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the-resurrection-3d · 3 years

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so what was ever good about acotar anyway?

For some reason, I’ve been very tempted to reread ACOTAR lately, and so I’m going to just make a quick list of what I remember specifically endearing the book to me back when I first read it in 2016 so we can compare notes later. This will, however, also include some retroactive criticisms now that we’re four years on from ACOWAR ruining everything forever.

Twigger warnings for discussions of abuse, csa and neglect, as well as me using my complimentary R Slur Pass.

For some context:

>Be 18yr me in 2016.

>Be in your first semester at college.

>Be so fed up with YA romance that you avoid books just for hinting at them in the summary.

>Be also brainstorming a series with your roommate called The Cuckmaster Saga.

This is probably going to sound embarrassing, but I’m being completely sincere when I say that part of why this book excited me was simply the novelty of finding a YA romance book that I liked.

I’d fallen out hard with YA in general by this point in my life, partially because of a string of fairy tale “retellings” that clearly gave zero fucks about the source material beyond using the iconography in its marketing. Folklore had been my special interest for a while, and my excitement for the series and all its little extra niche references coincided with finally getting to study folklore in a true academic setting.

Which leads me to point one:

I love the idea of combining BatB and the Tam Lin ballad. I know some people have complained about this, but honestly, I enjoyed finding a retelling that mimicked the mix-and-match structuring of a lot of folktales. ACOTAR isn’t even the messiest or least coherent mash-up by a huge margin. Unfortunately, this aspect of the series severely lessened as it went along — remember when we all thought ACOWAR was going to be a Snow White retelling and then there was just one scene with poisoned apples? Lmao.

[If anyone wants an author who does YA mash-ups that are actually YA, I’d recommend Rosamund Hodge, whose books are always interesting in their sheer weirdness even when the story itself slightly falters. I mean, I wrote a whole 20-page thesis on her Red Riding Hood/Maiden Without Hands retelling and still didn’t cover everything I had thoughts on. (Tragically, however, I must inform you all that she is a Catholic Reylo. Rest in pepperoni.)]

It is fucking hilarious in retrospect that SJM clearly knows a bunch of different folktales and folkloric creatures but thinks it’s believable for shadowsinger powers to have no theorized origin “even [in] the rich lore of the warrior-people” (ACOFAS 65). Bro fuck outta here.

But this leads into point two — Feyre and her family. It’s very obvious that SJM based Nesta and Elain’s dynamic with Feyre off the common folktale trope of having the youngest sibling be the only competent person in the room (and Katniss Everdeen). I thought it was honestly a lot of fun to see this trope done with some interiority; you can practically hear Feyre seethe about what useless hoes her sisters are between every line. I genuinely giggled through these parts on my initial readthrough.

I’ve seen some people complain that Nesta and Elain’s behaviors aren’t realistic in this situation, but au contraire! Nesta and Elain’s actions in book one are (...almost) perfectly realistic. Without revealing too much, my grandmother grew up in poverty with a few older sisters, and yet my great-grandmother would make her do all the work and constantly force her to give up her possessions (like her car) to the older sisters whenever they wanted them. Even to this day, when they’re all in their 70s and 80s, one of these sisters still relies on my grandma to do basic shit like balancing her checkbooks. I’ve also observed similar dynamics play out plenty of times between an adult child and an overindulgent parent, with people literally ruining their lives and bodies all for the sake of sitting at home all day buying furry porn off the internet.

Nesta and Elain are basically the psychology of this type of person split in two — Elain the soft, delicate, perpetually victimized front they put on for the world, and Nesta the ice-cold, bitter, and aggressive bitch they truly are.

Honestly, the only thing I would change about this set-up is either keep Ma Archeron alive or give Papa Archeron more personality than a plank of damp wood. What’s truly missing here is a parental figure enforcing this fucked up dynamic — I don’t remember it being clear that Feyre’s always had this role, just that she took it on after her mom’s death. Making it clear that Feyre’s always been forced to be this way — alongside giving the mom more characterization — would have gone a long way towards making this dynamic feel more realized and less like the narrative using trauma and pity as a shortcut towards reader engagement.

Then again, that would require SJM to have a female villain in this series who isn’t a rapist, and quotes I’ve seen floating around from ACOSF make it pretty clear SJM doesn’t know same-gender sexual abuse even exists.

Anyway.

Point Three (or rather 2B): Feyre realizing she doesn’t have to hang around her family just because she feels obligated to love them was a fucking banger. I loved it so much; having a story, especially a YA story, that showed you aren’t obligated to love a family that treats you like shit was so special to me. Especially since I was also leaving my family for the first time, and going home to visit them every other weekend felt like being hit point-blank with a Psyduck blast.

Thankfully, my relationship with my family has gotten a lot better, but I’m still really disappointed that Nesta and Elain were forced back into the story, rather than them reaching out to Feyre and making amends because they wanted to do better. The closest we got to this was the revelation that Nesta almost made it to the Border by herself after Feyre was taken, which was definitely badass, but also unfortunately the only Nesta scene I’ve liked in this entire fucking series. If SJM was going to force Feyre to regress into being Nesta and Elain’s tardwrangler again, then she should have followed up on Amren’s line in ACOWAR that Feyre treats Nesta and Elain the way Tamlin treated her.

“I asked them to help once—and look what happened. I won’t risk them again.”

Amren snorted. “You sound exactly like Tamlin.”

[. . .] and I said, “She’s right.” (169-170).

But I’m sure everyone who’s read ACOSF knows how well that’s going.

Point Four: the femindhjdfhfdh I can’t even write that with a straight face. I mean let’s be real, I too enjoy seeing female characters I like become queens and all that other stuff, but it was clear to me even on my initial reading of ACOMAF that it was all shallow and designed to help delineate good guys from bad guys without much in the way of nuance. It certainly took me out of the experience a little, but at least it ties into the books’ themes of recovering from abuse and shacking up with a Certified Women Respecter.

My actual point four: Truthfully I only bought this series for the meme of having the first shitty love interest getting cucked in the second book. ACOWAR gave me some complicated feelings on Tamlin, and I honestly think he should have just stopped appearing in the series after that — BUT, having him be dragged back in once per book just to call him a cuck and cockslap him around a little bit is fucking hilarious. Pointless! But hilarious.

I also think that this kind of arc is a great critique of the standard “happily ever after,” acknowledging that in real life, you’re much more likely to just pass from one abusive household to another because you don’t know what healthy love, communication, and boundaries are. (Arguably many folktales are the fantasies of women who are well aware of this reality but want to imagine a world that’s otherwise). I definitely have a lot of problems with SJM’s claims of “sex positivity,” but acknowledging that Feylin used sex as a means of avoiding communication was another great touch.

I wish that this whole King of Hybern shit was completely cut just to focus on these themes more; it’s very clear SJM only included it because fantasy series = BIG EPIC WORLD-ENDING STAKES!! I've read maybe ten pages of Throne of Glass, so I can't speak for how she handles epic fantasy there, but I know for me and a lot of other stans, the Hybern plot had licherally nothing to do with what we liked and connected to in these books.

But I must soften here, because I totally empathize with feeling like big stakes are “necessary” for a fantasy story and that no one would want to read your books without them. YA fantasy is the reason why TV Tropes coined the term “romantic plot tumor,” after all. (Source: I’m making shit up.)

What else… what else… uhhhhh. I think that might be it, at least for substantial things I don’t have to qualify too much. I of course have plenty of little things I used to like but have now been tainted because ACOWAR ruined everything forever and ACOFAS danced on the graves (such as how I liked Lucien but everyone in the books shits on him now to the point it’s stopped being funny). But this post is too long anyway.

#long post #anti sjm #abuse tw #csa tw #r slur #neglect tw #what's been eating feyre archeron?

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flyingcookierambles · 2 years

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gruaoh

my younger sister got a puppy and is now referring to everyone in my house as if they were her puppy’s relatives (ie aunt, uncle, grandma, etc.)

i dont have an issue with this or ppl calling their pets their fur babies or whatever since i also baby talked my previous hamsters and all but

she keeps saying stuff like “look [dog name], auntie [my irl name] is here” and the “aunt” thing is pissing me off for gender reasons

the thing is too that ive tried to tell her that im non-binary/trans before and she didnt get it/refused to understand, told me to my face that “i have a vagina so im a girl,” and then when i got kinda upset and left the room, she later came to my room like “uwu dont hate me bc i keep misgendering you and deadnaming/misgendering trans celebrities like caitlyn jenner, demi lovato, and elliot page, and i hope you know you’ll always be my sister.”

plus she loves to keep outing me casually.

i dont remember what exactly we were talking abt, but my sister and mom were talking abt romance or smth allo-related and i was in the room and must’ve made a comment or something about it, bc my sister when said something like, “[irl name] doesn’t get it, she’s non-binary or whatever.” which like. wut. that doesnt even make sense in that context, since sex != gender and also sex &/or gender != sexuality, plus the word that would’ve made sense there would be bringing up my ace or aro identities. thankfully my 60+ year old boomer mom didnt notice the word non-binary so i wasnt questioned about it but like bruh wtf love being almost casually outed, hate this houseg reiagoheroihgoierhafouboubfoubrghoae

anyways im feeling kinda shitty abt being called “aunt” and stuff all day, might head on over to r/transtryouts and make a request post.

