[D]earest

a[D]eleine...

how [D]are you

die die [D]ie die

justifiable ***ci[D]e

-

A while ago, the discussion of an "Ending D" (aka, everyone dies ending) for Apologies came up. I sketched this many months back and randomly got the inspiration to try and finish it tonight. (Maybe, just maybe I needed to relieve stress with some dark art...)

The concept behind this ending is that Adeleine returns early, in time to see Dark Matter Swordsman at the height of the invasion, recognizes Noir within him, tries and fails to get through to him only to die by his emotionless blade, much to the horror of Dedede, Kirby, and the others. But before they have a chance to do something about it, the Swordman's Blade almost instantly turns on him and does the job itself, guided by ghostly, grieving hands...

Getting real on main here bc I'm kinda tired of keeping everything in my head so I'm gonna ramble for a bit bc my blog my posts

Starting to realize more and more i don't know how to interact with people and im kinda starting to wonder if im neurodivergent or if im socially anxious

It's not just I don't know how to interact socially it's more like I don't know how to react in social so I end up mimicking what other ppl do in order to not get a negative reaction/keep up the convo in a natural way. I find I do it more online bc I have time to think about what I do+look back on messages and I end up being so paranoid about what I say or how my messages could get construed differently or how people could negatively react. Maybe it's more that I'm extremely prone to overthinking stuff but either way it makes me feel miserable sometimes, like I can't open up ever and most of the time I end up not opening up. I'm afraid of negative reactions and criticism bc I'm so prone to criticizing others myself. Also i grew up having most of my stuff (achievements, work, expressed thoughts) being reacted to with either neutral reactions or criticism on the basis of humility. Whoa that just got deep lol. Anyways after typing all of this out I feel like my issue mostly lies with my fears of being seen in a negative way or being disliked after saying something so I just end up. overthinking every single thing I want to say or not saying anything at all or both. It's wild how afraid I am of receiving any remotely negative feedback bc the moment I do I'll take to heart way too much and beat myself up over it!! Itll all I focus on and then I'll pick apart every single thing I ever did or said and make myself feel even more miserable!! I'm perfectly capable of discerning when something is my fault just. not when im talking to someone.

Tangent but since I'm here rambling already ill talk abt it and also kinda related. I never feel comfortable enough venting abt my life to close friends bc a) I'm seen as the functional one in the group; b) it seems everyone else's problems are bigger than mine and c) I'll feel like I'm complaining for no good reason mostly bc of a). I did have someone in my friend group say "what do u have to complain abt u have a functional family lol" once and that hurt. And that's why I never share anything anymore lol!!! Bc everyone I know says my life is perfect but a lot I wish I weren't me and I feel so trapped. It's gotten better bc I have been in situations b4 where I vented during really bad situations but I still don't rlly. And the fact that I only feel ok with venting in situations/with feelings that, in my mind, constituted as on par with other people's issues or of a certain level severity that was worth sharing and wouldn't face backlash for is. fucked up to say the least I think. Sometimes I think social media has played a role in fostering this idea bc of ppl constantly comparing and trying to 1-up others with their struggles. or ppl usinh catastrophic world events to go to other ppl saying "ur life will never be as bad as that so suck it up"

Uh anyways I think the neurodivergent part mostly bc i get uncomfortable when I'm not doing something and I can't really stand not doing smth. Ive seen some posts of neurodivergent people (esp posts abt adhd/ppl with adhd talking abt it) and kinda find myself relating to stimulation issues to a degree? I hate not doing anything productive eg drawing, writing. Sometimes I can't even stand just watching tv or reading bc sometimes I don't feel involved enough. If I'm interested in a piece of media I'll binge it for a couple of days and then the next day I'll feel nothing at all for it. Like idk maybe I'm thinking too hard and I don't actually know what I'm talking abt but at this rate I'd rather be wrong while try to explore this/put it into words then keep everything to myself just because I'm afraid of getting backlash or whatever from the 3 real people and 20 pornbots that follow me. Chances are this post wont receive any attention like literally anything else I've ever posted except it not getting attention will be what I want haha.

Tldr I'm just tired of trying to please people and bottling stuff up just bc I want ppl to like me and bc I don't want to burden others. I want to open up and have actual social interactions where I'm not overthinking everything I do. And I'm posting this to prove to myself that I'm going to change and get over it.

TodoDeku in quarantine

|Summary: The world is trying to grapple a pandemic and Izuku can't help but worry as he's forced into social isolation in U.A, far from his mother. But nothing is ever boring or scary with Shoto around.| 

(Pure fluff  ♡ඩ⌔ඩ♡ )

It was in March that everyday life in Japan was pulled apart from its habitual seams. 

In the days following the outbreak there was widespread panic among its people. The media flooded with frightening news headlines and broadcasts of victims being rushed to hospital by the hundreds after falling ill to the virus. Along with them, at least a dozen well-known Pro-Heroes. Japan's death toll began to rise sharply and very quickly drastic measures where taken; social distancing and isolation in Japan were now required by law until further notice, and all non-mandatory business was shut down. U.A  had decided against sending their students home for fear of leaving the heroes in training exposed to villain attacks without any support from the school. It was a difficult but an important decision to be made. However, while families stayed in their homes, Pro Heroes continued to risk their lives saving others.

Now a month later, in April, Izuku Midoriya, sitting in his dorm room mid-day and still clad in All Might pajamas, watching the news unfold on his phone had never felt so inspired by the heroes he idolized. Inspired and, well terrified. Just as he was about to anxiously the click onto the next video with more updating information on the global pandemic, his phone was swiped from his hands and tossed onto the foot of the bed. Izuku made a squeaky noise of surprise and protest before one of his many All-Might pillows was thrown at him, effectively taking down its target with a thump and an "oof!" Shoto, sitting on the edge of his bed, looked far more than slightly pleased with himself and like he might burst into laughter at the betrayed look in his boyfriend's jade eyes.

