#i legitimately cannot remember anything about my childhood up until like middle school

[zackhq-blog]

well hello !! you just saw me yesterday, but this time i’m coming at you with my second muse !! now look - i told myself i wasn’t going to have two, but he came to my mind after creating chunja and i loved them both too much to choose !! so without further ado, i present to you my complete opposite actual baby zachary “zack” choi !! he’s in kdi & has way too much going on. but anyways you can click here for his profile, and under the cut is some info on him, i tried to make his shorter, i swear !! and i forgot to say on her’s, but like this if you’re interested in some plotting !! i can’t wait to interact with you all.~

his full name is zachary taeho choi, taeho being his korean/middle name ! but he hates zachary because it’s so formal and he definitely is not - so zack is both his stage name and preferred name since practically...always !!

so !! his story actually begins in la, california. his parents split shortly after he was born so while he sees his dad from time to time, his mom has been the main one supporting him both financially & emotionally, so she’s really his only active parental figure ?? 

this is a big reason why he’s so maternal and emotionally transparent ?? the toxic masculinity just didn’t pass over to him bc his mom always taught him how to be in tune with his emotions, embrace them, and just to care for everyone freely !! which is a big reason why he’s so affectionate now. 

he’s a second gen korean american and was raised by a pretty american mom !! his parents never learned korean and therefore didn’t teach him, which is why he struggled so much to adjust when he got here !

also the only child, so if you wonder why he’s always so eager around the kdi boys and referring to them as his brothers - there you go !! he always wanted siblings !!

totally irrelevant fact but he was such a skater boi back in la and will kill for a chance to show some of his tricks nowadays !! he’s just like....begging someone to ask him to skate lmao !! but since he doesn’t really have the chance now he just rolls around in his hoverboard because he is a legitimate child !

but look - this boy has aaaalways loved to rap and sing. way before so!ar, kdi, any of it ! his mom loves music too, and he grew up surrounded by it in la, so quickly grew attached to it ! also loves attention, which just meant he was a little performing machine wherever he meant !! i’m saying dancing down the grocery aisles at five years old to grocery store music type of extra everyone

but his interest for kpop didn’t really peak until later on ! he tried out for a middle through high performing arts school when he got to the 6th grade ! fun fact he performed look at me now and they thought he was a joke rip...but what got him in was singing stereo hearts !! don’t you love the early 2010s everyone

anyways he got in for singing !! and there was just like ... a wave of kpop stans wanting to be like idols there !! at first he was really put off & a little weirded out because he’d never been into it but !!

for a showcase these girls performed a kpop song ( the boys if you were curious sksk ) and baam !! he went down this endless kpop rabbit hole which hasn’t ended to this day.

 so he basically his love for kpop transferred into his love for korean culture ! he wanted to know more about his origins, so got into the language, history & all that. so around this time was when he contemplated traveling to the country ! but never expected to move there, or anything. 

it was only right before christmas of his junior year did things start to change !! news about online video auditions for so!ar spread in his school like a w i l d f i r e. but zack really knew he wasn’t that good of a singer in comparison to his other classmates, and didn’t expect anything out of it !! but he did feel a lot more comfortable in his rap skills, so took a risk and rapped as his primary skill !

so you could imagine this boy was...confused af when he got called back !! he hadn’t even told his mom about it, or really anyone so that they wouldn’t get their hopes up. he hadn’t expected for it to go anywhere and now that it had...he didn’t really know what to do ! 

but when he eventually got around to telling is mom ?? she was soso excited !! she was basically .... a failed musician as a teen sksks, so she was happy to see her son have a real shot at fame. so zack was kind of like - wait slow down what’s going on ?? but she was like book the flight to korea !! right now !!

initially, the plan was for him to go for his in-person audition then spend the rest of winter break in korea with his mom, but that didn’t really work because he was chosen & given the shot to train as long as he could start right away ! he ... hadn’t expected to make it that far at all and was really at a loss of what to do since he had a whole life in la !

but after talking to his mom for a bit, she basically told him the story of how she missed out on opportunities & felt unfulfilled, so at a point he was kind of just like fine !! let’s do it !! and started the move there.

everything was fine at first - he got enrolled in a korean school, he was having fun working toward his dream, and his mom was staying nearby in an air bnb, but the move was temporary, and after a month she had to return to the states. that was when things got really hard, and really real for zack. he was only 15 at the time, barely knew any of the language, and his only family were aunts and uncles he’d barely met. it was a really rough patch in his move & probably when he was visibly the saddest !! 

def considered moving back many times at this point to just feel happy again, since he had such an attachment to his old life !! but the friends he’d made made things a lot easier !

at first when he was placed in kdi he didn’t know what to expect - they had this delinquent type image to them, and zack being the babiest person ever didn’t know if he could fit it !!

and at first, he was really awkward, trying to work as well in the rougher concepts as he did the cute ones. but nowadays he’s gotten a lot better and his rap skills have helped a lot with him gaining duality, something he’s now known for !!

 now for some tidbits on him !!