(also fun fact this is the same sister that i came out to only because she kept thinking i was a lesbian and sexually harassing me with stuff like “so how many girls did you kiss at college? are you having sex with college boys???” “[irl name] is probably secretly wild” etc., so one night i sent her a ton of ace info articles from aven, wikipedia., but i doubt that she read any of them since she brags about hating reading and learning. but at least she stopped asking me abt what “wild shenanigans” i got up to in college. which was basically none unless you count playing sdv and watching netflix til 5 am on weekends.

also my family keeps thinking that being ace (i doubt that any of them know what aro/ the SAM model even is) means not understanding sex jokes and stuff. like. bruh, i may be ace, but im also a dumb 12 year old boy who very much enjoys the funny meme numbers 69 and 420 (not sex related, but a good number lol) and also dick/ligma/sugma/deez nuts jokes. )

#weird gender shit #i wanna die why is my family like this this is why i cant bring friends home bc my family is gonna say some dumb shit like this

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yujachachacha · 7 years

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Get to know me

Tagged by @symphonyalpha (I forgot the URL for a second and was like, “Why isn’t Jaewhy showing up when I type it in the user mention???” lol).

Rules: Answer these 92 statements and tag 20 people.

Last: 1. Drink: Barley water, because that’s what my family drinks ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 2. Phone call: My grandma, telling me what time she needed me to drive her to her doctor’s appointment. 3. Text message: To my little brother, telling him to STFU because he kept sending me dumb shit on iMessage. 4. Song you listened to: Does SIF count? If so, “Sore wa Bokutachi no Kiseki”. If not, I was headbanging to “Paradise Lost” by Chihara Minori after dropping my grandma off at her friend’s place the other day, lol. 5. Time you cried: tbh I probably teared up a little when I was watching the footage from the Lantis preview of the Aqours 1st Live BD/DVDs ｡ﾟ( ﾟஇωஇﾟ)ﾟ｡

Have you: 6. Dated someone twice: I haven’t even dated someone once :’))) 7. Kissed someone and regretted it: I’ve kissed exactly one person, so...hm. There was a period of time when I had conflicting emotions over what happened, but in the end, I don’t think I regret it. 8. Been cheated on: See #6. 9. Lost someone special: I’ve had a grandfather pass away, and this is probably going to sound bad, but...I really appreciated him, and he was nothing but kind to me. However, since I’d only seen him about three times in my life, the biggest way his death affected me was through my mother. It took her a while to get over my grandfather’s death, so it changed the way I behaved around her during that time. 10. Been depressed: Yes. 11. Gotten drunk and thrown up: Exactly once, because I made the mistake of keeping pace with my uncle in Korea who takes soju shots like a champ. This also happened to be the night before Lunar New Year, so I got chewed out by my aunt (older sister of my uncle) once she realized why I was so lethargic during the festivities. _(:3 」∠)_ I don’t regret it though, because before that I had never been hungover before and was wondering what my limit was, haha.

List 3 favorite colors: 12-14. Red, blue, and...uh...other than those two I don’t have any definite faves. I guess the third would be either yellow or purple...? I’ll just go with purple for the sake of completion.

In the last year have you: 15. Made new friends: #TeamONIBE 16. Fallen out of love: That would require me to fall in love with someone first. 17. Laughed until you cried: I think it might have been when Mayushii and King did that disastrous cooking niconama. Like...what the actual fuck, do they seriously not know anything about basic kitchen safety and hygiene??? 18. Found out someone was talking about you: The number of times I’ve gone on to Discord and found out that someone in ONIBE was talkin’ smack about me... (｡･ˇ_ˇ･｡) It’s all in good fun though, haha. 19. Met someone who changed you: See #15. 20. Found out who your friends are: Nothing says "friendship” like screaming your heart out at an anisong concert, eating McNuggets while insanely drunk, sleeping while squished together in a seedy neighborhood, wotaing loudly in a moving vehicle, and other various activities I did with people I had never met in real life. ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ AX 2017 was hella great for ONIBE bonding. 21. Kissed someone on your Facebook list: I don’t think I’ve even used FB for non-work stuff since 2016 lol

General: 22. How many of your Facebook friends do you know in real life: If this means “I’ve actually met them in person and have had a decent conversation with them”, then maybe a few hundred? But if this means that I actually talk to them on a semi-regular basis, then, like...10, maybe. :’) 23. Do you have any pets: See my answer in the previous chain post I did. tl;dr I had a turtle and a dog in elementary school, but after that, no pets. I’d like to have a dog when I get a place of my own, though. 24. Do you want to change your name: Nope. 25. What did you do for your last birthday: Watched LLS Episode 13 in the morning and ate Korean BBQ in the evening. 26. What time did you wake up: Today? I honestly don’t remember. Sometime before 9? 27. What were you doing at midnight last night: Laughing at dumb shit on Twitter and Discord, probably. 28. Name something you can’t wait for: The Delayed Viewing for the 2nd Live for the US! I’m making plans to meet up with ONIBE folks again and it’s gonna be ~L I T~ 29. When was the last time you saw your mom: Early in the morning. She was like “lol get up and lose some weight” while I was still in bed so I groaned back, “You’re one to talk,” and went back to sleep. 30. What is one thing you wish you could change in your life: I was gonna say “how about eliminating my student loans haha” but I suppose this is supposed to be a more serious question. I guess it’d be nice if I was a neater person. Like, my room is a total mess right now and I’m terrible at keeping track of things I should be working on... 31. Listening right now: Fun fact - I actually only listen to music while I’m driving. Otherwise, it distracts me from what I should be doing. 32. Have you ever talked to a person named Tom: Yup, that was the name of my debate coach when I was in junior high. 33. Something that is getting on your nerves: People who hate on LL seiyuu. Like, they’re actual human beings who are working really hard to live up to the expectations of thousands - no, millions of people worldwide. To be quite honest, I invite you to tell me if you legitimately want to shit on any one of them (both µ’s and Aqours), because I have yet to see a single person who has had a good justification for doing so. 34. Most visited website: Probably Tumblr/YouTube/Twitter/Reddit, too lazy to figure out which one of those it is.

Jaewhy put in random questions here because they were missing for some reason, so I guess I’ll continue those: 35. Mole(s): I have a few around my face, but other than the one on my right cheek I don’t think they’re that noticeable? I don’t spend a lot of time in the sun like other Californians. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 36. Mark(s): I have a birthmark on the backside of my right shoulder that I’m sort of self-conscious about. It’s the perfect shape for getting a tattoo of a sunflower around it, so maybe I’ll do that some time in the future? 37. Childhood dream: Lawyer. 38. Hair color: I feel like I’ve answered this in a previous chain post, but it’s black. Duh. Though if you hold it up to the sun, some of the ends are more like dark brown. 39. Long or short: Long. 40. Do you have a crush on someone: See #16. Nope. 41. What do you like about yourself: I’ve spent an unhealthy amount of time staring at computers/video games and I still don’t need glasses. :D 42. Piercings: No, but I should probably get my ears pierced at some point? 43. Blood type: O. 44. Nickname: Yujacha, but a lot of people shorten it to “Yuja”. 45. Relationship status: Single. 46. Zodiac: Libra, Dog. 47. Pronouns: I feel like it’s obvious what gender I am, so just go with those. 48. Favorite TV show: I don’t really watch TV these days, but if I’m kicking back with some hot cocoa at like 2am I might watch Criminal Minds or something. 49. Tattoos: Nope, but like I said in #36 I’ve been thinking about it. 50. Right or left hand: Right. 51. Surgery: Wisdom teeth removal is technically dental surgery. 52. Hair dyed in different color: I had highlights in my hair a few years ago, but they faded real quick. I’m vaguely considering dyeing it brown in the distant future...? 53. Sport: It’s fun to watch the occasional match when there’s a World Cup or Olympic thing going on, but otherwise I have no interest. 54. (A question I came up with since #54 was missing) Extracurricular activities: I was a debate kid for most of my school life, and in college I was in the Korean Club and Student Union. 55. Vacation: Does the 2nd Live DV later this year count? 56. Pair of trainers sneakers *American anthem plays in the distance*: I actually need new ones because I’ve tripped while hiking on at least two separate occasions due to my shitty old sneakers.