"Stop watching the news, you're getting too paranoid," he smirked.

The pillow was thrown back at him by a pouting Izuku which he caught and flung back in return.

"Am not!" whined Izuku childishly before whipping the pillow back at Shoto. 

"You're just bored and a bully." A dramatic gasp was heaved from Shoto's chest as he moved closer to Izuku, pillow ready in hand, while the other boy scrambled to grab another one for a shield against his next attack. "A bully? Me? What if I told you I was here for more than one reason? Would a bully come with gifts 'Zuku?"

Izuku eyed him suspiciously, amusement flickering in his eyes and twitching on his lips. 

"Depends," he ventured cautiously, " What is the gift?"

The three weeks so far spent in quarantine have been almost impossible for anxious and extroverted Izuku, but Shoto, on the other hand, seemed to be flourishing in the alone time, smiling more and always going out of his way to lift his green-haired boyfriend's spirits. In the first week of quarantine Izuku seemed excited to get some time to lounge around in the dorms. But soon he couldn't help but worry, for his family, for his heroes or for the world and felt himself struggling to stay positive. This sort of behavior was unacceptable in Shoto's eyes and he began to come to his boyfriend's dorm each day, before eventually not leaving and staying through nights.

At times even Shoto had been bored enough to begin to ask himself the question, "Hey, maybe I am a ___ person, after all,"  before the hobby was dumped in less than a day. The pair had tried almost everything to make the time pass faster, charades, board games of all kinds, binging TV shows, reading, listening to music, and even attempting twister with two people (spoilers, they both lost because no one wins when you're almost crushed under another heavy teenage boy).

Shoto paused for effect and Izuku fondly rolled his eyes at his silly attempts to make him smile.

"Cookies."

Like a puppy reacting to the word, 'walk' Izuku bolted up straight from where he was hiding behind his defense pillow and chucked it onto the bed, contagious excitement radiating and buzzing from him, as he almost screeched his next words.

 "Oh FRICK yes!"

He seemed to have forgotten he had been trying to stay skeptical.

"Language!" laughed Shoto, incapable of containing his amusement any longer and pulling Izuku up into his lap, letting him wrap his legs around his torso like a cookie fueled koala.

"Chocolate chip cookies to be exact," he snickered placing a kiss on Izuku's inviting lips. "And I didn't make them so they're entirely edible." 

This received yet another giggle from the older boy and another peck on the lips before Izuku rested their foreheads together, his face warm from so much affection. Shoto mused to himself that no matter how many times he kissed him it always left Izuku's face a little red.

 "Fine...you're less of a bully then. You have some decent qualities as well-"

"I'm not sure that appeasing you with chocolate chip cookies is a quality," interjected Shoto, once again trying not to laugh at the exasperated look on Izuku's face. 

"I swear to gosh Sho, I will end you. I'm trying to be sweet." 

Shoto laughed and tugged his pajama dressed Izuku even closer to himself, "You can't end me. Who else will feed your chocolate chip cookie addiction?" 

This drew a snort from Izuku and he flicked Shoto's arm without any force. "Well, you've got me there..." admitted the shorter kissing Shoto's cheek and then his nose causing him to scrunch it cutely. His stomach did a little flip. Izuku couldn't help but think that God Shoto was pretty,  acknowledging that that was cheesy but not caring as he tugged on his boyfriend's sleeve.

"Hey, quit being a distraction--let's eat cookies."

In under ten minutes, the two had dragged the cookies back to Izuku's room and Shoto had his entire body draped over him, head on a pillow looking like he might already be asleep if weren't for the occasional pleased hum when his boyfriend ran his hands through his soft dual-colored hair or down his back.

"You look like a cat, " Izuku chuckled and Shoto grumbled in defiance but looked too sleepy to do much else.

  Izuku from then on ate cookies with one hand and with the other ran up and down Shoto's back, chattering about the new book he had found interesting or how he'd placed an order for yet more All might merchandise or laughing as he reminisced over the April fools pranks so wonderfully placed by Kaminari in the common room...and discovered by Kachan. Shoto, now almost completely incapable of intelligent thought hummed or mumbled his agreement, never feeling pressured to answer save for when he wanted to add something. This was often how their conversations played out when the green-haired boy's gentle touches were involved.

When Izuku blinked his large emerald eyes open again he found himself cuddled up against a fast asleep Shoto and laughed through his new pink flush of color. He spent a serene moment or so enjoying the feeling of being wrapped up in his arms before wiggling around to reach his phone and attempt to check the time."No," whined Shoto, only tightening his hold on the other to which Izuku laughed at him. He pulled an arm free with no little difficulty and managed to grasp the edge of his phone, retrieving it and reading the time. Shoto is adorably clingy half-asleep but Izuku is losing feeling in his arms.

"Sho..."

"No."

"It's almost supper, and I'm hungry...let's get takeout?"

Shoto seemed to mull the idea over in his sleep fogged head, before attempting to nod from where his chin was tucked into Izuku's mess of green curls.

"...If we can get soba noodles...and then call Inko while we eat so we can sleep right after," he planned finally relenting.

 "For sure." 

Izuku, in all of his wonderful qualities was also a worrier. He would spend all day huddled in blankets shaking if Shoto had let him, and both of them would go crazy thanks to his under the breath mumbling. So they'd decided to form some sort of schedule, at least some aspects of the day could be normal. It wasn't much, but it was a semblance structure that they had both benefitted from. Training could continue from the dorms and meals could remain the same (aside from impromptu sweet snacks 'for moral' as Izuku would exclaim) and every day after supper they would call Inko. It was easy to see where Izuku got those worrying habits from, the poor woman had never stopped checking in on them before they had begun to skype her and she, unfortunately, lived completely alone without any sort of Shoto-positivity-boost. 

