this. Why keep it? I guess it’s like the others. Felt too guilty to burn it? Thrown in the bag and forgotten?”

“We shouldn’t read that, right? Even dictating every event of her life for over 260 years is less personal than that,” Shadowheart insisted warily, carefully taking the letter from Wyll and handing it to Gale.

“It is, however, the center of the problem,” Gale explained firmly. “If anyone is to read it, it should be Astarion.”

“Why should I read it?!” he yelled out, his voice cracking. Some of them leaned away nervously. “Don’t look at me like I’m crazy! This is crazy! This is insane! And not the least bit funny.”

“It is okay to be upset,” Halsin told him gently.

“Of course it’s okay! This is very upsetting! I’m sure for someone like you, this would come as no surprise! Almost two months ago, I was just a vampire spawn hunting for my master. I’ve had an old lover show up who wants to play mindgames, go insane, and now this?!”

“I don’t think it’s mindgames, bud,” Karlach said, going through a journal that appeared to be in Common instead of Elvish, although sometimes the script slipped and she had trouble reading it. “Look. 50 years ago. She met an elf on the road, they hit it off, they try to give it a go, she has a lot of nasty feelings after. Talks about this black pit, yeah? And it gets all hard to read. Then she says someone named Mellia found her and took care of her until she got better.”

“Mmm, sounds much like now. She’s spiraling,” Shadowheart said, taking the journal and reading the same bit like they were in some book club with only once copy.

“Down, down, down, spiraling down. Cracked like an egg, to hatch or to eat? The dry leaves sound lovely under our feet,” Gale repeated in a hollow sing-song voice, stroking his beard in thought.

“That’s right fucked.” Some murmured in agreement. Karlach looked at them all, hoping for an answer. “So what do we do? Hide all the booze? Make her stay awake?”

“Honestly, she was fighting harder before this little… break,” Wyll remarked. “I’d be happy if we could get back to that.”

“Eletha has been avoiding this since the beginning. This is an invitation as much as it is an explanation. She needs to say these words herself, so she might share the burden,” Halsin explained with the dispassion of a healer trying to be taken seriously at the expense of compassion.

“I didn't want to go to that hag, but Wyll was right. Damn those foolish boys and their foolish sister. People go to hags for a reason. They want something and there is payment. They are desperate and stupid and they don't understand that. I left Ethel and Mayrina alone because the girl made her choice. My parents, Astarion’s parents, the whole clan, they took my choice away from me.

“I can still hear that hag’s mockery in my head. ‘A dead dog is a better mother than you. Just as selfish and stupid as this girl. You should be ashamed of yourself, trying to smother a babe before it’s even born.’

“She’s wrong. I made the right choice, to walk away. He didn't deserve a mother like me. No child does. 

“If Mellia turned me, could she make me forget, like Astarion? Could Aluin just say some words, wiggle his fingers, or brew me a potion? Maybe this adventure will be my last and it’ll be some other elf’s problem in a hundred years. I’m sorry for haunting your reveries, my next life.

“I’m sorry, everyone. I wanted to protect you, to be strong for you. I wanted to be a shield against the cruelty of the world, but I’m afraid my steel is brittle and my wood rotten. I can’t be your mother any more than I could be his.”

“The rest is… scribbles,” Gale explained in saddened resignation, flipping past indecipherable text and grotesque attempts at artistry.

“Maybe we should put these away,” Halsin said, taking the pouch from Astarion and carefully putting journals in one by one. The others made tidy piles in front of them and passed the pouch around, until Gale was handing it back to Astarion.

“She did say that they were yours now,” he explained when Astarion started to push it away. “Although. A bag of holding just for texts? I would gladly take it off your hands.” 

“No, you can’t eat this one,” Astarion growled, putting his body in between the bag and Gale. Gale chuckled and smiled, easing the tension around the camp.

Astarion sat in his tent, alone, staring at the things in his lap. One was the wallet, and on top of it, the well-worn letter. He fingered its edge in agitation. A little tear formed and he panicked. Very carefully, he set it aside and opened the wallet once more. He placed the letters into little piles. Letters addressed to Lorelai, unopened. Letters addressed to Eletha, in smaller piles by sender. There were quite a few from people named ‘Mellia, Your Sanguine Companion’, ‘Aluin of Suzail’, ‘Tyrlumin, Your Melodic Cha’, and ‘Bromthrum Starkhammer, Provider of Fine Crafts.’ There were miscellaneous letters, some very old, from people thanking her for heroic deeds or just simple acts of kindness. There was even one thanking her for the exceptional quality of a set of mink pelts she provided that went into making a coat for some king Astarion never heard of.