he’s got two fan nicknames - the meme king, which he technically gave himself on a vlive because this toddler will not stop referencing memes & vines !! and the last is zenergy, because he’s always at two extremes - either passed out sleep on the couch, or up and bouncing off the walls !! there’s no in between !!

suuuper affectionate !! sometimes it can come off as overbearing but i swear he means well. he just got a lot of love during his childhood and feels like he should pass it on !! like if someone’s teasing and is like “awww you love me !!” he’s like “yeah of course ??” also means he depends on people a lot for attention & overall validation ! just.... a whole softie when it comes to that okay

also i must mention he willingly ships himself with everyone ??

but on the other hand, a very closeted very shy/panicked bi !! like if he thinks a guy’s being serious and flirting with him ? he will freeze ! he’s just not used to the idea & just really is figuring his feelings out. but he stays having unexpected crushes because he’s a lovebug so oh well ! this is something he’ll probably struggle with for a bit, but that’s what development’s for, folks !

a whole ass momma’s boy ! he loves her with his whole heart, especially since she sees how hard she worked to support the two of them ! he has a rough time being away from her, but you can catch him facetiming her everyday !!

also v chivalrous ?? his mom would beat his ass if he didn’t use manners so you can catch him opening doors, pulling chairs back for people, all that ! a lot of people seem to think that’s all fanservice but no...he literally Cannot not do it !!

oh and his duality is a little shocking ?? but like i said before, it’s been something he’s had to work on. he struggled a lot at first especially since his korean pronunciation wasn’t up there, so it was hard for him not to be so focused on that ! but now that he’s more confident in his skills it’s easier to play up their concepts for cameras, so he can definitely switch it up for cameras nowadays ! but...turn them off and he’s a baby lamb all over again everyone

he can be very lazy ! has all the ambition but none of the energy. if he doesn’t want to do something, he can put up a whole fit about it, so kdi members beware !! just put him in his place, he’ll get over it sksksk

relating to that, he respects his kdi hyungs a lot !! you have to remember he was a true baby when he came to korea to train, so he depended on them & other trainees a lot. he hasn’t forgot that and nowadays would do anything for them ! therefore takes their opinions very seriously and is just...a baby around them !

but @ the future kdi maknae: he may swear he’s baby, but he also swears you’re his child !! 

a major kpop stan nowadays !! like past him wouldn’t believe it ?? a huge gg stan especially, and he’s learning all the new dances everyday !!

still in the honeymoon phase lowkey...? like he can’t even believe he’s famous !! it still comes as a shock for him, and therefore he reacts to nearly all “omg you’re so famous i love you !!” fans with a “thanks ig?? i’m literally just zack but ok”

he does want to explore other entertainment fields eventually, especially variety & music production !! 

also remember how i said he loves vines ?? yeah my ask message on the main wasn’t for nothing ! he reenacts the zack stop vine nearly everyday folks

alright this is long let’s move to wanted connections ! i think that’s all anyways ?? if not i’ll add more later ! but for now, let’s go !!

wanted connections

best friends !! please give zack someone stupid to act out with ok

someone who helped him adjust to korea when he first got here & took him under their wing !! maybe they’ve developed a sibling type relationship ?

a grumpy muse who he’s always trying to cheer up & make happy !

maybe another foreign muse to share his stuggles with ?? i don’t know if there are other la muses but if so childhood friends are an option !

he would 100% goof off with all the staff so whenever they get some staff he’d love to get kdi into some mess with them !

the one person who he just really doesn’t like ??

cute little crushes !!

language exchange buddies ?? it doesn’t have to be just korean !

someone he really looks up to & adores !!

a partner in crime - they’re always sneaking out the dorm, going thrill seeking and just having fun together !

frenemies !!

i’ll add more as i think of it !

[dontstopbereaving]

I don’t have a story

The podcast I co-host got sponsored by a new-wave bra company that champions body positivity and body diversity, and as part of our advertising agreement I had to order a bra from them. I was very interested and excited in this, because bra shopping has more or less been a non-question for me. Blessed with what would probably be a 36AA if such a bra was ever manufactured — I am wide and flat and should have been a swimmer, probably — the adolescent horror and thrill of suddenly having boobs to manage and shop for has never really been on the table. I remember so vividly, the summer between my freshman and sophomore year, staying with an old friend from middle school and hanging out in her bedroom. She was lying on her bed and reading a magazine and said, apropos of nothing, "ugh, don't you hate it when your boobs slide down to your armpits when you're reading?" I nodded, having no idea what she was talking about.

Anyway, this bra company didn't carry a 36AA, but after taking a quiz about what $68 expertly engineered bra would be perfect for me, I ordered whatever they recommended. It arrived wrapped in delicate pink tissue paper, and I took it out and held it up and felt my heart sink. I knew from looking at it that it would look ridiculous on me; trying it on confirmed that. They had a number to call where you could talk to a "fit specialist" and of course I did that, and some nice girl in the Bay Area told me that if that bra didn't fit me, they had a selection of leisurewear bralettes.

But I don't want a bralette, dammit! I am not a tween, and though they aren't much to write home about I do have breasts that must be managed. This company's advertising seems to trumpet the arrival of a "bra for every woman," and even within their progressive spectrum of what that means, I fell on the outside of it. The whole process carried a lot more gravity than I expected.

