Tag Archives: candle in the dark
So pissed right now. My car’s brake light switch is bad; nobody wants to reply to any of my muses except Toby; I can’t get a fucking job and we have maybe six months of money left period; FF14 still isn’t available for purchase; I’m covered in goddamn chigger bites; my tabletop gaming group is screwed by work schedules; and my husband is a sweetheart and a total slob.
Fuck you, fuck you, and fuck all of you.
I can’t save you. You have to save yourself.
But words don’t cover how much I want to.
A man admittedly followed and killed an innocent teenager, and was declared not guilty.
States are passing laws allowing guns in public schools.
Women are losing their reproductive rights at an increasingly alarming rate.
Riots are tearing through the streets in cities all over the world.
College tuition keeps rising, sending a generation into debt as soon as they are entering the adult world.
Education funds keep getting slashed.
Privacy no longer exists.
Corporations now have the same rights as people, and the funds to actually protect them.
Through loopholes, many U.S. Corporations pay a lower tax rate than middle class families.
States are now passing more voter ID laws and similar laws that only affect the lower class.
The corporate giant, Monsanto, has pretty much purchased and bribed its way into every grocery product on the shelf, resulting in food becoming less and less like, well, food. There are reasons Cancer rates are getting worse.
Likewise, Monsanto is making sure small American farmers are ran out of business. Also, their constant pesticide use is killing bees and other insects, causing dire environmental issues.
The mass media is more concerned with pop culture and trends, than the real issues the world is facing.
Human population is ever growing, and at rapid rates. It can’t just continue this way.
We have put so much trash in giant landfills all over our world and in our oceans. We are killing our planet.
By planet you mean we are killing ourselves.
Can we also pay attention to the fact that there aren’t just political problems going on???
I mean, seriously, I have been trying to tell everyone, BUT NO ONE IS EVEN REBLOGGING THE ARTICLES THAT COULD SAVE A LIFE
While all this is happening, the Pacific Ocean is being contaminated by not just trash, but Radiation.
There was a leak in the Fukushima power plant that has now poisoned the entire Pacific Ocean.
Some think that oh, maybe it will go away with time. Sure, it will, in about 16 million years. Yes, you read that right. Due to the long half life of iodine-129, the whole ecosystem of the Pacific Coast will be contaminated pretty much forever.
Here is the radiation levels in the ocean.
Everyone needs to wake up.
The government needs to be set straight. They were hiding this information so that people don’t panic. Well, now everyone’s gonna die and not know why.
Shit is going down, and we need to make sure EVERYONE knows EVERYTHING that is happening in this place we call home.
http://www.naturalnews.com/041200_Fukushima_radiation_poisoning_contaminated_food.html#ixzz2Z9XEqBnN
Yes, let’s make sure that a whole lot of information that is likely to completely overwhelm a lot of people gets spread to a lot of teenagers and young adults with a fairly obvious history of depression, self-hatred, frustration, and instability, who are frequently unable to get themselves out of the holes their lives have become, so they can castigate themselves even more because they now know about these things they can do nothing about.
And if you can parse that sentence, you can rip me a new one. Meanwhile, shut UP.
Self-defense or not, all he ever had to do was not get out of the car. If he had stayed in the car, one person would be alive, and another person would not be hurt or hated.
sometimes I wonder if there’s even a point to me having this anymore. It’s been a year and I need to take my shoes off to count the number of people who’ve just abandoned me without a word, without even caring. oh look, here goes another. am I just not good enough? not interesting enough? I’m so sorry my muse is a flirt — oh wait no I’m not.
I’m so tired of losing people. friends.
I’m so tired of not being good enough in someone else’s eyes.
I’m not usually one of those people who threatens to shut her blog down and delete at the slightest frustration, but I really do wonder right now if anyone would even notice.
if the people I want to notice would care.
I hate losing people. I hate not knowing if I’m ever going to talk to that person again, if silence means death or merely distraction. I hate that I sink my heart into someone, knowing I’ll never get it back and not caring, and they run off with it, not caring. I hate that I love, and I have to love, and I’ll never stop loving, and that it hurts so damn much.
My heart buds off little pieces I put in other people’s hands. I know they won’t care for it but if I don’t give then what am I?
I have a question.
Why is this (tw: suicide) a huge deal, but this and this is okay?
My proper response to that crap is this, but let me draw out a few pertinent quotes for you.
As someone who is borderline-suicidal in her daily life because of clinical depression, I do not have time for your bullshit, fandom. I am fighting my depression kicking and screaming and clawing, clinging to the very fucking edge of that abyss, and I do not need you adding weight to the load.
