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xxisxxisxxis · 4 years ago

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Gateway Drug | Part Eighty-Eight

Very late, I'm sorry, I just couldn't post it without tweaking things here and there because I'm a little bitch that wants to get this right. I hope everyone has had a good Christmas!!

Words: 4k

Warning(s): explicit language, mentions of drug abuse, explicit sexual situations

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"It's not a death sentence, Viv." Sharise assures me in the back of the limo.

"I've really been a lunatic, Sharise, and it's not just because people have overexaggerated about how I've been acting--it's because I've actually been fucking crazy." I state as she sips her champagne. "I have a diagnosis and new medication to prove it."

"Is it ever gonna go away?" She asks me next, furrowing her brows a little.

"Nope, but it sure as shit can get worse." I tell her. "There's two strains of it and I have the second one which is just shorter spells of mania--a.k.a being a fucking looney tune--and leaning more depressive--a.k.a staying in bed for three months straight and not wanting my husband to touch me despite just getting married."

"You're not crazy." She argues, lightly kicking at my leg with her heel. "You just have an imbalance in your brain. It's annoying, yeah, but you're not crazy."

"I just don't want Nikki to leave me over this. Nothing screams stable marriage like bipolar disorder and heroin addiction."

"Shut up, you're okay, Nikki's okay, you guys will be okay." She assures me.

I think back to what his therapist wants us to do Wednesday...I can't tell him I'm pregnant. I haven't even told Duff and he should be the first one I tell.

I feel like as soon as I tell Nikki, it really will be over.

I get nauseous, my mouth watering.

"I need air." I pull the sunroof back and stand up, try to calm down, my eyes closing and my head leaning back as we stop at a red-light.

I hear the obnoxious rumble of a motorcycle coming to a stop in the lane beside us, and groan.

"Whew!" I hear a familiar voice call. "Your old man let you outta the house?!" Robbin yells over his the noise of his bike and I look over.

"He's in rehab!" I reply.

"No shit!" He chuckles. "Whatcha doin'?!"

"Getting some air!"

"There's plenty of air over here!" He informs me. "Come get on!" He gives a grin.

"I'm good!"

"Oh, c'mon, Viv, I've only had a couple shots!"

"Couple shots of what, is the question!" I reply.

"I'm not high!" He states. "Come on!"

I look at him, considering it.

"You look too damn good to be riding around in a blacked out car where nobody can see you!" He adds and I roll my eyes. "Come get on the damn bike, Viv, a couple blocks won't kill you!"

I rub my lips together, seeing that the light is gonna turn in a minute.

"You're gonna get me in trouble!" I say, going to pull my heels off.

"Not much more than what you're already in!" He says back.

I sigh out and start to climb out of the sunroof and he puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles loudly before he ignores the cars behind him and kicks the stand of the bike down, coming and grabbing my waist to help me down the car.

"You look like sex on ten-foot legs!" He adds and I shake my head, pushing at him playfully as we get on his motorcycle.

"Where the hell are you going?!" Sharise pokes her head out of the roof.

"I'll catch up to you in a minute!" I tell her.

"Viv--" the light turns green and Robbin doesn't waste any time with getting gone, cutting Sharise short.

I don't know if it's the loudness of the bike, mixed with the wind and Black Sabbath blaring through speakers I'm assuming he managed to beg someone to build into the Harley, or him smelling like a bar, so I know he's probably drunk and I'm focused on not getting myself killed, but I manage to get my mind off of all the bullshit that just seems to keep getting heaped on loads at a time.

We get to the Cathouse, eventually, which is where Sharise and I were headed, and Robbin comes to a stop and parks his bike and I swing my leg back over the side and put my heels back on, reaching for the strap to buckle it, but failing.

Before I can grab it, he's crouching down and putting my foot on his knee, fastening it for me before he does the other.

"Thank you." I tell him as he finishes.

"Wouldn't want you to break a nail." He replies sarcastically.

"Ha ha, smartass." I state and he chuckles, standing up, as I think back to earlier.

"What 'trouble' am I in?" I ask him.

"You think I didn't see you come running in with Duff while Nikki was OD'ing?"

"You managed to see that while you were running out of the room to get outta dodge?" I ask him, smartly.