The bra arrived in the heat of the Brett Kavanaugh confirmation firestorm, which had me on edge and moody all week for both the obvious reasons and reasons that I was more confused about articulating, or whether or not I should. The prospect of an attempted rapist and alcoholic being given a post in the highest court in the land is the most harrowing and torturous chapter of the MeToo world we now live in, and the stories from my friend and peers and people I don't know but follow on Twitter started being dropped almost hourly. Most women I know have been raped or sexually assaulted in their lives. The most visible and audible woman's experience right now is that of the victim; those with platforms and followings are being encouraged to share their story in solidarity, in order to shore up the most prominent, contested ones, to create a narrative that yes, this does happen, it happens all the time.

I don't have a rape story, and I don't have an assault story. In the past year, wondering why I don't has led me down a weird guilt spiral that inevitably ends with the re-realization that there's no reason that I don't. There's nothing I did right. It just didn't happen to me. This is disconcerting to me, in the context of a life where I have always felt left out of the things that supposedly comprise the experience of being a woman. It's not just the bra thing, though that's a useful metaphor. I've always felt left out of femininity, I've always had more male friends than female friends, going back to early childhood. Girls tormented me as a child, and as an adolescent, and as an adult; on the whole I have felt the emotional violence of other women more acutely than that of men. And yet, I know the latter exists.

Sometimes it feels like sharing one's own story of assault is the only powerful tool a woman can have against a patriarchy in its violent death throes, which often leaves me feeling useless in our social media-driven dialogue. The stories of sexual violence coming from women both famous and not, while harrowing, has also, to this outsider at least, appeared as a kind of global bonding experience. Which is really important for those who have been victims. But I want there to be a language for women to be advocates for each other that goes beyond "me, too" in its most literal sense. Because I cannot honestly say "me, too," and yet, nearly any woman I've ever been close with enough has told me about that time in college, or that date that went bad, or that time in eighth grade. I believe them, and I believe women I've never met before, not because it's happened to me, too, but because I know how the world works and I believe them.

I want to tell one story that is not a rape story, but it is a Hollywood story, and it's a story about a powerful Hollywood man. This story might not end the way you think it will!

When I was in college, a male classmate of mine wanted to cast a famous actor, let's call him Gary, in his thesis film. His dad had some connections, and I had gamely signed on to be my friend's AD, which meant when he went to a swanky event with the purpose of being introduced to this guy and hopefully turning it into a collaboration, he asked me to come along. I was excited, we were very young and to land this actor for a student film would be a coup; it felt like a bank heist. On the way over we were giddy and silly, "what if Gary says yes? What if he wants to do a feature?" etc etc. It was fun to at least be party to a young white man's Hollywood dreams on the cusp of coming true.

We went to the venue with his father. I expected that at some point my friend's dad would introduce us to Gary, and then let us take the lead and talk about this film my friend wanted to make. But my friend's dad didn't seem to know how to go about it. Maybe he didn't really know Gary at all. Who knows. My friend had also frozen up, and I remember sitting at the bar, my gaze going from this father and son, over to Gary in the corner of the room, who looked all too approachable. "You guys are too scared?" I asked incredulously. "Why don't you go over and charm him with your feminine wiles," my friend said. It was a joke, but of course it wasn't, and I felt like I had a lot to prove, so I went over and introduced myself to Gary.

I don't remember much about our conversation, I remember his eyes on me, and I remember feeling giddy and high with the power of his attention. I should maybe emphasize — Gary is extremely famous. You all know who he is and you probably love him. He has a pretty stellar reputation. I didn't have a particular thing for him, but after that conversation I remember feeling like I understood what real stardom was about. I had "dated" a minor TV star very briefly before that but this was on another level. Still, I was very mission-oriented, and made sure the conversation came back to praising my friend's script, and how awesome the film was going to be. I told him he had to see the film he had worked on with his dad, that had played at Berlin — Berlin! — so he could appreciate their genius. Gary seemed amenable to this. I had some little note cards from a Japanese stationary store in Little Tokyo on me, and I wrote my phone number down on one of them and gave it to Gary, who seemed beyond charmed. Then I went back to my friend and his dad, buzzing, but cynical enough to shrug. "I'm sure he'll never get in touch, but we'll see!"

We left shortly after. I remember wondering if this had been the plan all along, to throw me at Gary like in order to have an audacious, talked-about thesis film. I probably felt more flattered at the time than anything else to be considered worthy bait.

I remember where I was when Gary called my little Motorola flip phone — in my cubicle at the camera shop I worked at, probably reading Jezebel. I remember the surreality of his voice — that voice! — coming through the speaker. "This is Gary," he said. Duh, I thought. He wanted to know if I wanted to see a movie with him, maybe get dinner after. Ever the professional, I asked if we would talk about my friend's film. He seemed uninterested. I also, it should be mentioned, had a boyfriend at the time, and though I was starstruck I was not starstruck enough to just go to dinner and a movie with Gary with no pretense of artistic ambition on the table. I refused politely, but said that if he ever wanted to watch the film, I would get him a copy.

