“There are many ways to be made an orphan. Outright, by the parent incapable of caring for you, or by the ones who neglected to understand your gifts. By the System, which demands your loyalty but trades away your uniqueness. Or by history which, through intolerance and war, has made you a refugee. 

But we are also made orphans by a culture that, in its epitomizing certain values, rejects others, forcing us to split off from those unwanted parts of ourselves. And this is perhaps the worst orphaning act of all, because it is an abandonment in which we are complicit.”

- Toko-pa Turner, From her book Belonging: Remembering Ourselves Home

Art: Georgia O’Keeffe “Lake George Reflection”

Too many times tragedy will strike and a writer will stop. And it’s heartbreaking because I can’t help but wonder how many stories out there that are wonderful, beautifully written and constructed to perfection and had to be cut short because the poor soul writing it lost a friend or a family member or whoever. How many books out there are left buried in the unknown because the author couldn’t find the time or the motivation to write it all down.

There’s no better example of this than in fan writing. I see it happen all the time, like 90simaginesandfanfics. If I remember correctly, it was like her friend died and she started to lose motivation, and then her personal life fell apart and she went on that long hiatus last winter. That’s just one example, too: writing sites are filled to the brim with dead or comatose fics.

See, I’m the diametric opposite of this. When Chris passed, and that summer nearly killed me, I just thought to myself one day “you know, I’ve got to do something.” It was like when Kurt Cobain passed and Dave Grohl said he was going to live like there’s no tomorrow and he went on to form Foo Fighters: I decided to write like there’s no tomorrow. I wrote my first novel, and I just kept going. I was by myself, too, both virtually and in real life: pretty much all of last year, I was either bunked up in my room or down the hill with my laptop while my mom went to work for almost 12 hours a day, five days a week, which gave me tons of time to write and hone in my skills.

Since Tuesday, I’ve been nothing but motivated to write this fic. I’m at the point now where I need to write, and if I don’t, I’m gonna lose it. I need to tell this story of what happened to Maya and what’s in store for Joey and Lars.

What’s my secret, you ask? It’s not really a secret, just I’ve been exposed to the pain and suffering of the world from a young age and since 2017, I decided I’m not going to sit back and let the stars play with the same stories we see ad infinitum. I’m not going to sit back and let a fandom that has left me behind continue on without knowing who I am first. I’m a Soundgarden fan who was put into exile after Chris passed (both by my own choosing and from the fact I can’t hardly get along with a lot of people anymore–way too much testosterone and too much of a victim complex in that fanbase) and found solace in the heavy metal fandom. 

I guess you could say that’s my secret: I feel the story within me so much that I refuse to go down without a fight. I feel Joey and I feel Lars. I need to write for fandom, for myself, and for those two men.

Conversely, I also wish it was that easy to say “if I can do it, you can, too” because it’s not always the case. But I also wish more fan writers could find the time to write as prolifically as I can as well.

I ain’t surprised ahdhkabdja

Be still

for you can’t control the wind

but you can put on a coat

or escape inside

Don’t attempt to change the weather

you’ll end up in a battle you can’t win

Let go of what is out of reach

and stick to what you know

“you lose nothing by giving people the space and freedom to soak in their frustration. you lose nothing by giving people the time and separation to understand how foreign their energy is. let people be their own heroes, before trying to step in and save the day.”

— iambrillyant

Our names are labels, definitions,

Every syllable meant to scream “limited edition”,

But how many Marys have you met,

How many Toms,

How many Davids and Susans,

Karens and Johns,

We are named after the past,

People and things that came and went,

All so that the sands of time won’t wash us away,

But do we really want to stay?

What use is it to be remembered by the name of someone else?

Why bother writing down the mistakes,

If we’re all just the same sentence,

Stuttering syllables out of someone else’s mouth.

Tagging: @thesnowflakeemporium

If they ever find me,

Give them your name,

They’ll find no address,

Close the case like my father’s fists and the front door,

Leave pacing the perimeter for my mother in the living room,

I bet your smile looks sour under the microscope,

When they ask who I was,

They won’t understand,

If they ever find me,

Give them your name.

- Mack.

The precision,

with which you cut me

is practiced,

honed over time.

I’ve become your living canvas,

your palette and your knife.

The scars,

from the first time

are still fading,

as your adept fingers

work to bloom new ones too.

I can only

look into your eyes,

watch, disconnected

wondering,

what did I ever do

to deserve you.

- Mirror Image

december ; i still want to die but a little less than usual. maybe that means i’m feeling better. i don’t know. my personal cloud has been raining on me since november. my personhood has hypothermia. it’s not gonna get warm any time soon. there’s bright christmas lights outside. that makes me feel warm. january. lights get taken down. the houses feel naked against the cold. the ghost in my head talks to me about dying. he says he has my bed sheet ready for me to hide under. he says it’ll only get colder. i say spring is soon.