"I helped Slash's girlfriend for a minute while they were getting you and Duff." He explains. "I got out of there before you had a caniption and killed all of us."

"I wouldn't have killed you." I argue. "Make you wish you were dead, sure, but actually kill you, no."

He smiles a little and rubs his lips together.

"So, Nikki knows about you two?"

"Yeah."

"And he still wants to work things out?"

"Yeah...no reason for him not to when he cheated on me with Vanity, first."

He just smiles and nods.

"I'm glad you two are doing that." He tells me. "I was really bummed when I heard he'd filed for divorce."

"Well, we're not outta the woods yet." I mumble and he furrows his brows.

"What do you mean?"

"I'm knocked up, Robbin." I blurt, and he looks down at me with this expression on his face of confusion and unamusement.

"That shit's not funny, Viv." He states to me.

"I'm fucking pregnant, Robbin, I'm not trying to be funny."

I snap out of it when Robbin repeats his question, "what do you mean?"

"Oh, sorry...I don't know...I forgot what I was gonna say." I say next, wishing I could actually tell him I'm pregnant.

When we get inside and get to VIP, Sharise is sitting with her arms crossed, brows raised at me when I sit down.

"What?" I ask her.

"You ditched me for a boy." She tells me, pouting.

"I didn't ditch you." I reply.

"You so ditched me."

"...Yeah, I did." I admit, smiling and she nudges me with her elbow, saying, "you better be glad he's cute or I'd be more pissed over it," and I laugh as she finishes her drink.

After a night of dancing and pretending I'm not reaping the consequences of my exponential crisis, I'm dropped off at home.

When I get inside, I see flowers on the small table in the foyer, and smile a little, seeing the little card that reads, "VIVIAN."

I pluck the paper from the vase and turn it over to read it.

See you Wednesday

—Nikki

My smile grows wider before slowly falling.

I'm not sure he'll even want to be with me after Wednesday.

I feel guilty because I know he's probably decently looking forward to getting all of this over with and starting over, yet here I come with a damn baby.

Putting the card back with the flowers and placing them on the kitchen counter, I go to my bathroom to get a shower.

Once I'm done, I'm staring at myself in the mirror, studying to see if there's any noticeable changes…

My boobs are slightly bigger, nothing too, too obvious--I guess Doc's observant.

I do look like I'm glowing a little bit, but I can blame that on starting fresh with Nikki and how happy I am because of it.

I open the bathroom drawer and pick up the little ultrasound picture I had taken.

A sick part of me has been hoping I'd miscarry by now so I wouldn't have to turn mine, Nikki's and Duff's lives into a shitshow, but I was told the baby's healthy.

I'm not sure why the hell my body refused to grow anything in it, I guess I should've looked into it after my third miscarriage in a row, but I didn't want to pry at myself. I just wanted to forget I was pregnant at all.

I regret that, now, though...I don't want to get a couple months in and BAM! no more baby, like in the beginning of '86. I should've looked into it earlier and so I could have figured out what was causing it so I couldn't let it happen anymore.

Despite us not speaking in years, I was certain my mother had, indeed, still managed to screw me over one last time. My uterus was septated and had gone unnoticed in ultrasounds for years--either by the hands of shitty technology or shitty technicians and doctors that didn't say anything about it. Apparently it was a genetic mutation that women could be born with and was a mystery in itself, but a part of me always blamed my mom.

September 1987

"Wait, wait, wait," I chuckle, Duff's lips on my neck.

Before I even realize what's happening, my back is hitting the mattress of the bed I share with Nikki while Duff's lips are tugging along the skin of my neck, coaxing a light vapor of moans from my throat while I grab at the bottom of his shirt, tugging it over his head.

Mine's next, lips pressing down my chest as his hands slide under my back to get my bra off.

My back arches to let the fabric escape, all while my hands pull at my panties, getting them down my legs before I'm kicking them off, the two of us chuckling, his lips coming back to mine while he goes for his belt buckle.

It's hard to pretend he's Nikki, like I catch my mind trying to do, because he's not as rough as Nikki is. His kiss is sweet and gentle--not weak by any means, and its still hot, but Nikki's is dominantly aggressive and attentive without even meaning to be…

"Condom," Duff says pulling his lips from mine.

"We don't have any." I tell him, catching my breath.

"...I'll see if I have some in the car."