My friend, obviously, was tickled beyond belief by all this. This had become a secret extracurricular, a spy mission we would whisper about in between classes. My friend was adamant that we get Gary a screener of my friend's father's film, and soon I had negotiated an arrangement, with the stipulation that I now wonder about the legitimacy of, that I could not just leave it with him. I had to watch it with him, at his house, and take the DVD with me.

I remember driving up the winding hills to Gary's house, playing M.I.A.'s Kala extremely loudly to pump myself up. I remember being buzzed in at the gate and walking up a staircase through tropical plants and water features until I arrived at Gary's modernist, castle-like home perched in the hills. I remember how empty his home was, how sad it seemed. He asked if I wanted anything to drink, and I said, water, and he opened up his impressive Sub-Zero which contained a Brita pitcher and a lone tray of grocery store sushi.

We went to the living room, me clutching the little plastic DVD case like it was the one legitimizing thing in the whole room. I was there to help my friend, I was there to help my friend. I gave it to Gary, and he put it in the DVD player — shockingly, the DVD player in the living room didn't work. We would have to go to the one in his bedroom.

I don't remember if I could see right through this at the time, certainly by the next day I could. Gary put in the DVD in his bedroom entertainment system and then laid back on his California King bed, his lanky legs crossed over the fur throw. He held out one arm, beckoning me, and I pretended not to notice. There was a small ottoman at the foot of the bed, and I sat on it, hunched forward throughout the entirety of my friend's dad's stupid awful sophomoric Berlinale-approved movie, sipping on my water, being so good and professional and helpful.

Gary eventually turned down the opportunity to be in my friend's UCLA undergrad thesis film, no fucking shit. I never heard from him again. I wonder if what would have happened if I would have joined him on the bed, and if my friend would have had Gary — THE Gary, in his thesis film, and if it would have set him off on an exciting idiosyncratic career as a young auteur. How great that would have been for my friend.

I got a lot of mileage out of that story for many years — the time I went to Gary's house and he tried to get me to watch a movie with him in his bed. I played it up for laughs. I was certain that I looked like the cool person in that story.

A few things I appreciate a decade after the Gary incident:

Gary never tried anything with me. I sat on that ottoman, and there I stayed. I took the DVD with me when I left, he kissed my cheek, and that was that. Gary, in my experience at least, was a good guy in a Hollywood full of bad ones, and I was lucky.

My friend 100% tried to offer me up as bait to get Gary to be in his UCLA undergraduate thesis film, and so did his adult father, and this was funny to them.

Yes, I was good and drank water and sat on the ottoman, but Gary is a big person, and if he wanted to change that he could have. It wouldn't have mattered what I did right

Whenever I see Gary in a film — or in person, which has happened a few times because of my job — I get incredibly anxious and crazy feeling, despite the fact that he was good and really didn't do anything wrong — because I remember being in that weird empty luxurious house, and now I can look back and realize how young and dumb I was and how one of my young dumb male peers decided to use that to his advantage.

The MeToo movement has me reinterrogating events like this and others, where I was powerless but the worst didn't befall me. Why, why, why? It's a stupid question. Is there something about me that just doesn't attract violent men, socially or romantically? Is it my AA tits? My general left-behindness in all things popularly understood to be a part of the "female experience?" I've been so stupid, so many times, and experienced plenty of degrading shit that still doesn't fall into the category of assault and isn't something worth airing because it doesn't torture me; I don't have PTSD, it hasn't meaningfully disrupted my life. (My own brain does that on its own.) This is not the moment for non-stories like mine.

But I absolutely believe that there was nothing particularly game-changing that kept any of that from happening to me. And I understand the dynamics of a scene like that — where you're alone in a guy's house way up in the hills and he's the one with all the power, when you're alone with a guy in his car and he won't unlock the door to let you out, when you black out and find out a guy you thought was your friend was throwing himself on you in your absence. Any of those guys could have been rapists, and they weren't. Nothing about me or my actions would have changed that.

I have felt pent up with all of this for a year, as soon as it became apparent that the dominant dialogue among women would be sharing stories of trauma and violence. Because I don't have a tale of horror to peel off and lay before the reading public, but I have just a regular-ass life experience that absolutely corroborates all those tales of horror. It is not much — and I hope it stays that way. But I thought I'd share it.

[to-dance-beneath-the-diamond-sky]

You might not be answering since this is from a bit of an old post. Swooping Evil, Glumbumble, pixie, mooncalf and ghoul.

Okay, so first off, THANK YOU lovely anon for sending me this!!!! I love getting asks! And also THANK YOU for actually scrolling back through my blog to even see this! Cause like this is from a while ago! So this is from this Harry Potter Magical Creature Themed Ask. Alright, so here we go!

Swooping Evil: In what way are you often misunderstood?

Hmmm, I feel like I like to think that I’m just an incredibly misunderstood person *sigh* but honestly, I don’t know if that’s just me being overdramatic or if that’s actually true lol.  

I’m often misunderstood by people who don’t realize that I’m being sarcastic, which is actually quite unfortunate because it causes a lot of problems.  