So many of us who become attached to fandoms enough to do things like write fic, roleplay, draw, and otherwise create for them? So so so many of us use this as an outlet because our real lives suck. In Meegan’s case, she was suffering from bullying in-person, and fandom should have been a safe space for her. Instead it became somewhere else she was being hurt, and she took her own life.
We failed her, as a fandom, collectively. We failed to provide her with a safe place to feel comfortable in her own skin, despite the fact that so many of us know exactly what she was going through, because we’ve been there. We failed to call people out on their shit when we saw it, and we failed to reach out when we could have done something.
If the minute I say
It had to do with my self-doubt, my trying to figure out how I was going to deal with wanting to play with people and not reaching out. It had to do with — frankly, with the damned dummystark situation and with my personal insanity.
honestly I get jumped on for using my illness as an excuse — well, thanks, you just made me want to repeat the cycle all over again. Why would I want to stick around a fandom, where I come to get away from that crap, that hits me with my illness like it’s something I can help?
I didn’t write that to say “dummystark drove me away”. Far from it. It was a horrible, stressful situation; I had a lot of doubts about my desirability as a friend and roleplayer, and I crawled into a hole and pulled it in after me. That was all me. And I gritted my teeth, took my meds, talked to my therapist, and decided that reaching out to people was important to me, as a writer, as a geekgirl, and as a roleplayer.
That other person died because stuff like what was said to me gets praised.
You can’t do that to me. I’ve been there. You can’t say anything to me I haven’t heard before, period. But I will be drawn and quartered, tarred and feathered and driven off tumblr and out of roleplaying before I stop calling people out on that shit. And what was said about me last night was bullshit.
Dishonor on your cow.
I fled, as I do, as I must. It’s a different world I have to go to, to run away from myself. They say, hell is other people.
It’s wrong.
Hell is always, endlessly, myself. Locked inside my own head, own voice searing across old wounds, ripping and prying and tearing.
I don’t cut with blades.
I cut with words, and you cannot see my scars.
I ran away, cutting my souls/soles on the sharp truth: I failed. To be sorry, to be kind, to be good.
To be wanted.
You see, I write because I have to. The words jostle in my mind like a thousand thousand razor blades, cutting and cutting. You cannot see my scars, though I lay them out in text, fine lines of script linking wound to pain to bruise. I write because the pixels, the ink is blood, sliding down my fingertips.
You say to me: it hurts too much, I can’t tonight. I hear you but I can’t hear you. Do you lock it inside, then? How do you do that? It writhes inside me, clinging with claws sharp as kittens’ teeth, pricking marks that only hurt later, when I’ve stopped running.
Do you understand? I’m asking, always asking, only ever asking you to help me heal. I thought I heard you say, No, so I fled. I ran away to find the words I shape around that pain, and I didn’t know my leaving would hurt you. I never want to hurt you.
I want to show you my scars, the ink that runs in my veins and spills out on the page, and say: we are alike. I can write you the path I walked before you, and maybe, just maybe, if the words shape themselves right you don’t have to hurt yourself on the same things.
I ask you to help me and what comes out is always ugly and wanting, greedy and selfish. Ragged-edged words with too-cruel edges.
The truth is that I say it wrong. The truth is that I love you, and I love you cannot say as you wish until after I say my wishes too. I wish you to come back. Let me try again.
I write and write and write; the words spill like blood across the screen and swirl away. They will never be enough; I want to peel open my cheat and show you the parts of my soul that are yours and always will be. This is a love letter to you.
I’m sorry. Please forgive me my mistake. Let me make it right. Let me try again. I give you the truth: I shape words, and the story bleeds my pain. Here are my scars, self-made. Will you help me, now, to carve out my pain?
Sometimes I wonder if I’d be better off lying. Lie like the fae do, with secrets and omissions and half-told tales, everything asked for but not the whole truth and never what’s needed. Like trading your soul to the devil, always a catch unseen til it’s too late.
The catch is that it’s me. I’m the one you don’t want, the one who won’t make deals under the table, won’t trade my honour for your regard. Compulsive honesty? Give me a break. Intentional omission, oh yes, never giving a straight answer to a direct question.
I didn’t have to say. How /easy/ would it have been, so simple, say nothing and ingratiate myself, warm and friendly, caring and willing. Just make another account (how many is that now?).
Temptation. Not even stepping close to that thing I won’t do, not even pretending to be something I’m not.
But doing the right thing is the wrong thing again; another scar in the same place. Not allowed to bleed; not supposed to care; it’s just a game, right? Where does that line lie? Just a game; just friends I’m not allowed to have. Just disregarded again; no second chances.