He read them, because he couldn’t help himself. She seemed very close with her humanoid companions, which probably explained why she had so many letters.

Mellia, mysterious and charming, her oldest and possibly closest friend. They met when a pack of gnolls were terrorizing some little farming town. They banded together to slaughter every one. Eletha was just passing by, Mellia was a vampire and had an accord with one of the village leaders. It made his blood boil, he couldn’t think of a higher vampire and not see Cazador, but her letters were so… sweet. Not fake sweet. She would recount some event or vista that made her think of Eletha and their adventures. It was hard to imagine a vampire soaking with an elf in a hot spring up in some monster-infested mountains, but they apparently had 50 years ago. ‘I am glad that I could keep you away from the edge once more, my lovely friend. Maybe it is time you venture to Baldur’s Gate? I will gladly join you, and I know that you have other friends that would answer the call.’ A band of hardened adventurers, showing up at Cazador’s palace, demanding he relinquish his favorite spawn? A story for the ages… 

Aluin the human mage, whose words read nothing like Gale’s. Even as he grew older, his boyish exuberance could still be heard in his retellings of discoveries and mishaps. She lost her eye protecting him from a warg and guided him back to Suzail. To return the favor, he offered her a magic eye. It allowed her to peer into memories of places, things, and people, to see them as they once were. Aluin wanted her to take him on many adventures and he always thanked her from the bottom of his heart for every scrap of artifact she sent to him from her travels. There was a subtle love in his words. 

Tyrlumin, a half-elf bard, whose age she could not discern. He often talked to her like she was a child, but had his own childish penchant for getting into trouble. They met on the road, nothing special, but they were drawn to one another. It seemed he used her for inspiration in some of his songs. He would run into her, seemingly not by accident, and they would travel together until he would disappear in the night, leaving behind a note. It was often a dirty limerick.

Finally, Bromthrum, a purveyor of high-quality dwarven goods, trading to princes, wizards, and thieves alike. She came to his aid upon the road as he was waylaid by bandits. They shared a fondness for drink and smoke. He sounded enamored by her elven beauty and the artistry she employed in battle. She seemed drawn to his complete lack of similarities to elves. He gave her steep discounts on goods and she protected his caravan when she was around.

Astarion didn’t touch the sealed letters. Maybe he had some sense of propriety. They were all so old… It seemed they stopped only 50 years after she left the Dales.

Then there were two. For their E’Sum. For Astarion Ancunin, Baldur’s Gate.

This, too, was old, but not as old as some. Likely, this letter would have never reached him. The furthest it might have gotten was to Cazador, and then what jealous hellfire would his master have rained upon him for receiving a letter from a long-lost lover?

It was meant for him. That meant he could read it, no? It found him, after all these years.

Astarion snuck into Gale’s tent.

“Can I help you?” Gale grumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

“I need you to read this,” Astarion insisted, shoving the letter at him. Gale moved away, offended as Astarion pressed the piece of parchment into his chest.

“I think you're capable of reading.”

“I can't do it.”

“Then don't read it.”

“But it's for me.”

“Then I shouldn't be reading it.”

“Dammit Gale, can you just do this for me?” Astarion hissed. “Can you stop being an emotionless pompous arse for one minute?”

“I'm not emotionless, I’m exhausted. That wasn’t exactly easy on me, either. I didn’t even tell you some of the horrible things in those journals,” Gale explained, but took the letter anyway. A little hurt he said, “Is that how you see me?”

“Gale, I need the attention now, or I'm going to start stabbing people.”

“How is that different from usual?” Gale muttered as he opened the letter. “Dear Astarion, stop being dramatic and let Gale sleep.”

“You’re aware of how much of an ass you are, yes?”

“My Star,” Gale started, ignoring him. He actually put a little emotion into it. Astarion listened intently. “Aluin says that writing letters is healing, that ordering our thoughts to communicate them helps us understand ourselves as much as it helps others understand us. I’m not as good with words as Mellia or Lumin. I guess you don't know any of these people. They are friends I've made along the way and if we meet again, I want you to meet them. They’ve helped me a lot, taught me that I deserve to be loved and helped. I don’t always believe them, but it is what it is. Do you remember Heilar saything that all the time, when you’d tell him I beat you unfairly during sword practice? I wonder if I still can. 