Like, apparently I look like someone who’s very sincere/innocent (or so I’ve been told) and I come across as kind of shy and sweet (lmao I know) especially to people that I’m not close with.  And, I have a very wry sense of humor, like my sarcasm is pretty subtle/dry and I say it pretty straight-faced, and I feel like my sense of humor is a bit more sophisticated/subtle (that’s what one of my therapists told me anyway) and so people don’t always get whatever joke I’m making, and then on top of that, they think I’m this sweet little goody-two-shoes innocent thing who is Sincere™ and all that, so they get all taken aback when I’m sarcastic.  They either think they’ve severely offended me or they think I’m being a bitch or they just feel incredibly uncomfortable because they think I’m being honest.

And then of course, I always make everything considerably more awkward and ten times worse by trying to explain my joke and proceeding to talk myself into a giant hole (thanks anxiety).

So, an example of this is how when I was 14 I had surgery on my neck/throat and for several years I had a pretty noticeable scar across my throat.  And I used to be super self conscious about it, so I’d try to joke about it anytime someone commented on it.  So whenever someone asked me what the scar on my neck was, I’d look them straight in the eye and be totally nonchalant/casual and say something like “oh I got into a knife fight but it’s fine you should see the other person” or “I was kidnapped and held hostage at gun–well technically knife–point, but like it’s fine ‘cause the police killed the guy in a shootout so it’s all good.”  

And let me put this in perspective, I was literally the most innocent 14 year old ever.  Like, I went to an all girls school, I wore bows in my hair pretty much every day, I never wore makeup, my entire wardrobe was pink, I was a total goody two shoes, I never understood any innuendo or dirty jokes, I didn’t even know let alone talk to any boys, and I didn’t swear.  Like, I was so innocent (see the photo below of 14 year old me for reference)

So it was so completely outlandish/absurd because there was no way it was true.  So I’d say that as a joke because lmao have you seen me?  But like, so many people legitimately believed me and got all freaked out.  And eventually I told them I was being sarcastic, but it was always fun to see how fucking gullible some idiots were lol.

So yeah, my humor is often misunderstood.  And that example’s pretty innocuous but other times my sarcasm has actually caused legit problems, like with people getting mad at me (one of my teammates and former roommates got offended by something I said (though she never told me what it was specifically I did to offend her so much, but I’m assuming it was something I said sarcastically that she didn’t understand and just assumed was me being rude because in all honesty I’m pretty nice to people and I go above and beyond out of my way to make sure that I don’t ever say anything offensive or that could hurt people’s feelings (since I’m an oversensitive bitch who obsessively overthinks/freaks out/worries/gets hurt by about absolutely everything, I figure that other people might be that way too so I should do my best not to hurt them (and then of course my anxiety + overthinking leads to me being overly cautious not to hurt people’s feelings or say insensitive things))) and refused to talk to me or even acknowledge my existence for almost five months, which was actually a really big fucking pain in the ass because we saw each other literally every day and there are only 15 people on the team but whatever).  Wow that was long, lol sorry

Glumbumble: What’s something that makes you really melancholy?

A lot of things lol.  I mean, I have a shit ton of mental illnesses/disorders, BPD and depression included, so I spend a lot of time being pretty melancholy lol.  Like stupid little things trigger me.  Though I guess being melancholy is different than being/feeling depressed, but honestly, I can’t really tell the difference.  Because I don’t really just get a little bit sad/melancholy.  I get severely depressed.  I don’t experience any small emotions, everything for me is turned way up to the extreme (thank you BPD you fucking bitch).  I don’t feel things a little bit, or halfway.  Everything is intense.  So like, if being melancholy is different than being depressed, assuming it’s less intense, then I don’t really know what it’s like because I don’t really experience it.  When I’m sad, I don’t just feel melancholy/blue, I feel catatonically depressed and suicidal.  So yeah.  Sorry that doesn’t really answer that and that was probably waaaaay TMI.

Pixie: Do you like play tricks on people?

Not really.  I mean, with my roommate/(former)best friend I always loved to sneak up on her and jump out at her.  But honestly, I only did that because she legit screamed and fell out of her chair every single fucking time.  And it was hilarious.  But other than that, nah I’m not really a trick playing kind of person.  Like, I’ll be sarcastic and play tricks on one or two of my friends by pretending that we had an assignment/test that day.  But really, I only did that with one or two specific people and it was a joke that we always had because they never paid attention in class and always asked me what the homework was and saved everything until last minute and was just all around super lazy. 

Mooncalf: How adorable are you?

Well.  Here’s the thing.  When I was a child I was absolutely adorable.  Like 100% adorable, most likely the cutest child in the room. And like, not just cute looking, but apparently I was super friendly/bubbly/happy/cuddly/sweet/etc. (I say apparently because I can’t fucking remember being that way, hell I can’t even remember the majority of my childhood but that’s a whole other story, but that’s what I’ve been told by all the adults who knew me as a kid).  And also, I said/did super cute things and I loved the color pink more than life and always wore bows in my hair.  Like I’m not joking I was the fucking most adorable thing ever.  (lol I don’t know what happened)

Allow me to prove this point.  