"You can just pull out." I suggest, not wanting him to give me time to change my mind about this.

"Are you sure?" He asks me, fingertips running over my cheek.

"Yes." I grin and he slowly smiles and leans down again, kissing me.

I screw my eyes shut when he slowly pushes into me, letting out a groan under his breath while I take in a sharp breath, nails biting into his back.

"Are you okay?" He asks me, and I nod, eyes still closed.

"Yeah." I sigh out, hands grabbing at his arms, nails biting into the tattoo on his bicep as he pulls out of me and pushes back inside, huffing out a sharp breath, his forehead against mine as I lean up and kiss him, humming as he starts thrusting into me steadily, overwhelmingly so.

Unlike Nikki, he's not ferociously aggressive for the most part. He's more so gently aggressive.

I can't contain the near squeak that emits from my throat as he continues in and out of me, my arms and legs desperate to get him as close to me as possible.

The more I show that I'm feeling good, the more comfortable he gets, and the more deliberate his movements are.

"It--" I'm cut short when he pushes against my cervix, and my eyes roll back.

He's about to pull back out but I wrap my legs around him and pull him back in as I beg, "no, no, please, right there."

He looks down at me, eager to please, looking me in the eye as he pushes against it, again, a sharp shiver shuttering up my back and I cry out, arching my back when his fingers go to my clit.

My hands dig into the sheets, gasps and whimpers leaving me as he watches me, patiently, like he's studying me in the throes of stupidity and pleasure.

I'm trying to crawl away when he grins and starts hounding at me, repeatedly hitting the spot in me that has tears pooling in my eyes from pleasure.

"Please, don't stop." I ask him, my voice weak, and he sits back on his knees, pulling me onto him, grabbing my hips, guiding quick movements into me, making my thighs tense up while he looks down at my tits and the sight of him fucking me, before his eyes catch at my hip bone.

"Do you like it?" I ask him and he runs his thumb over the "D" in my skin and looks at me before kissing me, quickening his pace again, hitting my sweet spot once more several times while I tighten around him.

"Are you gonna come?" He asks me, and I nod, not able to speak.

I push him down to the mattress and straddle him before I brace myself on his chest and start riding him.

"Fuck," he says as he watches me, probably not able to believe we're having sex.

My orgasm hits me in a wave, my head back, my hands moving over his on my waist, before he sits up and pulls my lips to his hotly, our tongues dancing as he wraps his arms around me.

In a couple more minutes, he's holding me still while thrusting up into me desperately, and I feel my brain swimming on dopamine as sweat rolls down my spine.

"I'm gonna come." He tells me, shutting his eyes and licking his lips for a second before looking down at himself going in and out of me.

"Then come." I say softly, leaning forward, kissing, licking, and biting up his neck.

Duff lets out a sharp breath, his hands pulling me down onto him while he gives one last thrust into me, warmth spreading throughout me as his cum coats my insides.

"Fuck." I whimper out, my hips flexing, at the feeling.

"How the fuck could he cheat on you?" He asks me, reeling off his sex-high, his eyes running all over my glistened skin before he's sitting up, wrapping his arms around me. "You're so fucking flawless." He adds and I smile at him, brushing the hair from his face before kissing him.

Once I get off of him and lay beside him in the bed, he's looking up at our mirrored ceiling, that's recently been replaced ever since I broke it throwing a tantrum.

"That was…" I start, realizing what I'd just done, and he looks at me, his brows furrowed slightly.

"Are you okay?" He asks me, sitting up, probably thinking I'm about to cry.

"Yes, I'm fine." I assure him. "It's just strange to have sex without being left right after." I add, remembering the more times than not that Nikki would leave to go out after we got done.

"I'm not leaving." He tells me, his hand brushing against my cheek.

"I know." I reply, closing my eyes, my face resting against the pillow as tiredness creeps up on me.

He lays back down beside me, pulling me closer to him, and comfort consumes my body…

...Right before the roaring of Nikki's Harley pulling into the driveway shatters it.

I snap up, Duff doing the same.

"Is that…?" He asks me, eyes wide.

"Shit!" I whisper yell, the two of us getting out of bed.

He nearly trips, pulling his jeans back on, and I'm pulling my silk robe on, grabbing Duff's shoes, heading for the guest bedroom closet.