Despite his agreement Shoto kept his eyes closed and made absolutely zero effort to release his boyfriend from his cuddle trap until Izuku cleared his throat. Shoto cracked his one clear blue eye open and huffed, giving up and letting Izuku pull himself to sit up in the bed. Shoto was wide awake after that, his snuggle buddy gone and the familiar weight in his arms missing. But it was almost worth the loss to be able to watch Izuku stretch and wake himself up. His arms reached high above his head, t-shirt riding up and exposing tempting well-defined muscles only to be hidden again far too soon when he relaxed and yawned, scrunching his drowsy freckle splashed face. Izuku must have felt his gaze because Shoto was caught as soon as his large eyes opened. 

The smaller looked immediately embarrassed, flushing from the neck up at the look he had received and began scrolling furiously on his phone to divert his attention until he found their favorite takeout delivery place for soba. Shoto's weak attempts not to laugh at him failed miserably and he tried to muffle his amusement with the back of his hand while getting a weak glare from Izuku.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry..." snickered Shoto, not looking like he was even a damn bit sorry. "Y-your reactions are so cute."

If it was somehow possible, his boyfriend's face darkened and Izuku brought his phone up higher to cover some of his burning face while he placed their order.

"You. Are. Impossible."

"You pronounced amazing wrong."

"Oh. My gosh. Stop. Please I'm begging you. Just get your butt up here so we can call my mom."

Shoto laughed again and pushed himself up so he could swing his legs over the side of the bed and get the computer. It was great to see such a change in Izuku from the anxious version he had seen earlier in the day, eyes fearfully wide and thoughts gone wild. Now he had a dumb lovesick grin on his face as he absently pulled on a hoodie to combat the loss of the warmth of the blankets. Even Shoto would admit he was worried, you would be a fool not to fear the sort of fragile feeling a global pandemic presented to you. But if he had learned anything in his years of knowing Izuku was that fear only meant you were growing.

"Could you move your legs for the computer, baby?"

Izuku almost choked as predicted. 

"I-I...y-yeah of course. I can. Do...yes." 

And then Shoto was laughing at him again, and Izuku was as red as the details of all might's hero costume and oh gosh that sounded so sweet and domestic and- wait.

"Y-you! You did that on purpose! Are you trying to give me a HEART ATTACK!" 

 Shoto clutched his stomach and nodded with his eyes shut tight, his rare laughter continuous as it filled the room.

 "I- I give up," laughed Izuku incredulously, shaking his head and fanning his too-warm face.

Shoto crawled up to sit with him at the head on his bed, seeming to have calmed himself down. In honesty it was just great to see him laugh like that, something fairly out of character for the red and white-haired boy. In minutes Inko's cheery and emotional face was on the screen scanning them and looking over them like she couldn't fully let herself believe that they were alright even after they insisted so the first three times the question was asked. Soon they were sharing their days and updates on the virus and Inko was raving about the television show she had been putting on while she cooked. Izuku got the notification that their food had arrived and politely (though a little formally) Shoto excused himself to get it for them. 

 Shoto was always quieter, more reserved around others and that teasing, funny and affectionate side of him often retreated until they were alone again. At one point early on in their relationship this had upset Izuku-he wanted his boyfriend to feel comfortable with everyone, and less guarded all the time. But now he saw it differently, it was a special thing they shared, something Izuku knew only he could see. Plus, it wasn't as if he could just change that part of himself, it was an effect of a traumatic childhood and not something Shoto could simply decide himself.

Shoto returned with their food and they talked for an hour more before Inko had to say goodbye.

"Please please take care of each other, boys! Try not to let his worrying get to you Shoto, and stay safe!" she exclaimed blowing them kisses.

"We will! Stay safe and don't worry about us too much. I love you mom!"

"Goodbye bye Mrs.- goodbye Inko, " Shoto corrected, a small dusting of pink over his cheeks. "Thank you for looking after us like this, we really appreciate it."

The two hung up on the call (Inko endearingly had not yet grown used to using the app) and Izuku leaned back against his boyfriend with a content sigh. His stomach was full, he was warm in the slightly too large in the arms, black-colored hoodie that he'd "borrowed" from his boyfriend, and Shoto had just wrapped his arms around his waist. Paradise. Right in his own dorm room. No matter what might be scary and swarming in the world outside living in the moment here with the people he loved made everything better. He tilted his head back and pressed a kiss to Shoto's jaw, eliciting a happy sound from him and the arms around him tightening. Despite the content feeling, he found he wasn't quite ready to fall asleep yet. 

"Do you want to watch a movie?" asked Izuku once he'd squirmed enough to see Shoto. 

He received a nod and after swiping through a lot of them, landed on an acclaimed foreign film from America.  It had enough action for both of them but was funny enough to keep their light mood. Though, admittedly, Shoto was far more interested in watching Izuku's reactions to some of the lines and the way he'd kiss him when he caught him staring. A tired Izuku was a (slightly) more confident one. He pulled him closer in his lap.  His usually, energetic boyfriend who "wasn't tired" was thirty minutes in when his heavy lids fell closed. He cuddled closer to Shoto, tucking his head between his shoulder and neck, warm breath raising goosebumps along Shoto's arms. 

In just less than ten minutes later Izuku was fast asleep and never remembered the other half-waking him while flicking off the TV and pulling them both under the covers. In the soft pale light from the shutters lighting lines along Izuku's face and curls Shoto couldn't help the sleepy lovesick smile that formed over his lips. There was no one else he'd rather spend months locked up and bored out his mind with. 