Now please forgive me for posting so many pictures, but I like to reminisce about the fact that once upon a time I was actually cute. Like, I honestly don’t know what happened.

As for now, my current level of adorableness is in the eye of the beholder.  So basically, to some, perhaps I am adorable but it truly is a question of taste lol.  

Aesthetically/physically, I don’t think I am even remotely adorable. Personally, I actually think I’m pretty ugly to be honest (years of self hatred and mental illness tend to do that to you).  But I guess to other people I’m probably not absolutely hideous or anything.  As for general adorableness, it depends who you ask.  So like, to some people perhaps my quirks/oddities are adorable but to other people I’m just crazy as fuck.  I personally of the opinion that I am a complete and total loser lol.

I still love pink.  And I still like wearing bows/flowers in my hair.  I also have this pink piggy hat that I got in middle school that I wear during the winter (my friends all make fun of me so much, but honestly I think the hat is fucking adorable and it’s warm and I don’t care if I look stupid) So on that front, maybe I’m adorable to some people.  But it could just as easily be seen as childish and stupid.  

Now I have some…erm...quirks that could maybe possibly be seen as adorable in some instances.  Like I have this ridiculous thing where I snort when I laugh.  I personally find it unbelievably unfortunate and unattractive but several of my friends have told me it’s endearing and that the boy that falls in love with me (lol let’s be real, that’s never going to happen) will think it’s absolutely adorable.  I also make the most ridiculous little cat squeaking/squealing noises when I get hurt or am surprised or when I fall down (same with the unfortunate laugh; I personally think it’s embarrassing and unattractive like no other, but I have friends who disagree).  Which is another thing, I’m clumsy AF.  I trip and stumble and fall a lot.  I am personally of the opinion that that’s not even remotely cute, but some people have said that it’s cute/endearing.  

I also get really really really distracted by fluffy animals (dogs especially) and will literally stop talking mid conversation to point out a squirrel and go say hi to it (I’m legit like the dog from UP), and I must pet every single dog/cat I see.  And I will legitimately have extensive in depth conversations with dogs (I worked as a dog walker over the summer, and one time I accidentally butt-dialed my mom and left her a four and a half minute voicemail of me talking to the dog I was walking lmao)

And I get super enthusiastic about things.  And when I’m excited I absolutely lose my shit.  Like I get so excited I squeal and jump up and down and talk at 10,000 words a minute.  When I smile when I’m super happy, I legit look like a fucking chipmunk (I’ve been told this by numerous people on numerous occasions).  Sometimes when I’m super excited I get so hyper and I do a little excited happy dance and hop up and down and wave my arms because I can’t contain my excitement.

I have this awful habit of always singing/humming under my breath because I always have songs stuck in my head.  And I literally cannot stop myself from singing along to songs that I like.  Also I have a really good memory for song lyrics and lines/quotes, and whenever someone says something that happens to be a line from a song, I literally cannot stop myself from bursting into song and singing the song that they inadvertently quoted. (I have a particularly large repertoire of songs from broadway musicals).  And I love different accents and dialects and stuff and I do them all the time, and sometimes I don’t realize that I’ve accidentally switched into some other accent mid sentence.

Basically, I’m a lot like a small child.  So if you find that endearing, then you might think I’m adorable.  But if not, lol I’m a fucking crazy loser.  Anyways, here are some pictures from the past couple years, so you can judge yourself whether or not you think I’m adorable.  As I said before, I personally am of the opinion that I am a massive nerd and I am unbelievably uncool and I literally have zero social skills and I am weird as fuck and the definition of a loser.  But you can judge for yourself.

(me pretending to be all edgy and cool with my fake tat sleeve at my high school graduation party but I’m legit wearing a fucking flower crown so...)

(for no other reason than the fact that I wanted to climb a tree)

(btw all this money is from a fundraiser for the community service club, which I was co-president of, and my friend and I were counting it to see how much we raised)

Wow that was fucking long.  Sorry about that lol

Ghoul: Is there something you do that really annoys people?

Oh definitely.  I’m pretty sure that I’m a highly annoying person.  Hell I annoy the crap out of myself most days.  But the first thing that comes to mind is my ridiculously deep sleep and subsequent alarm clock paranoia.  That has driven all of my past roommates nuts.  Basically, I am always in a state of severe sleep deprivation because I spend waaaaayyy too much time doing my work (I’m a perfectionist + I have ADHD + OCPD + a learning disability + lots of other super fun psychiatric disorders which means that basically I don’t fucking sleep).  And when I finally do sleep, I pass the fuck out.  Like I’ll legitimately sleep for 32 hours straight (yes I know that’s not even remotely healthy).  And the problem is that some of the medications I take make it so that I cannot sleep.  So I have to take another medication so that I can actually sleep.  But it knocks me the fuck out, and it makes it really hard to wake up.  And the problem is that I have shit I need to wake up for, like classes, team practice, or because I have a shit ton of work to do.  And I know that I’m a super heavy sleeper and I get soooo paranoid about sleeping through my alarms and missing classes/other things I need to go to (it’s happened a lot) so I set literally over 70 different alarms on my phone for when I need to wake up.  I’ll start the alarms about an hour before I need to get up and have one every ten minutes, and then once it gets closer to the time that I need to wake up, I have an alarm literally every other minute.  And I literally keep the alarms going for hours and hours after the time I’m supposed to wake up in case I totally slept through the first set(s) (it’s happened).  And because I’m so terrified of sleeping through things, I tend to just not sleep, which of course makes it worse when I finally do sleep.