“I spent a long time hating you, but I always loved you. I never wished ill on you, even when I hated you the most. I always wondered what I did to make you leave me behind. I always wondered if you thought I'd follow. I wanted to, but our parents bade me stay. Then they made me stay.

What is it like, in Baldur’s Gate? I always wanted to go to Waterdeep instead.” Gale's eyes lit up suddenly and he opened his mouth to make some quip, but when he looked up, Astarion was the picture of anxiety, biting his lip, knees to his chest, fear in his eyes. 

“It took me a long time to accept responsibility for what happened. I would always say to myself that you left a mess behind, you did this to me, that it was all your fault. It was best that you left, because if you'd stayed, I don't want to imagine what you would have done. Would you take their side, or defend me tooth and nail? I couldn't bear it if you were just another person I couldn't forgive. But I wouldn’t want our family’s blood on your hands either.

“I don't know his name. I left as soon as I could. I'm sorry that I can't tell you anything about him. I would think that your parents would try to write you, but maybe they think it meant nothing to you. They try to write me, but I can't read them. I don't want to read them, but I can't destroy them.

“No matter how many friends I make, how many people I help, I will always know that I am a callous monster. Despite how rare it is, despite what it would mean for our families and our people, I didn't want to keep the thing you left behind in me. Knowing it was there filled me with a sickness that went beyond any story the Mothers told me. I was no longer myself, I was just a vessel. I found myself repulsive. I tried to find some way to be rid of it, but our mothers caught me. 

“At first they aimed to tame me with guilt and shame. They told me I was irresponsible, cowardly, a disgrace, for trying to throw away this blessing that felt to me like a curse, a punishment. There were only hard eyes and sharp words for me. I became desperate and tried my own ways of removing my curse. When they denied me that, I tried to bite through my own tongue to spare myself the pain of my burden and it the pain of having me for a mother.

“They took turns, holding me with their magic, giving me no choice but to do what they deemed right. I looked out of my eyes on a world that became hostile and full of villains, faces made of cruelty. The body that moved was not my own, but I still felt that awful feeling in my heart, felt trapped in my own skin just as much as in their power.

“I'm not sorry that I left, so why do I feel guilty? Broken? I'm not sorry for being broken. Was this soul always broken, throughout its many lives?

“I made a deal with a fey. In exchange for never bearing children again, I am cursed to burn by the emptiness of the new moon. It hurt, at first, but not as much as that year hurt. The fey thought me mad for requesting such a simple silly thing and not real power. Maybe I am. You have to be pretty mad to make a fey question your request.

“I’m sorry. I love you. I forgive you. I don't expect you to forgive me. I hope you can still love me, as unlovable as I am. 

“Ever yours- Lori”

At some point, Astarion had placed his head in Gale’s lap. So caught up in the letter, Gale didn't notice. Now that he was done, he freed up a hand to pat Astarion’s head. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“No.”

“Okay,” Gale whispered tiredly, still stroking Astarion’s hair. “It’s going to be okay. Tomorrow is another day.”

[lupinedreaming]

I know very few (and honestly probably none of) my followers followed me for ex-Mormon stuff, but General Conference was yesterday, and I have to bitch about one particular talk. Join me under the cut if you want to read me venting. Be aware heavy topics may be discussed below

OKAY, SO, there was a pre-recorded talk from the current Mormon prophet. Two upsetting quotes from the talk were:

“Never take counsel from those who do not believe.”

And:

“Thus, if we unwisely choose to live telestial laws now, we are choosing to be resurrected with a telestial body. We’re choosing not to live with our families forever.

So, my dear brothers and sisters, how and where and with whom do you want to live forever? You get to choose.”

For those of you who were never Mormon, there are basically three different levels of heaven (one level is called telestial), and you only get into the best level of heaven if you strictly follow all of Mormonism’s rules (including not drinking coffee or tea. Yep, that can get you kicked out of VIP heaven). That means you can he separated from your family FOREVER in the afterlife if you go to different levels of heaven.

Obviously, I don’t believe that bullshit. I don’t believe in the Christian or Mormon God. I believe there’s some higher power, and I don’t think it would be cruel enough to separate loved ones after death.