A.N/ This is from my TodoDeku One-shot collection on Wattpad! If you liked this chapter, go ahead and check it out with the link below! /

https://www.wattpad.com/myworks/219753106-~always~-tododeku-one-shots

Taylor Swift’s Current Form of Hell

Some thoughts considering Taylor’s current situation. Feedback is welcome (especially if it can be added to the analysis!), but please don’t @ me to argue that she’s a bully or a bitch. I will eat you. 

Firstly, let’s talk about age. Taylor is 29. Scott and Kim are 38, Kanye is 42. Famous was released in 2016, when Taylor was 26 and Kanye 39. So, not only was it released without her permission, not only was she filmed without her permission, not only did it defame her, not only was it implying sexual promiscuity in return for fame, not only was it entirely beyond the bounds of anything she would’ve agreed to regardless of Kim’s ‘proof’, she was 26. Let that sink in. There is more than a decade between her and Kanye - think about someone a decade older that you (a cousin, uncle or friend) and imagine how you would react (me, I’d go all Tangled on them, and hit them in the face with a saucepan; and that’s my calm reaction). Then remember how you were at 19 - considering that, in 2009, when Kanye said ‘imma let you finish BUT’ she was 19.  Fast forward a little to 2016, and Kanye has 2 children, a wife and an established music career. He should be the elder, the one that understands the industry, the one that works with RESPECT. Taylor is only just older than his second youngest sister-in-law - and you best believe that if something like this happened to Kendall, Kanye would be coming after them. But this ‘feud’ was deemed appropriate, Famous was deemed ‘funny’. Scooter and Justin Bieber and various radio hosts etc have decided that all this is ‘not a big deal’. But there we were, Taylor was 26 and being TAGGED by people a decade older than her in this revenge porn horridness. Is it because we now think it’s okay to be horrible to white girls? Is that it? Is it because she’s American? She certainly isn’t a Trump fan, so we can rule that out. Maybe it’s because Kanye was threatened - maybe it’s because he was made to apologise by Queen B and he’s been looking to reassert his masculinity ever since. Maybe it’s his own past, insecurities, problems. But that in no means makes it okay; nor does it condone the behaviour of his wife and associates like Scooter. Hence, we have defamation, revenge porn and cyber bullying, all of which started when Taylor Swift, pop princess supreme, was 19, 26 and now 29.

One of the people who brought this 2016 pain about, now owns the rights to her music. Sounds a bit iffy (it still has her name on it! you cry), but let’s think about this legally. This means that if Taylor wants to work with, rerelease, remix or reconsider any of HER prior works, she has to a) work with Scooter, b) have the changes approved by Scooter and c) give a portion of the profits to Scooter. And yes, kiddies, that means concerts too. Performing her music, at her concerts, for her fans, is giving her abuser a profit. Imagine having to do that with a high school bully, or say, prior boss that you never really liked, with a report or a paper. Objectively these things are worth nothing, but you did the majority of the work; despite this, it’s technically part of their group or company, so it’s theirs too. It’s like sharing custody of your child with an abusive and absent ex. Except, that child is worth a literal fortune and took 14 years to create; and you’re well aware that your ex will completely abuse their side of the contract for their own amusement.  Furthermore, while she’s sharing those rights, we have to remember that Taylor has no legal recourse - he owns the masters by CONTRACT, that she no doubt signed at one point or another. Now while I have things to say about the lawyers that advised her to sign that contract, please remember that she was just 14 when she entered the industry and that a human female brain does not fully develop until at least 23 (men are develop by 27 but this is about Taylor so I’ll refrain from making that joke today). Business savvy she might be now, but that comes with experience and practice and a good team. People who are good at their job, understand your vision and you trust entirely are hard to find; especially when your vocation is as all encompassing as Taylor’s must be. Perhaps there was a mistake there, perhaps she shouldn’t have signed the contract; but hindsight is 20/20, and perhaps blaming Taylor isn’t the most progressive thing to do.  What is both interesting and considerably more gross, is that Taylor was offered a chance to, quote, ‘earn back’ her masters - not only is this bribery, it’s an attempt to further abuse and power over one of the biggest earners in today’s music industry. With such a power over her, there is no way that Big Machine will ever willingly let her go - perhaps they’d enter into a never-ending negotiation; for every album she produces (which would belong to Big Machine), she earns back a prior album that belonged to Big Machine. Sounds fabulous and abusive, doesn’t it? If you are so naive as to think that she was not a guiding factor on the purchase of Big Machine, please reconsider your brain. No one wants to buy the cow if you can get the milk for free - which essentially is what Scooter did, plus now he gets to kick the cow and the calf if and when he wants to. Lovely, right? However, please consider that in signing any new contact under this offer, one can see definite similarities with Kesha’s situation, though the abuse hopefully be only mental and emotional. Taylor has made an incredibly hard and painful choice; she could leave her legacy behind in favour of happier life, or continue with her legacy and ‘earn it back’ and be generally miserable. This desire to make Taylor ‘submit’ is misogynistic, horrible and really really gross. Hence we can conclude that not only has she been abused, bullied and used, we may now note that she has no way of ‘winning’ this argument - in that she may never get her masters back without paying a very serious life consequence.