Basically where I’m going with this is that I am a fucking pain in the fucking ass. I sleep through my alarms and literally don’t even budge and they just keep going off for hours.  Yeah.  It’s not good.  I know it’s a problem.  My roommate last year, who was also my best friend, would bring out her angry man voice when my alarms started going off.  Her voice would go all low and super angry and she’d say my name really loudly and I swear that would wake me up like nothing else because I was fucking terrified of her.  She’d bark out my name and I’d instantly wake up and start apologizing while wildly fumbling to shut off the alarms (and then of course I’d fall back asleep the second I turned a bunch of them off and have no memory of this whatsoever because I wasn’t actually awake it was just like an unconscious stress response to her man voice and then this would happen again a few hours later when my alarms went off again).  And I always apologized to her so much over this, and we’d laugh about it (when neither of us were trying to sleep) and about how her grouchy/angry man voice is so low and how I’m legitimately terrified of it.  Plus she did tons of really annoying/bad shit as a roommate so she couldn’t get too mad at me.  She more just got grouchy when she was trying to sleep, which is totally understandable.  Plus I know I’m beyond annoying like that, and I feel awful about it, but it’s a medical problem and I can’t really help it, but I am working on it so :/

Wow this was crazy long and way more information than anyone wanted to hear, and frankly, I doubt anyone will even read this (which makes it even more absurd that I spent so fucking long writing this but whatever).  

Anyways thank you for sending me this ask and sorry for taking a while to answer it and for also giving waaaaaaaaaaaay TMI on it.  I hope you have a lovely day!

Lots of love,-Lia

[trliteraltrash]

I’m Not Childhood-trauma Case, Right?

First of all, please to not read this if you are triggered easily or do not want to read something fairly long. I see this as a sort of vent. I am not crying for help either - this head space of mine has no help to cry for.

There is no excuse for what you might see, so, do not tread lightly.

Under the cut is a watered down life story and an insight to my life should you care.

All of this is my truth.

It goes like this, one minute your searching up how to write about trauma, listening to the ambient sounds of your family outside your room, with the door that stays open because you can’t find it in you to clear the path for it to shut, yes, a lazy habit.

The next moment or so passes, you relate on some level to the posts your reading on Tumblr and Google, only, you can’t find yourself ticking the I was abused box because you really don’t know if you were.

Let’s place some cards on the table so you see the situation before you.

You’re parents’ are divorced, so already their titles are “Mum/Mom” and “Dad” not just your “Parents”. One was an alcoholic who physically and mentally abused the other, right up until you were about four years old.

You need some more information? Well, here’s a few more cards to this deck you sit atop.

You aren’t the only one in this little ‘situation’ of yours. You have an older sibling, three years apart, and a younger one, of almost three years again. In that sense, you’re the middle child. What happens when that is the case? You wouldn’t know, it only stayed that way for about twelve months.

Your mother has another partner at this point, a man with PTSD. they have two children together, he already had three kids. by the time you are nine years old you are one child of eight almost genetically related kids in the round-about loop. Only four of your siblings actually live with you. In total, you’re the third eldest. However, you are second eldest in your household.

You become very mature for your age, always quiet and observing. Every piece of information becomes catalogued. By the time you turn thirteen, you have anger problems, making regretful choices, having hit your friends a few times - they accept that. At this point in time you are attending your fifth school purely due to moving, a school becoming too expensive, or maybe both.

Your friends don’t stay long. You often wonder if they even remember you. You’ve also taken to drawing at this point. It’s easy to make messy beginner’s mistakes. No one seem’s bothered by your new obsession. You’re still quiet, finding small talk annoying.

By the end of year/grade seven, you’ve moved schools again. The information in this area shocks you, another chance presents itself - who do you want to be? You’ve tried the tough, anger type, the quite shy type, even the nerdy smart type by this point. You decide to make fast friends - maybe this is for the best.You suspect you’ll move on fast.

Oh, I seem to forget, before entering this point, you’ve had your first brush with a student trying to kill themselves in the middle of the classroom with a borrowed pair of scissors. The two girls next to his had counselling for it.

What was the point of counselling? You had never needed it. Moving forward, The friends around you had engaged in cutting. the first was an obvious cry for attention that you sated with genuine concern, the second you tried to help, even if it was triggered with words you heard as ‘I’ll stop when [they] stop.’ the third was the biggest cry for attention. Did you have to follow this ‘Trend’? you didn’t want to, your venting was to paper with a pen.

Writing became your best friend. As did drawing, both a cry for attention that no one could see. Bleeding hearts, bloodied and broken angels with their eyes missing, friends and family alike had died by this point, only fourteen years old and the nightmares each night have started on and off again.

an invisible pressure on your chest when you awake or go too sleep interrupting your already active mind. Each ‘vent’ drawing inspiring the word ‘beautiful’ from every person who sees.

