When I followed you earlier today and then realized this blog wasn't even two days old it made me feel like I invested in a startup.
Do you think if you did the lyrics for Fireflies by Owl City, your database would give us fireflies? (Will also accept owls. And there's a line about sheep too).
String identified:
t
t
t t a a
'Ca t' t a
A a ta
' t
t t ta a ta
' t a
Tat at at t
t' a t a tat ' at ta
Aa ' a
'Ca tg a t
'Ca ' gt a ta g
t ta gtg g
A t t t tac t ac
A tt a a
A c at
A c a t agg a ta
' t a
Tat at at t
t' a t a tat ' at ta
Aa ' a
'Ca tg a t
a a
a t a cac
(a ta aa )
'Ca c a ac
(a ta aa )
t ctg
(a ta aa )
' a t t t a a
T t
' 'ca at g
gt t a t a a
t ' a a
a gt a a
'Ca a a a t a a
' t a
Tat at at t
t' a t a tat ' at ta
Aa ' a
'Ca tg a t
a a
' t a
Tat at at t
t' a t a tat ' at ta
Aa ' a
'Ca tg a t
a a
' t a
Tat at at t
t' a t a tat ' at ta
Aa ' a
ca a a tg at t a
Closest match: Sepia lycidas genome assembly, chromosome: 36
Common name: Kisslip cuttlefish
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do you ever think about how the night louis and lestat hooked up for the first time they'd been having dinner with louis' family and lestat likely hadn't fed yet and had instead spent the evening eating human food which canonically tastes awful to vampires and obvs does nothing to slake their thirst for blood so he was no doubt Very Very Hungry when he took the little drink from louis yet he was still able to control himself and not take too much because he was so in love with louis and had been in love with him for months hearing the pumping of his heart when they were together watching the blood slide down his veins wanting to taste him So Bad but not enough to kill him never enough to kill him...
do you ever think about how this is the way lestat looked at louis after................
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so while i was writing the book, i became violently suicidal.
this was mostly due to the fact that i had a very bad reaction to some meds and my brain stopped producing any serotonin. also i was in the last semester of grad school where it's actually illegal to feel anything but dread. so it wasn't going well.
somewhere in the fog of it i became aware i needed help. nobody was taking clients or my insurance. i didn't want to do inpatient care - it wasn't right for my needs. there's not really an "in between" stage between "inpatient" and "no care," but i was trying to do the right thing. i was trying to activate the chain of command that was my emergency plan. i knew i needed help now.
i used betterhelp.
i know, i know. i'm a straight-A student and so smart and so clever, how could i ever use something so blatantly bad. to be honest with you, i didn't feel particularly keen on it from the getgo - things that seem too good to be true usually are. also, if something online is free, the price is usually your privacy.
the thing is that there was kind of a global pandemic happening at the time and i worked 5 jobs alongside of being a fulltime student and also like writing a book on the side. it is a miracle that i even thought about getting help. i would love to tell you i had the mental wherewithal to like, process whether this was the right choice for me. mostly i was desperate. i was so suicidal that i was trying to find a reason to stay inside of fortune cookies. i was the kind of suicidal that looks like splatterpaint. i hadn't been that bad in an entire decade.
they took my data. i gave them it freely. somewhere out there, they have a dossier on me. on everything i survived. my story in little datapoints, scattergraphed beautifully.
the first woman told me that really i should be grateful, because (and this is a direct quote): "at least you're not anne frank." i said that i felt that statement was antisemitic, as anne frank's life and experience shouldn't be compared to like, a nonbinary lesbian in western massachusetts. the therapist said that i should try to use lucid dreaming to try to picture myself in an actually scary situation, like running from nazis.
i applied for another therapist. i was willing to accept the possibility that there was a bad apple in the bunch. the next therapist and i even laughed about how inappropriate that statement was. and then, in our next session: the new therapist said if i was struggling with body image issues, i should just work harder on my appearance. she spent 3 sessions in a row talking about how she was grieving, and made me memorize facts about her grandmother so "she can live on through my clients."
i am a three's-a-charm kind of person. okay, so what if the last person made me uncomfortable. i figured it was just a misunderstanding of priorities - she had felt she was sharing with me, i had felt like i had to take care of her. i applied for another therapist.
the last woman asked me to help her pray. she bowed her head. i stared at her, frozen, while she said: lord, i beg you: cure her. take the pain of being gay away from her.
i spent somewhere between 2.5 and 3 months on betterhelp. in that whole time, i was not getting the professional help i so desperately needed, even though i was fucking trying.
in the end, i survived this because i finally could get off the meds that were literally killing me. a request for a real therapist finally went through. i survived because my friends saved my life. because nick let me sob myself dry in his arms. because maddie took the razors out of my room when i asked them to. because grace slept over in my bed for like 3 weeks in a row since nobody trusted me not to hurt myself when i was alone. i survived because i got fucking lucky. because even when i was desperately suicidal, i was too old and too self-aware to take "you need to be prettier" as good advice.
the thing is that there's a 19 year old me who isn't like that. who would have heard "just think about how grateful you should be" and said - oh, i see. i would have assumed that is what it means to be in therapy: the same thing my abusers used to tell me. that i am just pretending and lazy. that i am ugly and unworthy.
betterhelp positioned itself to take advantage of an incredibly vulnerable community. it preys on desperation. it knows it is serving people who are not doing well mentally. it saw that there is a huge need for real, immediate, compassionate mental health care: and then it fucking takes your money and privacy.
i still get their ads on instagram. last night i watched as a woman in a pool pretends to talk to a different woman. they discuss her anxiety.
there's a 19 year old version of me, and she didn't survive this. she was too tired, and drowning. i almost fucking died. this thing almost fucking killed me.
in the ad, the woman playing the therapist takes a note on a clipboard and then nods once, sagely.
i have to admit it's a pretty scene. the steam and light coming off the pool water lands on the actresses. like this, it almost looks baptismal, holy.
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i liked your speed painting of your cat. very interesting style that came out of it. do you think you could try other drugs? i'd be interested to see how that affects how you paint your cat. i think a drunk painting could be funny :)
speed painting means i painted it fast not that I was high on meth oh my god
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