More general: 57. Eating: Haven’t yet. 58. Drinking: Wasn’t this literally the first question? 59. I’m about to: Eat. 60. (This question was missing so I'll make one up again) Thinking about: What to eat lol 61. Waiting for: 2nd Live DV~ 62. Want: Money tbh 63. Get married: I’d like to at some point, but at the moment I’m kinda tired of hearing about it from every middle-aged woman who talks to me (including my own mother). 64. Career: Working on it.

Which is better: 65. Hugs or kisses: Hugs, because they’re warm and comfy and can be shared by complete strangers. 66. Lips or eyes: I was gonna repeat a previous answer and say “eyesmiles” but since this is “lips or eyes” rather than “smiles or eyes”, I guess my answer would fall more under “eyes”. 67. Shorter or taller: Bruh, if someone’s shorter than me then I’d need to check their ID to make sure they’re not jailbait. Taller. 68. Older or younger: I’ve never dated anyone so I honestly wouldn’t know, but I’d probably look for someone close to my age first? 69. (Lmao why was 69 missing :3c I’ll just make something up again) Outgoing or shy: The former, since I’m lazy. If someone doesn’t drag me to places I’ll just lay in bed all day. 70. Nice arms or stomach: It’s actually really hard for females to have a toned stomach, so any gals with abs are like ooh~ 👀 But I actually like hands! I have smol stubby fingers so I really dig people with nice hands. 71. Sensitive or loud: The former, because I don’t need the entire neighborhood to know when I’m gettin’ laid kthnx 72. Hook up or relationship: Relationship, because sure why not? 73. Troublemaker or hesitant: Maybe the former, but if they’re being too much of a lil’ shit then I’d go for the latter instead. I’ve dealt with friends who take like 20 minutes to decide what to order from a menu so I know that feel. :’)

Have you ever: 74. Kissed a stranger: Nope. 75. Drank hard liquor: Yup. 76. Lost glasses/contact lenses: I’m pretty sure I annoyed half of ONIBE during AX when I went “haha y’all are blind af” after I found out I was pretty much the only one who didn’t have corrected vision. 77. Turned someone down: I was about to say “no” and then I got a sudden flashback to a certain incident in college, wow thanks for making me remember something I had tried to forget...sooo, uh, yup. 78. Sex on the first date: See #6. 79. Broken someone’s heart: IDK if turning someone down counts as breaking their heart. 80. Had your heart broken: ...yes. I think? 81. Been arrested: Nope. 82. Cried when someone died: Do fictional characters count? 83. Fallen for a friend: Uhhhhh...kind of? It was complicated.

Do you believe in: 84. Yourself: I’d like to think that I do. 85. Miracles: KISEKI DA YO~ ...sorry, I had to. Yeah. 86. Love at first sight: Shukashuu is living proof of this. 87. Santa Claus: Nope, sorry Maki!!! 88. Kiss on the first date: Sure.

Other: 90. Current best friend(s) name: IDK if I have one. :’) 91. Eye color: I’m Asian, take a wild guess. 92. Favorite movie: I don’t really have a favorite, but I did like “Kimi no Na wa.” (Your name.) so much that I made it my phone’s lock screen.

Tagging: I've only tagged people the first time I did one of these and I’m gonna try to keep it that way. If anyone who reads this wants to give it a go, feel free~

#yujachat #chain post #queuetie panther #edited the words from british to american english spelling BECAUSE I CAN HAHA #are these even interesting to people why would u wanna know about boring old me

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casual-lip-bites · 7 years

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Prologue and Chapter 1

To Everyone in the Whole World. Every small thought or action or choice every single person has ever made has warped the universe into what it is now, and for that I thank you.

Prologue I bet you thought that this was going to be an insightful book or something. Well, you were wrong. This book really sucks. No one thought it would ever get published, much less finished. Not even my mom believed in me. But as I kept writing it, I thought of all the stupid teen romance books I’ve read and thought, hey, if those could get published, why can’t I publish a book too? So I’m really sorry if you decided to buy this or something. I hope you kept the receipt, because in truth, my book probably isn’t worth the five dollars or however much it cost you. Not in this economy. Unless, of course, you borrowed it or got it from the library or illegally downloaded it online or something. I hate writing. My vocabulary is passible at best. I never thought that I would write a book, like, ever, but look at me now. Just to let you know, I did not write this whole thing. I had help from my best friend and a Mexican kid who has told me multiple times that he wishes I was dead. These are literally the only people I ever talk to. I’m warning you right now: I don’t know what they’re going to write. Personally, I’m going to try to be PG-13, but I’ve been told that have a swearing problem, so that’s not always going to be possible. You know it’s bad when you have to Google “what does it take for a book to be banned”. It’s right there in my search history. Right above “why are teenagers so smug” and “when can I legally drop-out of high school”. Nothing really matters to me anymore. I’m just here to exist for as long as possible. I don’t like putting effort into anything, really. College is out of the question. I mean, someone has to wipe down gas station toilets. I only agreed to write this novel because there’s not too many realistic YA novels out there. Not everyone can have their dream relationship. (I’m going to marry a trashcan.) Not everything ends happily, and sometimes things don’t end at all. (My story begins at the end.) I never really have any deep thoughts. (At least, not in the way that it’s shown in teen books.) And most teenagers have boring-as-hell lives. (Either that, or I just assume that everyone else does too.) Really though, the deepest thought that I’ve had in a week happened when I dropped a bowl of soup and thought “oh shit son” and then wondered if soup has the ability to understand the concept of gender identity and family relations. Truly deep thoughts come and go. It’s usually only the stupid things that I remember long enough to write down. I’m just going to go ahead and warn you, some of the insightful stuff I try to write comes out like it’s supposed to, and other times it will just look like: boop boop boop Are trees vegetables? Exact words are not my forte. I’m lucky that I came up with “forte” right then. I’m really not sure how this will turn out at all. I haven’t even read most of this. I’m not allowed to read what Lily and Ethan write, and they’re not allowed to read what I write. We’re basically publishing it without proofreading each other’s work. It’s supposed to “encourage honesty” or something. So we’ll see how that turns out. Yeah. There’s probably a reason why books like this don’t exist. Again, sorry. Anyway, I wrote this for you because I care a lot about you as a person. I needed this book to exist because I need you to know something. I don’t care if it’s cheesy. You need to hear it. Things can and will get better. Do not kill yourself. I wrote this for you, so you’d better learn something from it. I have bled and suffered and bled some more to get this book out. If you kill yourself, I will murder you. Someone is always ready to listen. Sometimes we forget about people we can count on. There’s always that one person that you forget about. Like siblings. No matter how much you hate each other, no matter how horrible to you they are, no matter how shitty the personality, your sibling(s) will listen to you if you seriously need someone to talk to. Another thing I didn’t consider, until just recently, is talking to someone who has a crush on you. If they like you, chances are they probably don’t want you to hurt yourself. However, if he/she is one of those freaks that crawl in your window at night or design you-inspired sex dolls, you should probably think of another option. Like a guidance counselor. They’re legally obligated to care about your feelings. Don’t forget those people. Someone will listen. There’s always someone. I know this because I was forgotten. Wait, what was I writing about again? I have a really untraditional writing system. I first write out a bunch of BS that I really can’t use and then scan over it the next day. I delete little sentences that don’t make sense here and there until I’ve deleted the whole chapter. Then I re-write it and then ignore it all for a month or two if I’m getting behind on schoolwork or something. Sometimes in the middle of the night I take it out, read it, and type little scraggly messages on it to daytime me. They look like they were typed out by a toddler. I can’t even tell what most of them are supposed to mean, so I spend a lot of time trying to decode things like “bread water” instead of writing the actual story. My favorites are: “com on grill u cans rite better than that” and “higher than meth”. Oh yeah. I also hate it when authors get you attached to a character and kill them off right at the end like they’re actually trying to ruin your emotions forever, so I’m going to go ahead and warn you now so you hate me less for making you read this book. My sister dies in the first chapter. No amount of character deaths in YA books could have prepared me for what had happened. That’s another reason why I needed this book to exist. The suddenness and finality of death is unreal. It’s kind of like a text message ding going off and then the sound cutting out right in the middle of it. And then a random electrical wire snapping and burning and suddenly everything’s on fire and you’re on fire and your pets are on fire and it’s painful and even though you embrace death and dying and enjoy pain this is too much. Another thing: You’re probably wondering what gender I am. Even if it wasn’t at, like, the fore-front of your mild, you were probably subconsciously trying to figure it out. I won’t make you play “Guess That Gender” until my name appears in dialogue or something. This isn’t Walmart. My name is Kirsten Bloom. I also hate it when authors write shit like “his dark, leaf green eyes looked at me, comforting me and giving me memories of summery afternoon walks in the woods with my father” to describe how people look. Like, no. My face isn’t the type of face that could be described in poetry anyway. So here’s what I look like most of the time: I have brown hair. I would have black hair, but my mom won’t let me dye it. I have washed-out green eyes. I’m pale. I dress kind of gothic. (Eyeliner, 90’s choker, black leather boots, black lipstick, black/purple shirt, black skinny-jeans, black jacket with a skull on it.) My style is basically “economically disadvantaged girl trying to act cool and gothic but failing hard”. Just so you know, I’m not exactly sure how I’m going to write this just yet, but I’m sure that it will be really horrible for at least the first two or three chapters. I’m sorry about that, but believe me; it will be so worth it. If you’re anything like me at all, I guarantee that this book will save you from some shit. I have one hell of a story to tell you. And so it begins.