Why don’t they ask whats wrong?

You cried a few times, long curly hair covering your shoulders as you cried so quietly in front of crowds of people who did nothing less than ignore you, literally. they knew of nothing that was wrong.

By the time you're sixteen, you’re at school number seven. you’ve done nothing wrong, only a few memories of play ground bullying coming back inconveniently - such as the time when you were in year/grade one and a group of boys had bullied you into physically fearing being by yourself on the playground. An altercation of a stick throw hitting the biggest one’s head, drawing minimal blood leaves you with black and blue bruises over your entire left side, 

The situation at sixteen is that you attempt to make others feel better about themselves whilst remaining the reserved optimistic pessimist that over analyses every situation. You’ve made new and old friends by this point.

The year feels as if it is going to be okay, dealing with your fathers partner of around six years isn’t as much of a hassle by this point. Your father himself is just happy to see you and has stopped asking your siblings if they will come to see him. He doesn’t know that She, his partner pushed him away with her controlling nature and abusive attitude that no doubt pushed her own children (the ones she had as a teen) away.

Now, nearing seventeen, you have started sorting more of your life out, your fathers partner has had the long winded debate of how much you dislike her in complex “You’re there with my father and despite your health issues that I do not find sympathy for (sorry) nor the almost excuse of ‘My own flesh and blood daughters don’t have anything to do with me’ spiel will work because I do not appreciate you calling yourself my stepmother.” will not excuse the problem that all the ways she tried to ‘win’ your affection would not work.

Your father did not tell you to apologise. You had refused to apologise to her in the first place.

Yet.

You still felt the need to explain yourself to him. Everything with him needs a reason.

Coming back to topic you will see that there are many cards here. All of the negative ones. overlooked school performances, playful jabs from siblings,a family that has two divorced people together in your main unit, another in the alcoholic father you only sometimes visit.

All of the experiences of your life may be part of what people know as ‘trauma’. You, or, more accurately: Me. The author of what you’re reading, do not believe this. If it were, perhaps there would have been some kind of counselling involved.

You see, in this sort of situation - I cannot find anyone who is in the same position. I do feel alone, as alone as I can when I live with so many people. It has become so easy to internalise hate and conversations that have never happened which plague my sleep or waking time.

Here are some more facts:

I am both Asexual and Bi-romantic.I have, on occasion felt curious about what people feel when the ‘release’ of cutting themselves occurs. I then remember that my older and younger sibling from my fathers, therefore my own bloodline have both caused this upon themselves. I do not want to continue this - I do not wish to inflict physical signs that I am hurt or damaged to the outside world.

I have thought about the implications of killing myself. I entertain the idea, but that is selfish and would cause my family and those who care pain.

I have, on many occasions, stayed at home when my siblings go out with my parents purely because I feel as though their short trips to places will make for a more comfortable car trip if I simply do not go - even if i have been told initially that I’d be going.

I don’t ask for items or anything that will cost money if i can go without it purely because I don’t want to be an expense - it is selfish and sometimes I still ask for experiences. When i get asked why i don’t ask for things I shrug, when really the answer is clear in my memories; My mother would almost desperately ask in a scolding tone to stop asking for things - after all, every one or two dollar item soon creates a large expense.

Because of this, I do not use the lunch money she gives on occasion.

There is a lot I do not do, or decide to do when I look back through my memories, I have spent many of these teen years hiding away when I could be outside, spending time with people.

I have grown use to this life of placing others before myself.

I have grown used to the word ‘fat’ or ‘bitch’ or, on occasion, internalising a flinch when someone raises their hand in a mock ‘hit’ only to think it’s funny when ‘Ha! I was finally able to scare you!’ not understanding that being hit is a legitimate fear that negates an automated reaction.

But no, my fear of being abused, not in some level of control, not in a safe environment (even slightly), being physically alone, of heights, of crying in front of people, et cetera, et cetera. is not something I label as trauma.

I do not wish to believe myself as a Childhood trauma case. However, sometimes when i listen to a song enough times, and read about how to write trauma, getting into the head space of, “Do I perhaps even nudge the surface of this vast ocean?” I cry myself a river that may only last a few tears on the outside, but is its own world of murk on the inside.

No, I am by no means strong. You may perceive my lack of tears, or the way I can lift over forty kilograms as strength. But I know that not to be true.

i simply know where and when it is acceptable to let the taped over glass bottle smash and be replaced with a slightly more reinforced one.

But sure, all of this and I am still an optimist. I’ll forever thank the one who wrote me:

“If we saw the world as brightly as you do, we would all be blind.”

because i choose to stay on the bright side, if another can be taught to see a little brighter, if only for a moment of my guidance, then I have done my job as a fellow human - a moment of normalcy in a rather uncaring mind.

because truthfully, I don’t care.

I feel everything so fucking strongly that I physically cannot turn away.

...

And the next moment after this run of unwanted reflection?

Well...

How

Do

You

Write

Trauma

?

[cetoddle]

girls who are finally starting to realize why they can’t remember anything about their childhood