I just need to put this here. So, two days ago, I visit my dad at hospital, and before I go to his room, I stop for some coffee. While counting my coin, I allowed some stranger to go first because I am not yet finish with counting. It is funny how introverted I am and manage to do some small talk.

Stranger: why is this machine doesn’t accept my money?

Me: Maybe it get bored already from receiving money all day. Hahaha

Stranger: hurmm, i think so too.

Then, I still struggling with my coin ‘cause it is a bit dark. Maybe he notice and offer some money but I refuse because I have enough coins. “thank you btw” .. He reply “okay”. I was so happy because his kindness.

Then the next day, I go visit my dad again and same as the day before, I stop for some coffee (coffee addict). Then while waiting for my coffee, there this group of strangers who wanna buy some coffee too.

Me: *done with the coffee*

Stranger: how to use this?

Me: You just put your cash here, and press the button

Stranger: owh okay.

That just weird to have this happen twice in a row. I’ve learn that this is some kind of sign from the universe, but what does it mean? Hurmm. Hopefully this could be somekind of meaningful coincidence from the universe.

Infatuation.

“So, you have stopped talking to me cuz’ you heard something about me? So mature.”

~Wren

Cookies

“You walk SO fast…” I called, struggling to keep up with his pace.

“I’m trained, babe”

“Look. Ready. Left, left, left…” He slowed down.

He stared downward as I attempted to mimic his footsteps.

“There.. you got it” he smiled warmly.

-I miss him sometimes

That was the thing though. He moved so quickly. I just couldn’t keep up. I could never keep up.

Listen,

I have NEVER done any of this before. Try experiencing tons of new things every day, try feeling new feelings, try wanting to be better, try wanting to impress him non-stop, but try it while you’re exiting all of your comfort zones, try it while your mental health is still weak, try it while you’re still testing new anti-depressants, try it while you’re still a guinea pig for your med-provider, try it while you’re trying to keep your panic attacks at bay but there’s a chance this pill is going to have crazy side effects, try it while your parents don’t stop screaming at you, try it while your grades are dropping, try it while you’re working long hours and everyone’s sick of hearing about your problems, try it while you’re between therapists, try it while your anxiety has stopped your appetite and you haven’t eaten for three days, try it while he’s giving you his all but for some reason you CANNOT, no matter what, open up to him, try it while there’s this wall that you didn’t even know was there and it won’t come down, I’m trying to knock it down!, it won’t come down!

Yes, I searched for the bad in him. I wanted to find a reason to stop moving for just a second. Yes, I started a fight that I don’t even remember my argument. I didn’t expect him to never speak to me again though. I just wanted a moment, a reason to pour my heart out to him. Because unless I had intense emotion behind it, I wasn’t going to do it.

But he left instead… and I don’t blame him… I really don’t…

And I can’t help but think that it was all my fault… and it was… and that’s okay… because I’m not done with my mental health… I’m nowhere near done…

I just needed more time. I needed a slower pace… and for the life of me, I couldn’t convey that to him.

Somewhere in the hills,

The coyotes cry to the inky void,

Pups whine for a mouthful of food,

But their parents cannot oblige them,

They must fear the bullets of angry shepherds,

The world is not kind to the frightening,

Somewhere in the pastures,

The sheep quietly bear their grief,

They are meant to be quiet,

They are meant to be useful,

And so they do as they are asked,

The world is not kind to the gentle,

Somewhere in the trees,

The rancher sits at the kitchen table,

Hunched over stacks of bills that he cannot pay,

He never thought that the years would pass this quickly,

The world is not kind.

Tagging: @thesnowflakeemporium

Life

Life is a song you play depending on your taste. You play the instruments life has given you. You’re not one of the orchestra, neither a band. You are a star of your own audience. And whatever you do, the audience will always be satisfied. You are good enough in every way.

It is so toxic comparing yourself with others. That’s the beginning of the delinacation of my mental health. Social media had bring me closer to people around the globe which is cool but then I start comparing myself with people I don’t even know irl. I am learning to love myself again and it ain’t easy. The moment I realize how toxic it is, I know that I broke myself. But I am lucky that it is not too late to fix everything. Healing are the hardest part. I could say that, healing a cut on your skin only took few days, but trying to heal from mental illness took months or even years. This shit is scary that it could lead to being suicidal. I just wish someone would hug me and tell me that I will be okay. But, I am no good with asking for comfort and that just how I am. Slowly taking a break from social media does help me improve my mind. I found peace just doing what I love without the pressure of sharing it and waiting for comment of approval that you did a great job. I’m learning to see my worth again.

Instead of writing to you

I practice tying my shoes

But the laces become a noose

And no one cuts me loose

Pen

“And I’m not sure if someone is allowed to break my heart if I was never theirs.”

- my 2 am thoughts