#something something 'if we keep writing on that wall someone would read it' from orv

[daily-linkclick]

I SAW ALL OF YOUR NICE WORDS AND IM FLOORED AAAA genuinely thank you all i'm going to SOB HANWKDKWK

thank you everyone for following this blog for the daily doodles! i think i'll officially stop the daily doodles (for now) but i'll still be uploading doodles from time to time! i'm so happy to see a lot more link click fans on tumblr, and to see a lot more people appreciate the trio and the stories they touch :]

[currently-not-studying]

If I had to ever pick a protagonist that I myself in the most it would be Kim Dokja (surprise of a century, I am running an ORV blog). But give me a second to rant.

The premise of being kept alive by a story. Surviving abuse just so you can learn what comes next in the book or fanfiction or comic you're invested in. Re-reading the same thing to give yourself comfort. Writing comments to some random author to thank them for their story (bc saying they are the only thing keeping you alive feels like a little bit too much).

And oh the 4th wall. The constant dissociation, being cut off from your feelings. The need to copy someone from a book when you don't know what to do. The feeling of not being worthy of love. Forgetting parts of your abuse up until one day you realize what happened.

Of course we are not the same. I was never hospitalized for my attempts and my dad is a decent guy. But to see someone with a story of abuse thriving, surviving and his pain not seen as too much, talking about suicide attempts not as a dirty secret but something that happened but he survived. I survived. It took years to find people who care about us but we did it. We reconnected with the better parent. We are still here

[rusquared]

i was scrolling through so many poems about love and loss and grief and then i saw this and cried a little lmao. if you'll allow me to ramble further, only tangentially related to orv:

i was looking for poems i could relate to orv. because i want to draw and i want to hear people say "this spoke to me" or just, yknow, a #ough. i skipped past poems that couldn't hold my attention long enough, or that didn't excite my heart, or that, well, didn't "fit". and of course they didn't. i can't love every piece of poetry (though a purely academic admiration may still be possible). not every poem will touch upon my specific kind of heartbreak. not every story will keep me turning pages till the end.

but they were still written by someone, right? someone sat down with a pen and with their beautiful, ordinary, mysterious life they wrote a story. i will never know what it was like to be them. they will also never know what it was like to be me, typing away at a blank google doc. my recounts of the happiest day of my life might be just too verbose for them, or they just can't see why a small karaoke place would make me cry.

and yet, in between we find snippets. you mourn your past like i do, i miss my friends like you do. you loved a boy and i wondered if i would feel the same, and i mourned my young self and somehow she looked just like you. sometimes a poem is for only one person in the whole world until i read it and suddenly it is for my person in my whole world.

like this we continue. writing is inherently selfish. even as i write you a love letter it is mostly so my heart doesn't shatter from the weight. also because i love you. also because i love you and i don't know how to translate my heartbeat and brain waves into something, so i chose english. also because paint was the only thing that would stick on your wall and i don't think you could hear me singing.

say you never read it. say i chose the wrong language, actually, and you spoke hindi. say you did read it, and you looked away. say you read it and understood me completely and wrote me back. say i read that and couldn't understand you.

when the words leave my hands i have no control over how they reach you, and how you receive them. but it was better to have written. every choice we make opens a million alternate universes with different futures. still, because i wrote, every possibility ahead of us will start with the fact that i told you i love you.

thinking several thoughts this evening about relationships of all varieties and love and connection and. hey. how do we make it through the world loving each other while being so aware that we're all broken. i cannot and should not fix you, because that isn't a thing, but i don't know how to live with my heartbreak and yours and i wonder if there is a way i could make it better for both of us.

orv would tell me that that's the whole point. we were never made to fully comprehend the other and to heal their broken parts for them. we could gather all of their pieces and still it would not be them, it would not be them unless they willed their own happy ending.

but we still write on that wall. why?