Chapter 1 Katherine Bloom is dead. She killed herself. I can’t believe that she’s never coming back. She was alive just a week ago. She can’t be gone. But she is. Her death is one thing that I have accepted. Once a person is pronounced dead by medical professionals, there’s no way around it. But my heart feels like it’s been ripped to pieces. She was my other half. I never fully comprehended how awful deaths are until I saw my sister on a cold, metallic operating table, her lifeless eyes staring at the ceiling. Seeing nurses in lab coats covering her thin frame in a sheet, gone forever. Watching my mother choke and sob in front of me. Not being completely sure if the screaming sound I heard was coming from my vocal cords or if it was just the sound of my brain collapsing in on itself. After three days of pure depression sprinkled with rage and denial, I know that my little sister is never coming back. Death is permanent. Death is unshifting. Death is cold. And I don’t love. [I warned you it would be like this. Just roll with it.] It’s as if she never existed, except she’s more here than ever. I can actually feel her absence. It’s heavy and empty at the same time, especially in her room. All of the Christmas lights that she always kept in there have been packed away into a little box, just like all of her other things. Mom said earlier that we could donate it to charity, but she hasn’t followed through on that. I have a feeling that her things will stay here forever. My little sister will always have a place in our house. But right now her room is mine. I’ve been sleeping here since I basically smashed everything in my room into a trillion pieces. It has a depressive presence in it, though. This place is so empty without her. I spend most of my time in here drawing invisible circles on her bed that’s been stripped bare, and think. She slept on rosy red sheets, which are now packed away in a box. It was her favorite color. Now her ashes rest in a rosy red urn. It was originally for grandma. We were hoping that she would die. I really wonder about what my sister was thinking about during the afternoons that she spent locked away in here, wasting away. A lump grows in my throat, but I can’t even cry anymore. I’m just done with it all. I still haven’t figured out why she would kill herself. No matter how many things I try to decode from days I can barely remember, I’m no further along than the previous hour. She wasn’t a depressing person. She smiled a lot. She had lots of friends. The only thing that was different about her attitude was that she stayed in her room for extremely long periods of time, listening to music. I didn’t find that alarming, because that was one of her favorite pastimes. Only she usually did it for less than five hours at a time in a locked room. I thought that she was just becoming one of those teenaged girls who like to keep to themselves. Like me. I guess it was more than that. And now she’s dead. I put my head down on the flat bedspread. I am determined to find out the truth. I need to know the truth more than I need oxygen. Someone rings the doorbell. What the hell do they want? I force myself out of bed and trudge over to the front door and open it. My heart starts fluttering and I just can’t believe my eyes. It’s Katherine. She smiles at me and I hug her so tightly that I just might kill her. I’m shaking so hard right now. “I missed you so much. Please don’t hurt yourself. Ever,” I say. When I stop hugging her, I see that she too is tearing up. There’s a bright glow around her. She starts to say something, when- And then I wake up. My sister is dead. And I’m still lying on her bed. I just dreamed it all. I’m ashamed to say that that was not the first time that I had done that. There’s nothing I want more than for my sister to come back. But she’s gone. All that’s left are bittersweet memories. Ashes can’t dance. Ashes can’t sing. Ashes can’t ride bikes. Ashes can’t feed birds in the park. Ashes can’t sit under the stars and watch them twinkle all night. Ashes can’t smile or love. They can’t do any of the things that my sister loved to do. I know for a fact that she didn’t just randomly decide to kill herself. No sane kid just looks in the mirror and goes: Hey. Today was a fun day, but I think that I should just hang myself now. She is, was, a very cheerful person. I secretly envied her for that reason. She was great. We had near perfect childhoods, but for some reason she was the only decent one out of us. The only conclusion that I can come up with is that she was bullied. And once I find out who caused this, I will kill them. All of those bastards are going to die tonight. I’ll stab them over and over and over and over and over and over and over again with the pocket knife she harmed herself with, after I make absolute sure that they feel guilty for their actions. Blood will be spilt tonight. And I hope those faggots rot in hell. I found her pocket knife in her bedroom closet yesterday, when mom and I were cleaning out her room. We were deciding what of hers we should keep and what we should ‘’give away”. We were just expecting to find old toys and stuff like that. Then I found that thing. Actually, it really wasn’t that hard to find. It stabbed me in the kneecap. I gave mom the knife. I didn’t give any explanation at all. The knife said more than any words could say. Apparently, that was a bad idea, because she didn’t say anything after that. She just got in the car and left me there, holding out the bloody knife. Now, that said more than words could say. For a wild moment I thought that she had abandoned me to start a new life. Wouldn’t be the first time someone did that. Apparently, mom went to the liquor store to drown her feelings in alcoholism. But she might as well leave, with all the support she’s given me. It’s like her soul was sucked out of her eyes. I hid the blade in my jacket pocket the minute she left Katherine’s room, assuming that she would take it from me eventually. But she never intended to, for reasons that I already covered. Katherine was just a kid. What did she do to deserve this? What did I do? There’s no way that she hung herself. But she did. She left mom and me. She didn’t leave a note or anything. There was no warning. It just happened. Everything reminds me of her. I’ll have to get used to it, considering the fact that I live here. I shut my eyes. I hate everything in this house, especially the mirror, which I can’t stand to look into. My face isn’t my face anymore. It’s Katherine’s: the same Katherine who was hanging by her neck in the bathroom, staring at me blankly. My make-up probably looks really runny and shitty. I decide to brave looking in the mirror. I look for only half a second, and then shut my eyes. My chest feels heavy. I lose my breath. When I say I can’t stand how I look, I mean it literally. Anyway, my eyeliner looks how I thought it would look. I look like a raccoon going through a gothic phase. I’m never going to heal if I stay here. Sometimes I just think about getting in the truck and leaving home forever. Like in every non-supernatural YA novel ever. But then my mom would have no one, except her liquor. Sometimes I think if I got drunk maybe I could experience whatever magical delusional feeling she’s experiencing, but I come from a long line of people who ruined their lives with alcohol, so I’m not going to take that chance. I am the generation that finally gets it right. I smoke instead. I strip off my jacket (aka security blanket) for the first time all day and walk right out the back door. The night air feels warm and cool at the same time. Crickets are chirping. The wind feels amazing. I’ve always preferred night-time. Usually in the summer I change up my sleep schedule where I wake up at 3:00pm and go to sleep at 5:00am so I can mostly stay up at night, but still do stuff with friends in the afternoon. Plus, going out and doing whatever at night means that there’s zero chance of getting sunburned, and everyone’s asleep, so it’s like I live in my own little world. It’s just me and the sky. I’ve decided to not do that this year, because I need as much stability as I can get. I get out my lighter and cup my hand around it. The flickering flame illuminates the cigarette just before I light it. Contrary to popular belief, smoking is actually a great way to cope. First of all, it’s fun. Second, I can get a nice buzz going without losing my mental facilities, and not just because I lost it all beforehand. Third, you get to light things on fire. That’s always fun. And fourth, you can slowly kill yourself by doing it. Then I’ll die slightly after my mom so she won’t have to outlive both kids. Drag. Hold it in. Hold it in. Hold it in. Hold it in. Exhale. Repeat. Drag. Hold it in. Hold it in. Hold it in. Hold it in. Exhale. Repeat. Drag. Hold it in. Hold it in. Hold it in. Hold it in. Exhale. Repeat. I got these from a place some of my friends call “the tube”. I found it by accident a couple months ago. It’s where all the drug-addicted teens at my school hide their drugs and alcohol. They’ve apparently created their own complex mini-black market. I used to be friends with some of them, but now they’ve turned into bitches. Not from drugs; just from being themselves. I would tell you where the tube is, but I promised not to tell. We made a deal. If it was stuff like meth I would report it, but why ruin my joy of having all those people owe me? When I wanted some of their cigarettes, the deal got that much more complicated. I had to make a little trade. You see, in the tube, there’s something they always need. It’s worth its weight in gold, and it’s the same color. It’s pee. They love pee. They have to like it, if they still want to keep their drugs. Each person that trades there keeps a small plastic bag of clean pee on them at all times in case of random drug testing at school. Clean pee is hard to come by for them, though, because mostly everyone who knows about the tube is high as fuck on all the drugs, and therefore do not have clean pee. I am their source of security. I agreed to trade with them. One gallon of pee buys two packs of cigarettes. I think it’s a fair trade. What would I do with all my pee anyway? A car zips down the road. The wind and dust hit my face a few seconds later. I gag and spit