Once he's hidden, having to crouch uncomfortably to fit under the shelf, I'm running back to our room, spraying a few sprays of my perfume to throw off the sex smell.

I rush to the bathroom to wet a washcloth and get Duff's cum, that's leaking down my legs now, off, just as I hear Nikki's boots stomping into our room.

I finish cleaning up as fast as possible and get back out there to see him shirtless.

"H-Hey." I nervously greet him, regretting not fixing my hair from its roused state.

He glances at me and does a double take, his eyes snaking up my exposed legs before he's looking at me.

A slick smirk falls on his lips as he says:

"Whatcha been doing?"

"What do you mean?" I ask, eyes wide.

"I know what you look like post-orgasm, Viv. There's no shame in having fun with yourself." He adds and I nearly sigh out with relief. He thinks I've been masterbating. Perfect. "Infact," he steps closer, making me step back until my back hits the wall, and he puts his hand beside my head, trapping me in, "it's really hot."

I shift uncomfortably as his other hand moves to the curve of my hip, slipping under the robe to palm at my ass cheek, and I have to force myself to hold back a moan when his hand suddenly comes down to harshly give one good smack to my flesh before rubbing over my stinging skin.

"Don't stop just because I pulled up." He tells me, motioning to the messy bed. "Keep doing your thing and I'll just observe." He grins, his hand moving to my throat. "Might even get the camera out like the good ole days."

I can't seem to make myself talk, my breathing heavy, my tongue being bit between my teeth.

We stare at each other another moment before he loses his grin and runs the thumb of his other hand across my lip.

He leans down and I let out a breath.

"Nikki," I start softly, about to pull away as best as I can but he stops me, pressing his lips to mine for a second.

Our tongues meet soon after, and he's running his hands down my back, before pulling me up to wrap my legs around his waist, causing me to let out a moan as my back's against the wall while he threads his fingers through my hair.

I snap out of it when my back hits the mattress, his hands sliding under my robe to run over my stomach, up my ribs to run over my breasts before grazing down my sides.

"Nikki." I say after a moment, the two of us catching our breath.

"Take your robe off." He ignores me, pressing a kiss to the center of my chest.

"Nikki, no." I deny him. "It wouldn't be smart for us to do that."

"Why not? You've already drawn up divorce papers or something?" He stands up, pulling away from me.

"You're drunk." I bite at him, annoyed. "And what are you doing home? You don't come back home until morning, usually."

"Tommy puked on me, I had to change shirts." He says. "Not that I owe you a fucking explanation."

"Never said you did, Nikki. It was just a question."

"No, but you're looking pissed that I'm here so that's why I am."

"I'm not pissed, can you stop assuming things?"

"Whatever, Viv." He grumbles as I stand up, too.

"Yeah, whatever, Nikki."

"Oh my God, just shut the fuck u--" he stops abruptly, and I'm confused until I see he's focused on my hip bone, that's been exposed by my robe failing me when it shifts, and I see he's focused on the "D" on my hip.

He steps closer to me, angling his head in every direction to see it clearly, even laying on the carpet and looking at it from below, the same confused expression on his face.

When he gets off the floor, he's on his knees, holding at my hips to look at it from centimeters away.

"Nikki, cut it out." I scold him, trying to move away from him but he stops me.

"Ya know, the funniest thing is happening. I haven't taken anything hallucinogenic, but I swear I see a 'D' on your hip bone." He tells me and I finally get out of his grip as he stands back up, studying my expression. "Oh, hell fucking no, you did n--I know you do not have a fucking 'D' on your fucking body."

I had one in me a few minutes ago.

"It's not a 'D', Nikki."

"I may not have graduated but I know my ABCs, Vivian, and that's a fucking 'D'!"

"It's a Roman numeral for '100'!" I say back, smartly. "To represent the least number of times you fucked Vanity while we were together, so I'll never forget!"

"We're still together, Vivian!" He screams.

"Really?! Is that why you screw groupies almost every night on the road?!"

"Because I get lonely because my wife refuses to acknowledge me without screaming my fucking head off!"

"You were screwing another woman even when I wasn't perpetually angry at you, Nikki, what the fuck are you talking about 'lonely'?!"

"You know what I mean!" He yells back. "See, I can't even come home without you starting a fucking fight!"

"Then freaking get out!" I throw my hands up.