Taylor has posted a 2 paragraph statement on Tumblr. (Fun reminder - I’m not even halfway done and I’ve written a longer defence that she did.) She is being called attention seeking (‘turning the the public has worked for her before’ - what my local FM radio told me), bullying, gaslighting etc etc. which are all things we’ve heard about before in relation to her. Certainly, Taylor, like other people in the media spotlight, has done things that people don’t approve of or deem problematic (because she, like all others, is just a person) but this by no means should overshadow her present situation. You don’t need to be a Taylor fan to consider this issue problematic; the facts alone are indicative enough. There is no element of like, love, favouritism or adoration that even needs to be considered here. Taylor is being judged, abused and publicly bullied as she dared to speak her mind and feelings about her own works. If Scooter had his way, we would  revert to simply calling her hysterical, and strip her of all capacity to reason - god forbid a woman in the music industry be of sane mind and conviction. Despite this, we have to note that these events, this treatment, these discussions have led to one of the most prominent and successful women of the 21st century retreating from public, and posting her defence, in her own words, on TUMBLR, which is widely considered a niche site when compared to say Twitter or Instagram. Hence, we must ask ourselves, why would Taylor choose Tumblr? She has been so widely supported on Instagram and Twitter in the past. Maybe this is where she feels supported and like she is least chance to be attacked; what does that tell you about her headspace? Maybe it’s where she sees the least tagging, comments of ownership, masters related from people who are meant to be her colleagues - cyber bullying is, effectively, so harmful because it can truly follow you anywhere. Imagine the outrage if this had been done to Justin Bieber, Ed Sheeran, Shawn Mendes. But it wouldn’t happen to them - not because producers and owners are incapable, but because they do not deem in necessary for them to need to show who the ‘alpha’ is. But having Taylor as the more powerful, pervasive person seems to offend many men to the core. Hence, maybe Taylor posted it is simply for herself, knowing it would be unedited and seen by people who might sympathise without yarns of criticism that related to the anatomy between her legs. Certainly, I know I would want to have my say for my own peace of mind as well as for my mental health - and I’m just a law student with 7 followers. How does someone so wildly popular feel so unsafe in the social media sphere? This. This bs is why. 

So why are we just hearing about all this now? Well that’s just it; Taylor. She has brought this to the public attention. She is not so naive as to think that there would be no backlash - she’s been the victim of that too many times. Taylor, despite knowing all of this, despite standing alone, despite the lack of media, social media, peer and male support, has said something. She has expressed her thoughts and feelings, knowing she would be labelled unstable and narcissistic - because that is the fastest way to depreciate and devalue anything legitimate or threatening that comes from a woman or girl. Taylor has, in a sense, reported her abuse; except she reported it to the public. She has been bullied, cyber bullied, defamed, indicted, disliked and gaslighted. In her position, many would be anxious, depressed, scared, paranoid, running crying to their parents (cough me cough). Instead, she has made a rational, intelligent and self-caring decision that led to a well written statement, conveying her feelings in a timely and eloquent manner. She is effectively telling us that Times Up, and it’s coming for the music industry. As always, she has handled this in the most dignified and elegant of ways, while Scooter and his supporters seem to be borderline aroused at the pain they’re inflicting. How anyone can get their kicks out of another persons pain will always be beyond me, though that seems to be the way women are accustomed to men acting. Taylor is, as she has often been, at the forefront of changing social issues and bearing the brunt of the backlash in the public eye. I hope that there are other young women and young artists that are watching and listening - she might very well break the glass ceiling - again. 

Taylor has gone through an immense amount of pain throughout her music career - she’s been labelled an attention, money and boyfriend seeking crybaby for over a decade. The behaviour of men in the music industry is neither appropriate or acceptable. I do not accept it - we, the public, cannot accept it. 

Although I know it is of little help, I will no longer be listening to or streaming Taylor’s old work in an effort to support her. I will also not be streaming or purchasing any other Big Machine productions until her work is returned to her. I will also be signing this petition in her favour. Please consider doing the same - Katy Perry already did. 

I hope Taylor is okay, I hope she is caring for herself, I hope there is some legal action she can take. I hope Lover is wildly successful and her heart is full. Remember that this is not about receipts or feuds or drama. This is about the cruel and unfair treatment of a woman in the music industry and the escalation of that when it became public information. This is about changing the conversation and changing the working conditions. This is for more than just Taylor; this is part changing a toxic culture, where cyberbulling and revenge porn and spiteful purchases for ‘funzies’ (and the torment of others) is appropriate, provided it is against a woman. Whatever you might say or think of her, this is an example of injustices that occur to women everywhere and everyday. We have proven only one thing with these injustices, and that is that you can kick Taylor Swift down are hard as you can - she has discovered feminism and she’s going to get back up. She might not be perfect, she might not be your favourite, but she isn’t a push over. Taylor Swift is taking up space and taking no shit, and I am here for it. 

Petition: https://www.change.org/p/taylor-swift-make-taylor-swift-re-release-her-6-albums 

You can find Taylor’s statement here: https://taylorswift.tumblr.com/post/185958366550/for-years-i-asked-pleaded-for-a-chance-to-own-my

You can also check her Tumblr out here, though this is less related to this analysis and more if you want a good giggle: @taylorswift

This is an edited transcript of a talk given by Dagny on May 9, 2019, at the Croatian Cultural Centre in Vancouver, B.C. The audio from the full event, #GIDYVR: Gender Identity and Kids, can be found on YouTube.

My name is Dagny, I’m a detransitioner. I’m here to demonstrate what can happen when we allow a teenager to make major medical decisions that will affect her body for the rest of her life. I’m also here as one-fourth of the Pique Resilience Project, a coalition of four detransitioned young women — Jesse, Helena, Chiara, and myself. We all identified as transmen in our mid to late teens, and by 19 or 20 we had all desisted, detransitioned, and returned to being women. Three of us took testosterone for at least nine months, and I actually started testosterone six months before I turned 18, after my therapist diagnosed me with gender dysphoria at 16. The Pique Resilience Project was founded in January after we all came together to share our stories, our similarities, and our differences. We discussed what we could do to share our stories with everyone — with the people that need to hear them.