out the dust. Smoking by the road really isn’t safe, but at this point in the game, I really don’t care if I die. Actually, I care just enough to live just so I don’t inconvenience others. I wish I could end it all sooner. Ever since the suicide I sometimes notice my breathing and go: why? Why did she die instead of me? I’m not going to rush anything, but if I got hit by a school bus tomorrow, I don’t think that I would really care at all. My stomach jolts in a funny sort of way. Tomorrow is the last day of school. I hate school, but I always miss it when it’s gone. Sure, it’s shitty and stuff, but it does provide stability. I need to go back, even if it only is one last day. School will hopefully bring something normal back into my life. It will also give me a chance to spend time with my friends before summer break, if you can even call them friends. They’re basically just the people I hang out with at lunch so I don’t look stupid sitting alone. They seem to like me enough to tolerate me, which is nice, I guess. Those people are very, um, interesting. First of all, there’s Molly. She’s the smartest person at our school. Everyone wants to be her friend. She helps people she likes with their homework and stuff. After spending so much time around people who are brown-nosing her, I forgot the stereotype about nerds having no friends. I honestly have no idea where that came from, because at my school, we treat the smart people like royalty because we depend on them for, like, not failing. There’s this kid named Jacob who also sits at my table. His stupid hairstyle has not changed in sixteen years. He’s strange and vaguely fucked-up, but I guess we all are to some degree. He gives off a weird sexual vibe, but not really a rapist/child molester one. It’s softer and seems more obscure, like maybe he’s sexually attracted to goats. I really should stop his description here. And then there’s Lily. She has the weirdest stories. I read one of them and my eyes nearly bled. It was a Twilight fanfiction in which the characters were all gangsters. Her face is always really flushed and she laughs at everything. Except when she’s on her period, which in that case she turns into the nastiest, loudest, bitchiest person you’ve ever met. A lot of weird shit happens at that table. My favorite was when we created a match.com profile for a burrito someone dropped on the ground. It was the most amazing thing in the world. “Burrito1230345 looking for a one-night stand. Bring candles, incense, and lots of lube.” Lily tried to reposition it so it would look as sexually suggestive as a burrito could possibly be, but she failed horribly. Jacob took over and did the job right in less than a minute. How he managed, no one knows. It all started when Jacob’s crush dropped the burrito on the ground as she walked to her table. Jacob started staring at it because, of course, he’s a freak. We started to joke with him about him wanting the burrito, because Jacob just has the kind of pervy face that makes him look like he wants to screw everything. He said that he didn’t want it. We felt bad for this little burrito, because not even Jacob would make love to it. Somehow, ten minutes later, we created a full profile for our burrito. Those were good times. I’ve laughed a lot a that table. I miss those little fuckers. I haven’t seen another human being besides the local news and the pee collectors in a week. The news people did a story on my sister’s suicide. I remember watching it. Our story was the second to last thing on there. The day before the news report, they interviewed Mom. That did not go over well. When they tried to talk to me, I turned away and walked into the house. I don’t need their sensationalistic crap in my life. I thought I was through with them, but then they entered my house WITHOUT PERMISSION and asked me “WHAT MY MOOD WAS”. Take a fucking hint. What did they think? Did they consider it a possibility that I was elated that my sister committed suicide? Did I look like I was jumping over rainbows and skipping through meadows or something? You know, this is why I am no longer considering journalism as my career. I now hate the media. This whole thing has really opened my eyes. They didn’t show either of the failed interviews, thank God. I will give them that. Even so, the newscasters had blank, empty faces when they were giving the report about the suicide. Then, not a moment later, they were smiling and talking about a baby animal that was born in the local zoo. It’s clear that they don’t really give a damn about anyone’s feelings. About a second before I fall asleep (I collapsed on the rocking chair we have outside), my mom pulls up into the driveway, back from her midnight run to the liquor store. She ran into our trashcan pretty hard. That’s just wonderful. She’s driving drunk. Actually, she’s probably not even drunk, but depressed slap-happy. It’s a good thing that I have my own car so I can drive to school without chicken bones flying off the hood. I got mom’s old one about three months ago after I got my driver’s license. I always hated the school bus. I’ve seen some shit there. Mom got a new Honda a year ago. She was supposed to get a used one. To be fair, Hondas aren’t the most expensive cars, but still. She’s going to run that thing in the ground if she keeps that up. I hope that the car insurance will cover the damage. But I have a really bad feeling that the car insurance is actually my college fund. Bye, college. Mom gets out of the car, kicking out some wine bottles in the process. I don’t really want to witness this. I snuff out my last cigarette and go inside. My lungs were starting to struggle anyway. I crash on the couch and quickly fall asleep, praying that my brain won’t force me to relive my sister’s death again like it usually does. I wake up at what feels like seconds later, but it is pitch black outside, and the sound of thousands of horny cicadas chirping is louder. I’m thirsty and covered in sweat. My dead sister didn’t revisit me again, so that’s a plus. Forcing myself off the couch, I get a glass of milk and put it in the microwave. My head spins, due to either the smoke, the alcohol smell coming from mom’s bedroom, or how fast I moved in a short amount of time, or all three. It takes me a minute notice Mom, in her room, passed out. I suddenly wish that microwaves had a “silent” option. Mom would never hurt me intentionally, but you know. After the infernal beeping sound ends, I quietly get the milk out and slowly trudge over to the table. I sit down, taking quiet sips from my glass. Mom herself said that it was unhealthy to have addictions. But here she is, passed out, wine running through her veins instead of life. I wish mom was happy again. I wish that she would go to work and pay attention to the last daughter she has left. But wishes are empty. We are not happy. It’s like we all died that awful night. In some ways, I did die. My dreams are rotting away. My sanity is hanging by a single string of skin. The better half of me is gone. I’m ripping apart at the seams. Emotional pain is probably the worst abstract concept ever. I would burn off my right hand to see my sister for one more day. I would walk across hell if it would give her one year on earth. I would die a thousand painful deaths to make her happy. If only I cared enough about her before the suicide. Forget walking across hell. I couldn’t even walk to her room. A lump grows in my throat. What sort of things did my sister experience? Does she still remember it? Whatever it was, I hope that she’s stopped suffering. I really hope she didn’t go to hell. She couldn’t have, though. She’s too pure. Everything is temporary. That’s just one harsh fact of life and the workings of the universe. However, it would have been nice if the universe was kind enough to allow my sister to be a little less temporary. I look at the pictures on the table. You know what’s funny? Family photos are funny. They’re like little windows into the past. It takes me back to when I dressed normally, Katherine was little and not dead, Dad was here and still loved my mom, we lived in this big house by a river, and life was generally just, like, better and stuff. It sickens me, the fact that the happy people in those pictures have no idea about what the future holds. I chug the rest of my milk, accidentally spilling half of it on the table and my chest. I’m not cleaning that shit up. Stretching, I quietly go back to my sister’s room and fall onto her bed. I stare at the ceiling fan and watch it spin around and round. Just like my brain. I shut my eyes. Rain lightly taps on our metal roof. How long was it raining? I tilt my head to look out Katherine’s window. Water falls gently upon the water-starved ground. It runs and runs until it finds a low area to rest in. Then the soil draws it in like a slow breath. My eyelids close once more and I focus on the rain and nothing else. A boom of thunder wakes me. Unfortunately, I’m the type that stays awake all night if I wake up. Now I’m alone with my thoughts. I’m just tired enough to not be able to grab my phone. I wish I could play some music to drown out my thoughts. My brain won’t shut the hell up. I’m being reminded of everything I’ve ever said or did with her. I miss my sister so much it actually physically hurts. I wish I killed myself instead of her. I really have no idea why she killed herself at all. I can’t think of any conversation or anything that could even slightly read as “suicidal”. She’s not even that good at keeping secrets. What am I missing here? Is it just really obvious or something? I’m so frustrated. She didn’t even leave a suicide note. I really wish she had. I mean, isn’t that something that you just do when you kill yourself? I mean, I guess there’s not really a rulebook or a protocol for that sort of thing, but yeah. I have to go to school tomorrow. Maybe that would help me sort out my thoughts. Maybe I can consult with Jacob and Lily and Molly and see if they might know anyone who can help me. I need to find out what happened to my sister. It just doesn’t make any sense at all. I wish I could just find something that would answer all of my questions just like that. It’s probably going to take a while to know the whole truth, but I will do everything it takes. Mark my words.