But all my immediate family are still believing Mormons, and I hate thinking that they’re being told I can’t be with them in the afterlife because I chose to leave. I had to leave for my own mental health. I was dealing with bad depression and suicidal ideation before I left. It probably would’ve gotten even worse if I stayed

The Mormon prophet is believed to be the mouthpiece of God, so it’s hard for believing members to disagree with him. My mom once told me she believes anyway that I’ll be with my family in the afterlife, but she said that a year ago so … idk what she thought when she heard this most recent talk. I’m just pissed. Mormonism keeps hurting me. I’ve healed in a lot of ways from it, but there are still things I need to unpack and other stuff that will probably never fully leave me

[reapkusho]

I think I'm gonna be the brother that kills himself tonight with a whole bottle of Prozac or a shiny kitchen knife

And my sister will be able to play on the basement floor on my Nintendo 64

[ansicred]

burns up like a bad dream | angst

Art gets lost in thought during an interview segment on some breakfast show. setting: In TV studio in London, spring 1986 characters involved: Art (featuring Frank) warnings: cw: mentions of death , cw: non-explicit suicide ideation, cw: mentions of (past) substance abuse

[dreamsb0u]

I am going to KILL MYSELF!!!!!

[pears-palette]

Mental health is non linear and can be such a wild fucking ride. 3 days ago I was making a “pros and cons” list for killing myself and tonight I’m happy stim dancing to Staying Alive in my kitchen, much to the bemusement of my pets. You just gotta stick around for the upswing.

[impostorsshow]

Edit because I'm smarter now there's just general plotline Omori spoilers over the entirety of this thing if you don't know what Something represents don't even read the first sentence

Thinking about symbolism of Mari using her left eye to stare at Sunny and therefore creating Something and then Sunny losing his left eye, losing the control his grief had over him even if it will affect him and the way he sees and interacts with the world permanently. Even if the way he lost Something was violent and out of his control, he has to move on, even if it will be hard to learn to live without it. It isn't the good ending because every character ends happy in the end, it is an ending that allows life to go forward, and that is good despite the pain that has to be felt [everyone learning the truth, Basil and sunny dealing with the secret, sunny not locking himself in his house anymore, sunny moving just as everything looked like it would finally be able to settle in Faraway] to get there. Its not a happy ending or good in the slightest, only good when you compare it to the other endings-[many YouTubers I've seen have gone "oh, what ending is this? Chat, what do I do to get the best ending? Do I need to fail the fight?" Which in itself is worthy of analysation for how Omori wraps you into Sunny's mindset but thats been looked over already on YouTube like 5 times, so not in this post]

-but it's instead a promise of a good ending. Its equivalent to when your in a depressive rut and someone comes by and hugs you and tells you "it'll be alright, everything gets better, I promise, it's not okay right now but it will." Because it will, even if it sounds like a load of bullshit because we don't know how Aubrey and Hero and Kel react, but in order to get past it you need to believe it ends well. Because if you imagine anything else than it's the worst ending and killing yourself turned out to be the best way out, which is wrong on every account. Idk I just like this game and this type of symbolism that is so easy to grasp on a surface level but then you can just keep finding for for it

Edit 2 I'm putting the reblog I made on the same day here because if I reblog the og it's not gonna have the spoiled warning

I also keep thinking about how Omori is set right before Sunny moves, and most of the endings are Sunny killing himself the day of. As if Sunny couldn't bear the thought of leaving the last place Mari was, even if it meant giving up. As if he heard he was going to be moving and planned it. We don't know anything about Sunny, and as someone who used to daydream for 12+ hours a day even if I wasn't a shutin, it's an absolute tossup whether he really kept the same daydream going for 4 years or 2 years or anything in-between when we see him, especially with it seeming like he has repeated this dream of him fighting his fears over and over and over. But my personal thing is that it's an old daydream that Sunny picked up, refreshed a bit, and went through, as a way to remind him of why he has to end it before he leaves the house and to get as much out of his life as possible, back when he kept up with friends. But he just. No one really wants to die, they just want to stop dealing with whatever's fucking everything up so he waits until he can't wait anymore. Do you get what I mean does any of that make sense is that plausable

[lucassinclaer-archive]

Hey if you wanna be sad and cry over max some more, just do what I do. Sit and think about how she had to save her life for what, days??? By listening on repeat to a song that makes her think about how much she wishes she could've died instead of or with Billy.

hey.

why would you say this to me??