As we’re all aware, this is an extremely heated debate, and I’m going to say some things that a lot of people are going to disagree with. But ultimately, everything I’m going to say comes from my own personal experience and from what I believe as a result of that experience — an experience that too many people are unwilling to take seriously. We, the Pique Resilience Project, have been called liars, attention-seekers, right-wingers, and bigots.

We’ve unfortunately been profiled numerous times on far-right Christian journals, and not once, to date, on mainstream, leftist news media, which I find interesting, given the amount of coverage trans issues have received these last five years. I think that this indicates a fear of straying from the path — a fear of saying something, even if true, that goes against the grain.

 We’ve been absolutely inundated with one narrative, one option, one story, since this issue hit the mainstream. We’ve been given only one option, at the risk of unspeakable, devastating consequences: if a teen says she has gender dysphoria and wants to be a boy, then she should — must — be allowed to transition.  That’s the story we’ve been sold, and it’s the only story we’ve been sold. And detransitioners are an inconvenient contradiction to this story.

We’ve been given only one option, at the risk of unspeakable, devastating consequences: if a teen says she has gender dysphoria and wants to be a boy, then she should — must — be allowed to transition. 

I’d like to discuss my experience being a trans teen. I did have early instances of what would now be called gender dysphoria in my childhood. At 11 or 12 I felt incredibly humiliated by the fact that my breasts were growing, and that I would have to start wearing bras. My period was a source of angst and hatred from the moment I first started menstruating. I’d heard that these things were supposed to be exciting for young girls, but they just made me angry and afraid. I thought there was something wrong with me for feeling that way. And maybe most predictive, I had a Yahoo answers account, and when I was in grade seven, I made a post with a title that was something like, “I’m a 12-year-old girl but I want to be a boy.” I remember that the answers were mostly dismissive, but there were a few that instructed me, a 12-year-old, to look into transsexual surgeries. But I didn’t like any of the answers; I wanted there to be a boy-button — something I could click that would just make me male. My family wasn’t religious at all, but I remember being that age and lying in my bed at night, and telling God in my head that I would start going to church if I woke up a boy.

My dysphoria exploded when I turned 15. This was when I started to actually identify as trans. Like so many other trans teenagers, I first started courting my own trans identity because of of two factors in my life: One, I had trans friends — two of them, both older than me, both female-to-male (FTM), like me, and two, I had a sharp increase in my social media use. I was never very active on social media before I turned 15, but within months of creating an account on tumblr and following several LGBTQ resource blogs, I had decided that I was non-binary.

Within months of creating an account on tumblr and following several LGBTQ resource blogs, I had decided that I was non-binary.

This identity felt like a game to me. It was a fun distraction — a quirk that made me special and interesting, if not to others, then at least to myself. But then that wasn’t enough, and I wondered, “Should I take this further? How far can I take it?” Then I graduated to fully identifying as a transman and I threw myself headlong into the traditional process of being trans: new name, new pronouns, new clothes, new binder. I started to get very, very serious about starting hormones. And it stopped being a game.

The first place I tried on this new identity — a transman — was online. And I just want to say that I think that it’s incredibly important for everyone — parents, yes, but also teenagers and therapists and lawmakers — to understand what kind of impact social media can have on a developing mind. I, in essence, became a different person after I started using tumblr. It’s an unhealthy, upsetting, and toxic environment to even observe, let alone participate in, as a teenager. Unfortunately it’s also way too broad of a topic for me to fully cover right now, so I’d recommend reading Helena’s exposé on tumblr’s culture. Part one is available to read on our website, and there are two more parts to come. It is vital reading if we’re going to begin to understand how so many teenagers feel and how they regard the world after using social media.

My online experience, having been affected by that level of group think, that level of moral policing, and the constant implicit threats of social exposure and ostracization made me an intensely internal and anxious person. It made me paranoid about the motives of people around me — I saw my parents as bigots because tumblr told me to; because they held out for so long to prevent me from starting hormones. Anyone that slipped up and misgendered me was, according to tumblr, an enemy. 

My online experience, having been affected by that level of group think, that level of moral policing, and the constant implicit threats of social exposure and ostracization made me an intensely internal and anxious person. It made me paranoid.

One incident — one “she” — had the ability to make me absolutely hate someone. Tumblr’s version of morality and justice made me — an impressionable, insecure teenager — feel like my only safe place was in my head, where I would never be misgendered. I didn’t feel safe online either, but I couldn’t allow myself to critique my online peers. Even though I had learned all these unhealthy beliefs and behaviors from them, they had also taught me that they held the moral high ground. So I adopted and parroted tumblr’s ideals, and my identity was unconditionally validated.

One of these unhealthy beliefs I held was the belief that if you have gender dysphoria, you must transition. And anyone that appeared to stand in my way was a transphobe — an alt-right bigot. If I, myself, questioned my actions, I was suffering from internalized transphobia. No matter how much genuine concern others may have had for me — by now, a miserable 16-year-old — they were committing an unforgivable act if they just asked me, “Why”? Why do I want to be a boy? Why do I want to change my body?”

My answer was invariably, “Because I have gender dysphoria and I have to.”

Anyone that appeared to stand in my way was a transphobe — an alt-right bigot. If I, myself, questioned my actions, I was suffering from internalized transphobia.

And that’s the context we’re living in now, the only one that we know. Until now, with so many detransitioners coming out, the only narrative we’ve really heard has been the same, over and over and over: I had gender dysphoria, and so I transitioned. I had gender dysphoria, and so I transitioned. That’s the context we’ve been living in for about five years now. But we have to move past that. It’s been three years since I detransitioned, and I still have gender dysphoria. It’s rare for me to make it through a single day without thinking, at least once, “I wish I was a man.”