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starlettemagnechalastor · 5 years

Text

Mun’s history

I grew up in good ol’ Texas, despite being born in Virginia. My mom divorced my biological dad and move to Texas when I was 2, so I really have no memory or connection with my biological dad.

She married my stepdad when I was 5. We moved into his house, and for many years, I always thought I had a normal childhood...

Until I started therapy MANY years later.

Being coerced into thinking back made me realize how fucked the marriage was.

The fighting, the emotional and verbal abuse, the religious indoctrination..

The bullshit gender norms my stepdad tried to force on me.

Example: Women cannot wear hats.

So my mom and I wore caps and whatever hats we liked cause fuck him.

She was miserable in the relationship, they ALWAYS fought. Once, my mom told me he wanted a divorce because I was “too smart.”

I was 6.

And unconsciously, all the abuse of my dad (He often called my younger brother and I names, and would make us paranoid by scaring the shit out of us whenever he could. Once or twice? Fine. But don’t hide behind the walls all the time and jump out at us.), the worthlessness I felt because my religion taught me I was broken and filthy without Jesus (thanks grandma).

I admit, I attempted to take my life when I was 7. I tried to swallow a bottle of pills. We had a whole medicine cabinet and I was easily able to access the medicine. My brother caught on when I gave him my prized snow globe music box and told him I didn’t need it anymore.

My mom burst into my room as I opened the bottle.

She hid all medications and all sharp objects for months. But I wasn’t taken to a therapist.

No professional to help me.

10 years of age: One day, my mom snapped and attempted suicide by shooting herself with my dad’s gun. He tried to grab the gun, and a bullet fired. It hit her side and broke their bathroom sink. Police woke me up in the middle of the night, and my grandmother was there in tears.

Middle school: I was forced into a christian school, my mom was paranoid over gossip of the public middle school. And of course, when the ENTIRE class was questioned about their faith...I hesitated. Which made me an instant target for severe bullying. From people pretending to have romantic interest in me, to physically assaulting me. I kept it to myself for my entire middle school life, until the day they busted my bike, which was how I got home. And despite the school saying the damages would be covered and I’d get an apology letter, that never happened.

My mom moved me to a charter school.

The only significant memories I have of THAT gem was that they tried to get me to CHEAT on a TAKS test and that I was bullied for being a virgin.

I told my parents about the TAKS, they confronted the school staff...and they held me back.

So, repeating 10th grade in a public high school.

My mom, over the years, has been in and out of the hospital. Which meant my brother and I were in a house with a man who was emotionally constipated and constantly harassed, berated, and insulted his children.

But constantly reminded us about how he’s so great for marrying a woman with two children.

My mom, when she was home, had a lot of medical problems. She had a small spine, so they had to remove a part of her hip to normalize the length, she couldn’t breathe properly on her own, she had to have a nurse coming over to check on her often, she had a pacemaker, she ended up with diabetes, she had seizures that were mostly triggered by flashing lights, and she had to have certain medications injected.

This woman, my mother, was the one who got me into art, who ALWAYS supported me. I think she knew I was transgender before I did, she gave me my first short haircut that had my FAMILY, all except her brother, call me a dyke. She was always there for my lows, knew I had self-esteem issues, she bred my artistic side where I could be FREE.

12 years old, my uncle (the only other light of my life) got engaged to a pediatric nurse. Her name was Stephanie. They had a kid together already, his name was Aiden. Stephanie asked us to come to a family reunion to meet her family.

I didn’t see any red flags when I got there, but things started being weird when I met a few of the would-be cousins.

One man, who looked like he was in his 20s, was REALLY handsy with me. He even lifted my leg and SPANKED me while we were hanging out outside. REMINDER: I WAS 12 YEARS OLD AT THE TIME.

Then I met this kid named Matthew.

A monster in the making.

He wasn’t handsy, he was a chill guy. He was even invited to our house and we sat at the dining room table to watch videos.

THEN

And ONLY THEN

did he start groping me.

He went as far as shoving his hand down my pants.

And I was so confused, so disturbed and horrified, that I could only quietly cry and plead for him to stop.

I never told my parents, my grandparents, never told an adult.

I only told my brother when he brought Matthew over one day, many years later. I told him he was NEVER allowed in our house again, and my brother wholeheartedly agreed, thankfully.

And thank fuck I never had to see that jerk because someone blew the whistle on him to my parents. Someone caught him groping girl’s butts at the next family reunion.

Fast forward to 14 years of age

At the time, I didn’t know she had a drug abuse problem.

She was crushing medications she was to be taking orally, mixing them with water, and injecting them.

And I helped her do it, because I thought I was helping her get better.

I wanted her SO BADLY to get better.

I prayed so hard, being a devout christian.

I begged and PLEADED for her to get better so I could have my mom back, so we could be TOGETHER again. To have her bright smile and shitty ass jokes (After my mom came home from the attempted suicide, she would always joke about how she should’ve shot herself while holding a toy gun. Or called gangsters wimps for limping after getting shot. She was weird :) And I loved that about her), I just wanted my mom.

I was only a young teen, and I was starting to figure out my gender identity. I couldn’t go to my dad, I didn’t trust him like I trusted her.

I visited her constantly, she tried to teach me more about coloring and encouraged me to practice singing. She was my teacher ^^ And because of her, I clung to teachers and befriended them. My art teachers LOVED me, they did all they could to protect me from bullies that would throw erasers at me, ruin my projects, and draw on my posters. I loved all my teachers, they were kind and understanding and helped me get through the years while my mom was unable to.

My mom gave me all the love and support I could ever wish for. She never required me to be one way, but told me no matter if I was an atheist, satanist, if I was gay or straight, NO MATTER THE CHANGE, she would ALWAYS love me.

And it scared me when she ended up with a staph infection in her heart.

The surgery went well, she managed to recover. Doctors removed the infected valve with a pig’s valve. She came home, and I stuck by her side.

I’d sneak in cigarettes when she asked.

And..my dad tried to turn me against my own mom with texts that I had no context to go by.

I can’t really remember the texts, but I remember feeling devastated. But I still did ANYTHING she asked.

...I lost her when I was 16.

The staph infection was back. She only had a 10% chance of surviving another surgery.

My dad had to explain that to me, so I skipped school that day, December 8 of 2011, to be with her on her last day.

She wasn’t conscious.

I remember sitting there numbly, not really paying attention to the tv in the room. My dad was in and out, as well as some nurses.

One by one, my great aunts, my second cousins, and my grandmother came to say their goodbyes.

I overheard the nurse tell my dad that once they unplugged the machines, she would be dead.

But I think she was dead long before that. Brain dead. Her heart was pumping, but she wasn’t there.

I broke down once my grandma told her sister that, after the nurse had unplugged the machine and left us alone, that she was gone.

I could hear my second cousin break down too. He only got support from my mom, turns out he was disowned for being gay and my mom still treated him like a human being when nobody else would. It made me realize how much of a positive impact she was on the family, and we lost it.

My school offered therapy, which I accepted. My therapist was sweet, she brought me snacks and she reminded me a lot of my mom with her tone and attitude. She helped me realize it wasn’t my fault my mom died, because I completely blamed myself.

I know now that it was due to her drug abuse, that the needles she used caused the infection.

But I didn’t know fully at the time. So when I did, I figured it was my fault. I helped her inject medicine she wasn’t supposed to, helped her with her abuse.

My dad pulled me out of therapy because he said I didn’t need it.

And in that SAME MONTH, when he found out I was considering cutting myself, he said, “If you’re gunna cut, do it right.”

Father of the year anyone?

Fast forward to her funeral.

Open casket. The last time I ever saw my mom in person.

My uncle, my mother’s only brother, sang a song in her honor. He was 27, a musician, and already had a son. Unfortunately, he too was a drug abuser.

I don’t blame him or my mom for their abuse, they hardly had a good foundation. My grandmother didn’t raise them. She was a horrible, vindictive, and petty person. She ignored her children in favor of strange men. My mom had to raise her little baby brother, and my mom had to deal with a woman who burned her clothes, broke her rock cds, and slashed her tires. Because Jesus.

I grew more attached to my uncle after my mom passed, he was the only other positive influence in my life. He was an amazing artist, he was like my mom in a lot of ways. He called me Nikki Six and laughed at my shitty jokes, he cried to me when my grandmother berated and insulted him or treated him like crap.

We were open with each other. He wanted to join the military, be a role model for his one year old son, Aiden. I still have the video where he sang an original song, Thumb Sucking Blues, while my little cousin tried to play along with him :) He was a small little guy, but literally had his thumb in his mouth the whole time :P

Aiden LOVED his dad.