[the-gayest-sky-kid]

okay we're good now 👍 im gonna go like have a panic attack or something for the next couple hours and when i come back we can go insane ^^

[arandombiped]

gonna get a little personal on this one, so I’m putting it under the cut

it’s a bit of a play on one post I saw forever ago that was kinda like “at least I’m not 14” also! If you can help me find that post I would love to give credit where credits due. This is kind of my long rant on how i survived being 14

(ALSO!! cw/tw for covid/pandemic, sh and sui ideation)

I saw something once that said something along the lines of “life is hell right now, but at least I’m not 14.” Not in a way to diss 14 year olds (or anyone who is a teenager), but as a way of saying, “being 14 sucked.”

when I was 14, I struggled with passive suicidal ideation. I would often count the days between times I would sh to keep a streak. I was trying my hardest to want to keep going. I had very recently realized I was queer, and my life as I knew it had already been thrown out the window by Covid. Because when I was 13, I was ready for life to be over. I had tried asking for help from my parents, but I was told I was “too young” to be depressed. My world was falling apart, and I didn’t even know who I was anymore.

being 14 sucks. You’re stuck between being a kid and being an adult. you have 4 years until you can make the Big Decisions and be independent, but you have to survive that long. You’re just trying to figure out what’s going on. And also pre-algebra got thrown in the mix somewhere just for some extra spice.

Let me offer an honest ounce of hope. I am 17. I have less than 6 months until I am an adult. It gets better.

My parents didn’t take me seriously, but guess who did? I did. I talked with school counselors until I could convince my parents that therapy could help. Barely anyone was there for me when I started exploring my sexuality and identity in general, so you know what I did? I got a TrevorSpace account. I found my first online family. My friends didn’t know how to handle queerness in their lives, so you know what I did? I taught them. If they didn’t accept it? They were no longer allowed to be invasive of my generosity.

A lot of this is work, and I know it’s hard and it’s stressful and it’s vulnerable. But I got to know myself, and I grew to like them quite a bit.

If you are 14, stuck in a rut, or otherwise just here, know this: it gets better. Take a minute to see the person you are. Think of all the things you want to do. Nothing coming to mind? That’s fine too. After working a couple of jobs, I’ve realized a lot of people (even adults!) have no idea what’s going on. Most of us are making it up as we go.

My best advice? Let time pass. So far, you have a 100% survival rate, and I strongly believe you can keep that up. Gravitate towards what makes you happy. Pick up whatever hobby, drop it in a month (or a week), buy a fun snack, wear whatever clothes, cuddle a plushie, find a neat fandom, try out new pronouns, date whoever, don’t date anyone, get a new name, whatever floats your goat. The pain wants to last, and it might stay around for a while. Hell, I still have days where I think I’m better off dead. But as Cave Johnson once wisely said,

“All right, I've been thinking, when life gives you lemons, don't make lemonade! Make life take the lemons back! Get mad! I don't want your damn lemons! What am I supposed to do with these? Demand to see life's manager! Make life rue the day it thought it could give Cave Johnson lemons! Do you know who I am? I'm the man who’s gonna burn your house down - with the lemons!”

all that to say, life is worth living. You are worthy of life. Even if you don’t think you are, well, you’re here anyway and you might as well combust some lemons. You deserve love and care and support. Not everyone is going to give it to you, and some people are going to make things worse. But you really gotta get mad. Life isn’t fair. So scream your lungs out and cry and crawl your way through and just generally be mad about it until you can make it fair. Because one day you will be able to. (I, personally, will be doing a lot more social justice work once I’m not in a conservative household. I’ll probably dye my hair ten million colors and get my relatives mad at me, but what do I care? They won’t get to have an opinion once I’m older.)

Being 14 sucks sometimes, so you have to make it to 15. then 16. then 17. then 18. fight your way there, then you can do anything.

Stay alive. Stay strong. Stay safe. Keep going. It’s not easy, but it’s worth it. It’s so worth it.

Sincerely, 17

[unma]

Uh, mentions of suicide (not attempted, but considered) and suicidal ideation under the cut I guess. And lots of talk about my depression. And a bit of oversharing. Did I say this blog wasn't for venting? Well, I'm unpacking these things as I write them so please be kind with me, okay?

Still thinking about my memory and how it's gone from me being proud of remembering the most specific stuff to barely being able to remember anything past a certain point save for really specific mostly intensely painful (usually mental) periods of my life.

I don't think it's memory issues (or at least the kind where I'm simply incapable of actually recalling things or putting moments into long term memory). I just think that there isn't much for me to remember in my day to day life outside of the internet.

I spend most of my time moping around, looking forward to the day where I'll be free of everything that has plagued me. The optimism younger me had about leaving this life behind and becoming a new me is gone, replaced with a me that has accepted the reality that it would be a long struggle to get to that day that I'm happy. I already had to pull myself out of the pit that was wanting to actively end it all, and now I wallow in despair wondering if it'll happen anyway.

it was only weeks ago (or perhaps months? Time has begun to blur for me since forever ago) that I found out I had friends who were glad I wasn't dead. IRL friends, in specific, as I wasn't too open about my struggles online, for obvious reasons. I mean, I was also gone from this blog for a year or 2 due to related matters, so obviously no one online would know about any of this since I wasn't here.