But it’s so minimal compared to what I felt at 16. And now, I have no intention of transitioning. It was ultimately a mistake for me to transition in the first place. I thought, at the time, that I had no other choice. Living and being content without medically transitioning didn’t feel like an option for me, or for so many other detransitioners.

It’s time to change that. It’s time that we become aware of how much pain and negativity this narrative is causing. The fact that I thought I had only one option was an incredible source of misery, desperation, terror, and obsession for me. I was already an unhappy teenager; I didn’t need the added pressure of a life choice I felt had to be made and carried out immediately. And this — my experience — was back in 2013. A long time before now, when we’re transitioning eight-year-olds in California, and giving eight-year-olds mastectomies. I can only imagine the pressure that kids feel now… That parents feel… It’s time we stop telling kids that every single one of them that experiences gender dysphoria as a 15-year-old will still be experiencing that same level of gender dysphoria at 21. At 20, or 19. That’s what I was told — by activists, and peers, and medical professionals. When I went to my endocrinologist for the first time, my dad asked him, “If my child goes off testosterone, what changes will be permanent?” And the endo essentially cut him off and said, “Oh. No one ever goes off testosterone.”

It’s time we stop telling kids that every single one of them that experiences gender dysphoria as a 15-year-old will still be experiencing that same level of gender dysphoria at 21

There’s this belief that telling teenagers that their dysphoria may pass is wrong — ethically and factually — and I just want to know why? What’s so wrong with telling a teenager, “One day you will feel better.” There’s nothing wrong with that. I think that if the activism that pushed for teenagers’ ability to medically transition truly cared about kids affected by gender dysphoria, they would allow for a discussion that doesn’t manipulate teenagers — that didn’t make impressionable, insecure, unhappy kids feel like they have to transition now, or else.

So we need to change the narrative. That’s my intent. And that’s a larger intent of the Pique Resilience Project: to diversify the narrative. We only have one mainstream story, and we need more. And slowly, we’re getting more. The detransition narrative is growing. It’s getting bigger — more people are hearing detransitioners’ stories every day. And, by extension, we’re starting to see the first glimpses of a third narrative. The PRP has received at least two messages from parents telling us that after watching videos about detransitioning, their teenagers decided that they have Rapid Onset Gender Dysphoria and that they would not transition. They realized that pursuing different options was a better solution for them and their experience.

One fix is not going to solve everyone’s individual problems. Medically transitioning is not going to help every teenager feel better. In my view, the proclivity to provide teenagers with hormone replacement therapy and instant affirmation ignores the larger problems. Why did I want to change my body? Why did I hate being a girl? Why was being a man so much more favourable?

Ultimately, the opportunity to transition made my teenage dysphoria worse. This narrative told me that my hatred for my female body was justified — positive, even. It told me that the only way to feel better was to destroy my body — my female parts. 

My role models were all older transmen who had, like me, been lonely, angry, weird girls. Hearing and identifying with their stories taught me only that holistic self-acceptance was a sham and that real authenticity could only come from synthetic hormones and surgeries. There was no room for me to love myself if my identity depended on self-hatred.

We need to start treating teenagers with patience and compassion and maturity. We need to stop telling them that their suffering will last until they buy a new body. More than anything, we need to stop telling them that they have only one choice, and only one chance.

I feel like this thing of digging up old, “problematic” but not that actually horrible stuff/words from a celebrity’s or even someone simply associated with a celebrity’s past is genuinely fucking annoying.

It’s like I am a super politically motivated person and it is due to that that I say, this is a waste of fucking time. I don’t know what Eric, Cody Fern’s bf, said... but I do know he was big enough to apologize for it & that people really need to let it go now. If someone does something really offensive and horrible and was never held accountable for it? Yes bring it to people’s attention. If they said something just generally ignorant in fucking 2007 without any ill intent? Okay maybe we don’t need to blow this up that huge. People really need to remember that this level of knowledge and awareness was absolutely not a thing until like, EXTREMELY recently. We are in a time now where this type of information and discourse is constantly and consistently made available to us. Years ago, that wasn’t present, so as a result you have a lot of people who said a lot of stupid shit that makes them scratch their head today, now knowing better because they have had the privilege of coming into the age of information!

Not everyone is a demon, and no one is an angel. It’s hard for me myself to make these distinctions because of some mental things I have going on. But I have become so dedicated to this concept because when I was a bit younger than I am now, I totally succumbed to call out culture. I relied on the people in my circles to approve of me, and tell me what is right and wrong. To tell me who to hate next. And that only served to make me more miserable, more anxious, and more paranoid than I had been previously. It became so much that I had to entirely take a step back from contributing to social media. I still have to do this every few months or so because it can really just become too much. People turn this thing that is supposed to be about justice and humanity into a fucking sport that involves methaphorically skewering anyone in the public eye, over what they did or didn’t say/do. Thoughts that are “impure” are discouraged, all in the name of health & being a morally sound person— I especially have experience with this being a VC fan.

It’s all a fucking nightmare and what it truly is, at its core, is mob mentality.

Journal entries

December 11th 2018

I see no point in anything anymore, i am so lonely and sad. No one likes me and no one cares for me. I get myself into situations that i can't get out out of. I act out on the ones who love me, they shouldn't forgive me, but they do anyways.. 

I am just a big problem and i am misunderstood. No one knows how i feel half the time, it's so hard to describe. I feel like I couldn't be fixed even if i tired. 

I am so unmotivated and lazy, i try to get things done but i get to distracted and pulled into a cold spiral of depression or anxiety. It's hard to do anything now, i am so scared that i will never be good enough or i wont get into college or even get through this year alone.

I need to stop going to others for my own happiness and find it myself. I need to stop getting into relationships just to not feel lonely.  