"I am!" He shouts, getting his shirt on and grabbing the keys to his bike and heading to the door and I follow him.

"Good!" I scream back.

He leaves, slamming the door, and I exhale sharply, forcing back tears, letting out a frustrated groan before throwing one of our wedding photos at the wall.

When I start back to our room, Duff is cautiously waiting in the hallway looking at me with a sad expression.

"Don't worry about it." I assure him, kissing his cheek, before stepping back to the bedroom.

"Don't worry about it." He didn't have anything to worry about then, but look at what five months did.

I shut the door of my car, looking at the apartment Duff's now sharing with Mandy, and let out a breath.

Tucking the picture of a teeny-tiny little thing growing in me into my purse, I head up and knock on his door hesitantly, hearing Mandy call, "coming!"

She opens the door and her eyes light up when she sees me, a big grin coming to her face, a softness to her sweet eyes that makes my stomach turn with nausea.

"Hey, Viv!" She greets me, stepping aside as if it's muscle memory.

Why does she have to make this so hard on me? Why can't she be a raging bitch?

"Hey, Mandy." I reply, going inside, glancing around.

"What's up?" She asks and I rub my lips together.

"I really need to talk to you and Duff." I reply and she furrows her brows.

"Are you okay?"

"Just have a seat." I tell her.

"O-Okay…" she goes to the living room and sits down. "Duff, c'mere!" She calls as I sit across from her, nervously fumbling with my hands.

"What's u--hey, Viv." He says, smiling at me as he dries his hair with a towel.

"She said she needs to talk to us." Mandy says, her tone causing him to look at me, cautiously.

"What's wrong?" He asks and I can hear my blood pressure in my ears.

"...I just...really, really, need to tell you something important." I say as he sits down.

"Alright." He clears his throat, the two of them staring at me and I realize I'm not freaking talking to them at all.

Just looking at them like a scared puppy.

"What's going on, Viv?" He asks me.

I decide maybe speaking right away is best, opening my purse and grabbing the photo, leaning forward to hand it to him.

He takes it and Mandy both look at it where I have him/her circled in a red marker, confused…

"Is this…" Mandy starts and stops, eyes shooting up at me. "Are you pregnant, Vivian?"

I swallow the lump in my throat.

"I'm pregnant." I admit out loud.

A smile comes to their faces, which throws me off completely.

"This is good, isn't it?" Duff asks me, handing the picture back, "I mean, you and Nikki are working things out and he's sobering up...I think it's a good thing, you know?" He shrugs, his smile reaching ear to ear.

"Yeah." Mandy agrees and I have to take deep breaths to keep from crying.

"Duff, Mandy," I start, my voice cracking, "Duff," I repeat and his smile slowly, very, very, slowly fades as if he knows exactly what I'm saying before I finally say, "I'm pregnant."

#gateway drug #nikki sixx #nikki sixx x oc #nikki sixx fanfiction

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bakugou-ou · 7 years ago

Note

Ik I'm anon and all, but I don't wanna get off it because the embarrassment would probably make it worse. I'm just tired of life… mines is pretty useless if you ask me, and according to everyone else who if ever met, I'm ugly too, I wouldn't kill myself because I'm too much of a coward to do that, but I don't know what I wanna do with my life and I can never be happy without someone ruining it That's why you and other creators' story helps me, it makes me think about my dram life I'll never get

Listen, friendo, whoever you are, you’re not ugly, and not useless. You don’t need to come off anon if you don’t want to, I get it. This is gonna get v personal here in a sec, so I’m putting the rest of this down under a cut in case no one gives a shit about my personal life and doesn’t wanna see my tragic anime backstory, but I’m sharing it with you because you said that you like my writing. This is the story of how I ended up running this blog, it’s got lots of talk about suicide, mentions of rape. It’s not pretty, so read at your own risk. Also, it’s long.

When I was four years old, I tried to jump off the balcony of my apartment, I wanted to die. It wasn’t a kid doing a stupid thing, I literally thought if I fall from this height and hit my head on the ground, I will die and then went for it. I fell onto a 7ft tall cinder block mailbox on the way down, four feet below my balcony, crawled off of it, and walked back upstairs to my parents like nothing had happened.