But because of his fiance’s drug use, he was taken from them. My mom was still alive when that happened, and we had supervised visitation with my cousin.

My uncle went to rehab to get clean, yet my grandmother continued to berate and degrade him.I supported him. I wanted him to be back home with US. My brother and I.

During this time...I got a phone call that terrified me.

My biological dad called me.

And I panicked; I didn’t KNOW him, he was NEVER in my life, and after a few months of talking and TRYING to get to know him, he vanished.

Turns out he’s been hiding for years to avoid paying child support.

But I wasn’t too hurt he abandoned me again. All we did was talk about anime we liked. I probably got my love of anime from him to be honest :P

My uncle eventually returned home, and all seemed great. He was a good father to his son, he got him back after his rehab (which I later found out it did fuck all for him because it was just another fucking church)

July 4th, 2012. I got a call from my grandmother because I was too tired to do fireworks that night.

Police had found my uncle’s body in an alley way.

He died of overdose, according to autopsy.

SIX MONTHS after losing one person who supported me, I lost the other.

He was cremated and my grandmother kept his ashes.

I was deist at the time, but I kept his bible, guitar picks, and the crappy religious coins he got from the “rehab.”

I have both my mom’s and my uncle’s bibles.

I..fell into a hard ass depression. I kept reliving the moment my mom died, the moment I heard about my uncle, I...saw his body after the autopsy. Of course, they covered it mostly, but it still hurt SO much to see him lifeless.

I graduated high school and immediately went to college, just trying to get through the shit. I just...didn’t care anymore. I lost the only two people that supported me. Both lights, my artistic inspirations, my TRUE FAMILY, gone.

My brother moved in with our grandmother, he was fed up with dad’s abuse. I..was too blind to see how abusive he was.

I took computer classes, he told me I should because it pays well. I personally found it fascinating on learning how to troubleshoot desktops, but programming was NOT my thing. I hated it.

I actually wanted to go into art, be an artist like my mom.

My dad?

“It’s not a REAL JOB.”

He shot down my passion for YEARS. I started college in 2014.

After nearly a year of computer classes, I was convinced to switch my major to education because I’m good with kids.

Because to my dad, good with kids = I want to be a teacher.

Kids just like me, I’m not sure why. My cousin loved me, and my cousin on my DAD’S side of the family loved me. I had patience and kindness to kids, they’re little beans that just need guidance. I don’t snap, I DEFINITELY don’t lay a HAND on a child as discipline.

So, I went into education like he said. I was just...a robot. Too scared to pursue what I wanted to do.

But there was a shining light; the Coalition club on my campus. A Gay/Straight alliance club! I ended up as their secretary, designed stickers, kept schedules, and I met SO many amazing people in that club. I felt welcomed, I felt SAFE, I could be OPEN about my gender with them, since I was too scared to say anything to my dad.

When he found out I was involved with the group, he got pissed. He’d constantly pick fights with me about how I’m focusing too much on the group and failing my classes.

Funny thing; I had As and Bs on ALL my courses.

Pretty sure that’s passing.

But..he kinda bred me to be unable to handle confrontation well. Whenever someone yells at me or talks in a strict tone, I start to cry.

So he’d always make me a sobbing mess nearly every day.

I locked myself in my room constantly.

I had to quit asking him to take me to HEB for me to buy groceries because I couldn’t STAND him. I was too scared to be alone with him for ANY reason. I felt like he’d find something to make me cry and ruin my day, so..I would walk to a corner store to buy easy mac, eggs, bacon, maybe some frozen pizza if I could afford it. Most of my meals were pasta-related, it was cheaper than most items. Corner store pricing and all that ^^;

I got a job in the work-study program as an AVID Tutor. Which helps students with their work from other classes. The students instantly clung to me, being the youngest teacher.

That job didn’t last long ;v; Apparently a button up shirt and a long black skirt wasn’t teacher apparel??? I wore dress pants too, I fit the “female gender role.” But I was fired for not dressing professionally.

I ended up working at a subway in a flea market, and everyone was SO SWEET! They were fine with my gender, and I was even defended by a rides worker when a customer complained about me using the restroom.

I was deadass exhausted though.

My dad forced me to do MAX college hours

While I also balanced a job.

The stress was KILLING me, but locking myself in my room where I could draw?

Being in a group that loved and accepted me?

It made life bearable.

But my dad eventually started getting after me about my job, that he DIDN’T consider a job because it was only on the weekends that it was open.

He started getting more aggressive with his fights. I would literally just WALK IN THE DOOR from work, exhausted because I have panic attacks (I had no idea I had panic disorder at the time), and he’d start fights about something.

Be it because I was atheist or that he was pissed I was STILL in college (He’s a college dropout so I just think “.________________________. boi.”)

A few months into 2016, I came out to my grandmother and my dad about being transgender.

My grandmother’s response? “You’re not transgender, you’re just fat!”

My dad? He didn’t really get it. He had to learn from his girlfriend because he sure as fuck didn’t listen to me when I explained it.

And he’d constantly ask about it, which didn’t bother me too much because I figured he was still confused.

Then he started to dead name me.

MY ENTIRE LIFE, I was ALWAYS referred to with a gender neutral nickname. NEVER my first because I never liked my name. I hated it. I used to be called Nikki, now I just go by Nick or Nicholas :) Cause I love that name.

HE.

In front of his LGBTQ+ friendly girlfriend.

referred to me with my FULL NAME.

And he did this TWICE.

I was too afraid to confront him, but his gf sure as fuck wasn’t. She was PISSED.

She put an end to that.

But things got worse after I sought out therapy to see if I qualified for HRT, Hormone Replacement Therapy.

And I did.

My dad only got more angry when he saw the letter from my therapist saying I had Gender Dysphoria and that he recommend I take HRT.

He would, from then on,, badger me about my clothes, claiming it’s what 12 year old boys wear.

Despite I paid the internet bill AND his cable bill, he’d get after me for unwinding by playing games.

He spent a fuck ton of money on a new mustang to tinker with to make a drag race car, but not a new air conditioning system for a 50+ year old house with no insulation. So while he was away, and the temperatures rose (It’s texas, it’s ALWAYS hot), I was sweating and trying to keep cool with ice packs and frozen towels. But none of THAT mattered, because I’m irresponsible for playing video games after all my work was completed.

I didn’t tell him I was starting a youtube channel in an attempt to bring in extra money, because I was only paid a little over 120 a week.

But he’s bitch about pretty much EVERY aspect of me.

But I kept quiet, kept food in my room because I was too scared to leave my safe space in fear of him insulting me further.

I literally asked for help on hiding food online.

After 2 more years of college, I got my associate’s in education and moved onto university for my bachelor’s.

I still didn’t want the major. But I didn’t really feel like I had a choice.

But this class I took, Child/Adolescent development, helped me realize how HORRIBLE and ABUSIVE my dad is.

I learned in that class about emotional and verbal abuse, and the effects it had on children and adults.

I began to stand up for myself, I’d argue back with my dad instead of letting him verbally abuse me with no repercussions.

Anything I said?

“Liberal Propaganda”

“Well, I put my religion first”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I thank my government teacher to this day for giving me the backbone I needed. She is a headstrong woman, refuses to be referred to as Miss, but prefers “Professor.” She had a PHD and she was passionate about her job and about human rights.

It became a much more hostile home after I started fighting back.

He would challenge my moral compass, “An atheist should have no problem lying.”

He’d pick on my gender identity and choice of fashion, “You’re trying too hard to be transgender.”

And anytime I went to houston to see my brother and cousin? My grandmother made it worse. She’d pick on my hair, call me a devil worshiper, insult my weight (This woman forced me to eat more when I was on a diet, but I never called her out on it), she was as bad as my dad to where my brother took me to the mall to avoid any further argument.

In late 2017, my dad tried to pick on me in front of his friend, Bobby. Bobby was a long-time family friend, I grew up with his kids. He knew me since I was a child.

And his friend was NOT impressed with my dad, and HE accepted my gender and even tried to explain what he was doing was being a dickhead.

He didn’t listen.

It went on like that until early 2018.

He called me out of my room and, once again, picked a fight with me because I’m part of an LGBTQ+ group, still in college, same bullshit.

But this time, he told me to pack up and leave, that I had two weeks to move.

I panicked.

I didn’t have the funds to move into an apartment with my current job.

I thought I was going to be homeless.

I called one of my friends in tears, and he asked his mother if I could take refuge there.

For a bit of context: I used to date him and I’ve met his family. His family had me over for the holidays, and kept me there for christmas eve and christmas day after I told my friend my dad BANNED me from celebrating the holidays with him because I’m an atheist.