Back on track, I had a classmate of mine call to see if I was still okay and doing fine. I wouldn't call him that close of a friend—he's the type of person who's an asshole on purpose but friendly enough, so you can tell when he's taking a piss and when he's being genuine, but he doesn't pull it off nearly as well as a much closer friend of mine—but he was one of the few I'd let know that I wanted to die. Even though I'd made it clear ages ago that I wouldn't ever pick up a knife, he was still glad to know I was okay. And upon mentioning that to others who knew about my woes, they all responded that they too were glad that I was doing okay. It felt nice to be cared for.

So it's a shame that the only way I can talk to any of these people is online.

There isn't much for me to look forward to offline. My family's awful, as you can probably tell from today's posts, I hate most of the people I know in church (not to mention that being agnostic and having a horrid experience with the church growing up makes that place a living hell to be in) and there's nowhere for me to go outside. Not to mention it's way too hot. No really, I tried to go for a walk outside today and didn't even make it an intersection before the sun made me turn back. And I'm the one who used to wear hoodies in the blaring sun before I moved. It's way too hot here in the summer.

Every time I try to improve something about myself, be it my posture or not spending all my time in my room, I'm reminded ever so swiftly of why I'm like this now. At some point I resolved to sit in the living room often, but every evening my dad would come home and yell about something that had gone wrong, and because I was the only one nearby I'd be the only one subject to that yelling. And then I remember the reason I never left my room was because child me realized that greeting my mom when she came home from work was never worth it because she would 100% send us to do chores. And she wondered why no one ever greeted her when she came home anymore.

There's a lot of things the internet has done to me that would make me wish I got on here when I was older. But it pales in comparison to how much good it's done for my life. How much it's shaped me into a much better.

And the fact that I'm still alive, I guess.

I think often about how my dad once told me he knew me better than I knew myself. Back then I thought "Do you know your son doesn't want to live anymore?" I still wonder if he'll ever find out. If he'll ever realize that the pressure he and my mom placed on me to get better academically, even as I was one of the best performing students and simultaneously already struggling to keep up with the stress from maintaining those scores. I wonder if they'll ever understand that the hate I feel for them is not childish rage at not getting my way—not a rage that will fade as I grow older and wiser in life—but a deep hatred that will never fade until I'm free of them forever.

I wonder if they'll ever realize that they were horrible parents. Even now they're constantly blindsided by the effects of their own bad parenting. Effects that I, the oldest child, continued to point out to them when they first showed up. Things that I very clearly told them needed to be corrected.

Perhaps the fact that I had to point out that they were failing at being proper parents to my younger sister constantly as I grew up is just another sign of my shitty upbringing. One in which I was forced to learn to be mature at a young age. To be the smart one. Above breaking the rules, above being playful and immature. Perhaps it's no wonder in the end that I simply stopped caring, when fun was something I continually had to fight for, and stress was simply the norm. Even now, as I think back on my past, most of what I remember was the time and effort I spent. How proud I was to pull an all-nighter to finish handwriting my Business Studies notes, as if my rides to school were not already spent frantically catching up on my CRS notes.

My school-assigned advisor once told me that I had to deprioritize writing to spend more time focusing on school-related work. I wonder what he'd think if he found out that writing was perhaps the main reason I decided there was still a point to life. I wonder what my mom would think when she agreed with him.

Oh well, it's not like there's a point in dwelling on that.

Point is, well, there really isn't much for me to look forward to or do, other than eat and sleep. Not to mention that most of the things I can do suck or actively make my mental health worse, which is fun.

As for the point of explaining that? Well, I think the reason I can't remember anything is because there isn't anything to remember, or at least anything good. What's the point of actually remembering things if all there is to remember is enraging conversations and anxious waits for things I dread? Perhaps the reason I don't remember much about my life is simply because I stopped having things to be happy about. Outside of the internet, anyway.

If I have any consolation, it's that I can still vividly remember a lot of my time online, where I had fun and made friends and learned to be myself. And when I put it like that, it feels pointless that I've even slightly worried that I spend too much time online, when there's no reason for me to reduce my time online.

That's all my pondering for now, I guess. Really long post, yeah, but today's event made me think about... a lot of things, I guess.