What was wrong that someone barely past toddlerhood wanted to kill themselves over? I don’t know, maybe it was just that my parents were fighting all the time and hated each other, maybe it was because I have the genes for it. More on that last bit later.

When I was six, I tried to throw myself in front of a car, thinking that if a small child like myself got hit by a car going 25+ mph, I’d die. The driver hit the brakes, I played it off like I’d tripped into the road, no one knew how I really felt. When I’d told my parents I wanted to die, they thought I was being dramatic, they didn’t think a kid my age even knew what that meant, the finality of it. But I knew, and I craved it.

When I was eight, I tried to hang myself in my older sister’s bedroom with her sheets. She found me, took me down before I blacked out, and we never spoke about it again after that night. I was pissed with my sister for saving me, I cried and punched her as she held onto me.

When I was twelve, I tried to eat a bottle of Xanax, thinking it would kill me. It didn’t, it just made me really, really fucking sick. Not sick enough to go to the hospital, but very sick. I had no lasting organ damage, but I still wanted to die.

When I was fourteen, my boyfriend dumped me over the phone on a day he was supposed to come to my house, and ignored me while I cried. He had me on speaker phone, actually, and his friends were laughing about it and I could hear them. I could hear him laughing along with them. So, I decided to eat a bottle of asprin for dinner a couple of weeks later. I was stupid, it didn’t work, and I was hospitalized in the mental ward for 2 weeks.

When I was seventeen, I had just left an abusive relationship, graduated high school, and my mom told me that my ex raping me repeatedly for 9 months was my fault and that I was asking for it by continuing to date him the whole time. I was too scared to leave, I had been told by a counselor at school that no one would believe me. I tried to eat all of my antidepressants. I was hospitalized for 3 weeks in the mental ward.

When I was eighteen, I tried to do that same thing again, in conjunction to another thing my mom said about my abuser. My cousin had been raped while studying abroad, and she was talking about poor cousin, your poor cousin, it’s so traumatic, but when I mentioned that I’d been abused for three quarters of a year and no one batted an eye, she told me I was being selfish, and that my time for being the victim was over. How dare I detract from my cousin. So, again, I tried to eat a bottle of pills. I was hospitalized for one week in the psych ward.

Earlier this year, at the age of twenty, I was hospitalized because I felt like I was going to slit my wrists if I stayed home. So I checked myself into the hospital. I was there for a week while my doctor tried to find better meds for me because clearly mine weren’t working. My mom had told me that she was ashamed of my sexuality and my gender identity, and the rape issue came up again, with her saying I wanted it, that I let it happen.

I have bipolar II, borderline personality disorder, OCD, PTSD, generalized anxiety disorder, and selective eating disorder. A lot is messed up with me. I get the anxiety from my mother, and the bipolar II from my father. The PTSD was a gift from my ex boyfriend, and the rest I just ended up with.

When I was a little kid, I loved books; my father read all sorts of books to me, all the time. Artemis Fowl was the first series we read, then Harry Potter, then my mother read me the Chronicles of Narnia, then my father read me A Series of Unfortunate Events. We also read other books, things that weren’t series. I loved reading, and I wanted to write things that made people feel the way I felt about the stuff I read.

Both of my parents are naturally talented writers. At the age of six, I began to write fan fiction for Harry Potter. I was way too young to be on the internet, but I was online writing fanfics on snitchseeker. Some of the only validation I found in my life was from random strangers on the internet, encouraging me to continue writing and complimenting my plot lines, even if my grammar and spelling were atrocious; on the internet, no one knows you’re a little kid writing Drarry fanfic.

I was a really athletic kid, so I didn’t spend all my time writing, but a good chunk of my free time was spent writing if I wasn’t surfing, playing soccer, or skateboarding. I didn’t have a lot of friends, I wasn’t likable, apparently, and I had a really hard time in school. I got into a lot of fights because people picked on me, but I was always the one who got in trouble for defending myself. It pissed me off. I developed issues with authority. I wrote in composition books to escape all the crap around me.

By the time I turned 11, writing was my life. I had just moved to California from Hawaii, my life was basically turned upside down, and I was miserable. So, I made a myspace account, wrote fanfic on there, and threw myself headlong into it. I have a fanfiction.net account I’ve long since forgotten my username and password for, but it’s out there with dramione fanfic, sasusaku, things that I liked at the time. I need to escape everything happening around me. My dad, my best friend, wasn’t anywhere near me, my mom was a bitch, and my demented grandmother moved in with us. It was miserable.