And BOY was she PISSED. And his mom? Veteran Including his dad. BOTH are hard veterans that firmly believe in families sticking together.

So the kicking me out?

It REALLY blew their gaskets.

They told me to pack all I needed and that they’d be there in two weeks.

Later that week, my dad apologized and said it was cruel to do that, but...

I couldn’t stay.

I couldn’t do it anymore.

I was tired of living in FEAR, you shouldn’t be hiding food in your room to eat because you’re too scared to come out.

I told him I was leaving.

And what pissed me off? He tried to play VICTIM.

I moved out, and unfortunately had to quit my job because transportation issues. Ubers didn’t reach out this far and even if they did, it’d be like 30 bucks a trip.

With my wage? WHEEZE. Nope.

But a lady at the flea market gave me boxes and duct tape when I was packing to leave, just so I had places to put my stuff in. :)

I started counseling at A&M not too long after I moved into my new temporary home (I say as I’ve been here for nearly a YEAR ;-; and I feel bad but they’ve not kicked me out soooo....yay?)

And after a few session, my counselor told me to seek long term treatment, and she was helping me break free of my fear of asking for help and it’s thanks to her that I got to pursue the major of my dreams! I’m so thankful that I went to see her, because I went as SOON as I could to a medical clinic to talk to a psychiatrist.

I was diagnosed with PTSD, Bipolar disorder, and Panic disorder.

I was prescribed medication.

And little by little, I was getting better.

I had already had my Bendice tumblr for a while and the more I drew, the better I felt.

And the artist community?

It’s been AMAZING!

I’ve meet so many AMAZING people, from great friends to my art senpais. I’ve been getting better and better at honing my skills, and I feel like I really can be an animator someday.

Now, people are probably wondering why I dumped all this out.

Well...I know I’m not alone, but others might feel how I used to.

Isolated

So very Hurt

Alone

And miserable.

I don’t want pity, I don’t want “there there”, I want to show people that might be feeling alone that they aren’t. That someone suffered just like them.

Be it for being gay

Transgender

Depressed

An artist

No matter the “why,’ all pain here is equal.

It’s not insignificant.

YOU aren’t Insignificant.

All the pain and suffering we’ve all endured?

Is valid.

And we’re not pussies or wimps for feeling hurt.

And we’re not alone.

Thank you to those who read my entire shit storm ^^; I’ll admit I cried while writing this, but I feel good now!

I hope my words and my story inspire someone out there to take the steps they need to better themselves, to escape toxic environments.

Because that shit SUCKS.

#Personal shit #(OOC) 𝑂𝑓𝑓 𝑡𝘩𝑒 𝐴𝑖𝑟 #tw negative thoughts #cw negativity #cw abuse #tw:death #tw drug abuse #tw suicide #LONG ASS POST #Sorry #Read at your own risk

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ngtv-spc · 7 years

Photo

TODAY, MAY 14:

impressed mom with a delicious choco chip pancake breakfast (happy mother’s day!!)

started a new book on cancer, “the emperor of all maladies”

heard disturbing news about my parents and stayed calm through it

got a compliment from emily’s mom(!!)

googled ways to get my dad to go to a therapist

Hi. It’s been a while. I’ve felt the need to get back to you for the last few days now, but haven’t been able to for whatever reason (honestly, lack of muse for doodling. You can see from above that I am at a loss of what to do).

Um…there’s a lot to talk about. Life’s been pretty eventful since we last talked. Lots of ups and downs, and to be frank, I feel like I’m a lot chiller now than I would have been dealing with all of this shit even just a year ago. So congratulations, me. That’s honestly something to appreciate (or to worry about). I’m not really in a great place right now, so positivity is needed, and I need to remember that.

So let’s talk about good things first! Let’s see…it’s been a while so I’ll have to backtrack a few days, if you don’t mind. I got to hang out with Emily a couple days ago! It actually happened because Ben’s train was late to the Kalamazoo station, and he couldn’t get a car to hang out with me, so I was upset about it, and he was upset about it, and we were both upset with each other. So I was feeling pretty sad about that and needed someone to be with, since the house is a little suffocating right now. She invited me over to watch Moana with her mom and Sarah, and we sat on the living room floor with her three slobbery dogs and watched a Hawaiian heroine’s journey unfold on the TV. Firstly, it was an excellent movie–songs were just okay, although I’d never tell Emily that because Lin-Manuel Miranda wrote the whole soundtrack and she’d twist my neck–with implicit gender equality (a girl could be the chieftain) and possible acknowledgement of gender on a spectrummmm? A solid 8 out of 10. Afterwards we just talked for an hour or so until she drove me home, my bike wedged into the back of her car (it was too dark to cross 12th Street, aka Roadkill Lane).

Since I had originally planned to hang out with Ben that day, I had done my face up for the first time in two weeks and was thus all made up at Emily’s house. Today she messaged me and told me that her mom had thought I was really pretty that day! Specifically, that “Chang’s always been cute but she’s really grown and now she’s just so pretty”. Julie Kay Stroh tells it like it is, so this was genuine praise. I was, and am, immensely flattered.

Another big, obvious positive thing was that I finally got to see Ben for a little while. Two whole days, to be precise, which felt endless once they began and all too short by the end. I’ve doubted for a little while whether I really, truly love him or whether I jumped the gun by saying it too early and have convinced myself that it’s true–please remember that I live in a stressed household right now, so such dark and dramatic thoughts are really not that out of the ordinary in my brain right now. But there’s no way for that doubt to exist right now. It felt so good hearing and saying “I love you” whenever there was a lull in the conversation as he drove us back and forth between our houses; it was this…fulfilling feeling in the heart. My chest literally felt like it swelled a little underneath my sternum every time that happened. And when I saw him off the first day from my house, I can honestly say that I felt crushed thinking that I wasn’t going to see him for another long stretch of time. I miss him already and he only left for Ann Arbor today.

Things just felt so easy with us once we were together. We’ve been fighting over the phone, as you know, ever since summer break started, and I think it really took a toll on both of us–we both started doubting things; at least, I know I did. But it was a huge affirmation to be back together and know that the majority of it was just frustration from being an hour and a half apart from each other. My favorite memory was being curled up with him on his couch, his cat on our bellies, Tesla against Ben’s hip, and Ellie slumbering on the other sofa as we all snoozed for half an hour. It was half an hour of reprieve, you know? Not to sound like a MySpace scene kid, but I need to be unconscious more often. It’s how I’ll be able to make it through these next four months in this household.

Another good thing: I finally finished reading The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks. I thought that it was multifaceted, and my biggest frustration with it was that there was no clear solution at the end, which I had been searching for–justice for the Lacks family, but appropriate justice and realistic justice. Unfortunately, that is the way of the real world. I dipped my toes in that book Dad has been pushing me to read, Hillbilly Elegy, but I don’t think it’s my cup of tea–just another novel of one man’s experience that hints at broader explanations of hillbillies in America. I guess it’s just too slow-paced for me to appreciate at the moment. Although I did perversely appreciate the descriptions of how physically wild and abusive the Vance family could get; I guess it made me feel better about my own–although we’re bad, we’re not that bad (supposedly).

Bad things now. And they’re all about my dad (of course), so let’s just list them off as a list because Chang, you do not need to dwell on them. You need to list them to say that they’re real and so you don’t forget them forever, but then you can let them go from your brain and maybe breathe for a moment. Let’s go:

my dad has been fighting with my mom about lao lao staying at our house, even though she is 78, her lease is ending soon, and my uncle might need to leave Kalamazoo to find a job in the States

my dad didn’t wish my mom happy birthday on her 47th birthday

my dad screams at my sister when she doesn’t understand math problems

my dad once told my sister to kill herself in mandarin, which culturally has a different context than it does in English (people say it more often), but what the fuck, dad

my dad smokes now (or did before I came? not sure if he still does)

my dad says stupid fucking shit when he’s angry–not long ago, before I came back, while in a fight with my mom about my grandma, he said “well what if I killed her?” and my mom was like “then you go to jail and I stay in the house with the kids” and my dad was like “well what if I killed you?” and my mom was like “then you go to jail and I’m dead and the kids will have no one” WHAT THE FUCK, DAD?

my dad sometimes cooks and doesn’t make enough for five people

my dad would never help David with school (like I haven’t seen him do it once, ever)

my dad is fucking mental

my dad needs to go to a therapist so he can work on his shitty self but I’ll pay all of my current savings to anyone who can figure out how to get him there

my dad is putting so much pressure on me with all of his shit even if he doesn’t know it

my dad is forcing me to picture a life where he’s not in it, for the sake of my happiness and personal health

I. Need. Someone. To. Help. And I need to remember, this Mother's Day, how much my mother does for me and how much she loves me. I love you, Mom. You are the strongest woman I know.

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