By the time I was 15, the only hobby I had outside of practicing for orchestra, was writing. I laid in bed on days off and just sat on my laptop, writing. I stopped publishing things after I got a mean comment once, my first one ever. It bruised the ego I didn’t even have so badly that I refused to publish anything for three years.

When I was 18, I published my first fanfic in 4 years. It was a Criminal Minds fanfic, featuring an OC and Spencer Reid. I was so fucking proud of it, and while lots of people loved it, a lot of people said mean shit. So, I posted Loki fanfic, which got infinitely more love, and then I did an alternate version of my Criminal Minds fic, that one got even more hate than the original. Then I published a Wallander fanfic. I haven’t touched them in 3 years, despite people asking me for more.

Up until this time last month, I never showed my writing to anyone. I kept everything to myself, hidden, I was ashamed of it. It is my only coping mechanism, but I couldn’t share it with anyone. My parents had my computer passwords up until I was about 16, sometimes they’d look through my text files and come to me later and tell me how amazing my writing was, and encourage me to publish it. But I never believed them.

On a whim, I started this blog; I love Boku no Hero Academia, it has given me something to look forward to every week. I live Chapter to Chapter, episode to episode, I track my time with it, it’s a coping mechanism. I saw that there was a decently active fandom on here, and I wanted to be a part of it. I hesitated on making the blog for a few weeks, thinking that no one would want to read my writing.

A month later, there are nearly 600 people here, constantly asking me to write scenarios and headcanons for them, telling me they love my writing, and think I’m a nice person, and that they’re glad I’m here. Every time I get a message like that, I cry. I never thought anyone would ever care about my writing, let alone write it. When I got a single follower that wasn’t a friend I know in real life, I cried. I was so excited. When I got my first request, I was so, so excited. When people began sending more stuff in, when people started talking to me and wanting to be friends, I cried. I’ve made a dozen friends on here as a direct result of their writing, and my writing.

I love running this blog, and I love writing for everyone. I have felt useless and like a waste of space my entire life, I’ve been told that my entire life, I’m made to feel like that every day of my life even now by the people around me, save for my friends, but when I log on here, I’m reminded that hey, maybe I’m not useless. If I manage to make even one person happy with what I do, that’s all I want.

So, you saying that my writing helps you, helps me. All I’ve ever wanted in life is to make other people happy, to please them, and my writing is apparently doing that. I’m really, really lucky to be in this position.

Even if you don’t have something like this, you’re not useless. You should be here. I know you said you’d never kill yourself because you’re too cowardly, but I’ve never seen suicide as cowardly, but that’s probably because I’ve tried to do it so many times. I’ve made a total of 8 attempts in 21 years. I don’t think I’ll be trying it again, though. It’s taken me 21 years to find something that I’m kind of maybe a little good at, that makes me even a tiny bit happy, and that does some good for other people, too.

Shit sucks, life is really awful, and I completely understand the plethora of reasons any given person would feel like wanting to die. I’ve never thought it unreasonable or dramatic to feel that way, it’s just how some people feel. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life until 3 years ago, and even now I’m unsure if it’s really what I want to do with my life. I’ve got a lot going on behind the scenes that makes me feel like shite, and a lot of the time, the people around me try to ruin what little I have that I enjoy and that makes me happy…

Even with all that happening, somehow, I’m still here, and I’m writing this. I don’t know what’s going on with you, but I get your feelings, I hear you, they’re valid, and I love you, stranger. Because I feel the same way as you all the time. This blog is my escape from that. It’s really the only thing I have keeping me from my intrusive thoughts.

If you never come off anon, that’s fine, but if you need to talk about things, I’m here for you, or anyone else who needs it. Really, if I can even try to help, I’ll do my damnedest to help. I hate seeing other people feeling as junk as I do on a daily basis, I want to try and make it better. If being a friend, even if I don’t know who you are, helps, I want to help. If writing things helps, I want to do it. But, for me, it’s not just helping other people, it’s helping myself. You coming into the box helped me. So, you’re not useless. You’re keeping me here, too.

#anon #not a request #chiichat #admin post #tw suicide #tw rape #read at your own risk

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