My grades are dropping and i will never get anywhere, all my teachers and friends are disappointed in me and they also think i wont get anywhere either. 

Everyone is always worried about me because they think i will cut myself again or try and kill myself. I don't want to die i just want to be happy and be normal. 

I’m sick and tired of being so problematic and always sad or tired. But i am always sad and tired and i don't know what to do about it. 

I am always so paranoid and it's scary because sometimes i dont know whats real and whats not, sometimes i feel like i'm almost lucid dreaming or in a movie or something. I feel like i'm drifting and something is pulling me back and they won't let go. My mind gets all blurry and i can't focus, i feel like still things are moving on their own. 

I feel exhausted on days where i've had a good night's rest, i just dont want to feel like this anymore, it's a living hell. I want to be free from this feeling.. 

February 27th 2019

it’s a new year.. i thought things would get better but they have gotten worse. i’ve got a new therapist and she’s not helping. i’ve been cutting a lot lately and i’m very scared. sunday i cut very deep, there was a lot of blood. i felt nauseous and sick and the thing that scares me the most is that i thought i was done, i thought that i was gonna bleed out and hours later when it was about dinner time my parents would find me dead. but that didn’t happen i’m here and i’m alive. something that makes me terrified is that the one thing that i go to for release isn’t giving me that adrenaline and satisfaction that i’ve felt before and now i sit here and ask myself what am i gonna go to next, and i’m gonna go to hard drugs or even worse.. suicide.. i don’t want to die but the thing is that i black out when i cut and what if i was to cut to deep and actually bleed out and die. i don’t want that to happen.

while i type this i’m very scared and anxious, i’ve never thought that it would get like this. i would never think i would find myself in my room scared and out of control of my actions with harming myself. just one little accident and it would be all over. i could do it now but i don’t want to. i don’t want to ever die. i need to get my shit together, i know what i need to do to feel happy again but i don’t want to. saddens has consumed me and it’s so damn comfortable. i need to get my shit together, maybe tomorrow maybe in five years but i guess for now i will fake it.

2021 January 13th

I don't wanna do this anymore. I'm in such a deep depression I'm so tired and so exhausted and miserable. The only good thing I have going is my relationship and friends which I good but I want my home life to be okay. I could give a fuck less about school or anything really just so I can feel at home again so I can be happy. Its sucks because I  Rely so much on other people's emotions for my own. I can't be happy if everyone else isn't and i wanna fix it I wanna fix the way I feel but how do I do that when no body is listening. I'm 17, I don't have my license or a job, how am I suppose to find tools without having other tools. I need a therapist but they are so backed up even if I do put in an application for one ill be at the bottom of the list and it'll be probably a good month before I get one. I don't know what to do anymore.

February 22 2021 

I get it not everything is resolved around me, but what's it going to take for someone to notice I am so fucking alone, that I am constantly fighting with myself constantly fighting to stay alive, always wondering what I'm doing wrong always thinking everyone hates me. It fuckinh exhausting I am so fucking tired I let everyone walk all over me always taking advantage of my empathy. What is wrong with me what am I doing wrong for people to not like me, I hate the fake excuses to not talk to me, I hate the snarky comments and all the glares. I feel like im sinking and everyone else around me is swimming everyone else is floating along while I'm drowning I'm trying to hard to stay up above the water what I know how easy it would be to sink, I want to sink. But what's going to happen if I do sink, will I swim with the fish or will I be eaten up by the sharks. Will this ever end, will I ever stay afloat. Will I ever find the confidence or the strength or the tools to stay alive. 

April 11th 2021 

Yesterday you expressed to me that your not sure if you want to be with me and how I am pretty to much for you and your not sure if you want a relationship, we laid down and after a couple minutes I told you that 2 years ago today you first told me you loved me which was kinda ironic considering the circumstances. We then had sex, which I insisted only because I knew it would make everything better. You wanted me to go to a party that I really didn't wanna go to but I went because I knew if I didn't I had really lost you. You said so many different things that night how you know  you love me and how you care about me but how your mindset tells you otherwise and how you're not attached to me as much as I am to you. You left this morning and I texted you and asked how your day was and ypu ignored me. You said you are going to take me out to eat tonight but I just have this gut feeling that either 1 it's not going to happen or 2 it will and it'll be the last time I see you. I don't know if I can get past this, it hurts way to much. You're my best friend my person love I don't want to lose you I don't want to be alone I don't want to see you with other people. It's Hurts so much and I try and say it's my fault that it hurts so much because I overthink so much and that I just can't except love but I can but I say it's my fault so you won't leave. What else am I going to justify so you won't leave. I can't keep doing this. Maybe its just right person wrong timing, or maybe im just too fucked up to be loved by anyone. And the sad thing is If thinking about you and replaying our memories in my head is the closest thing to having you then I’ll do it no matter what . I’d drop everything to spend time with you but you wouldn’t do the same for me.

June 21st 2021 

God what has happened. I've repressed to my old feelings, old playlist, old memories etc.. suicide has been heavy on my brain the past few days, same with self harm and just leaving everything behind and leaving. I feel so lost and helpless and confused into why I am feeling like this again. I cried the other day, the same kind of cry a baby cries when it misses its mother. I have this thought in my head running back and forth of wether I'm okay or I'm not. I'm constantly catching myself spacing off into old memories, like 8th grade. The feeling of being so numb and so tired that nothing could ever fix this feeling like I am so comfortable and so certain that I'm going to feel like this forever. I feel like a zombie. I feel bored. I feel useless. I feel tired, not the sleep tired. Just tired. Tired of pushing and pulling. My brain feels like mush. My body feels heavy and weightless at the same time. My chest feels tight and my eyes feel heavy. I feel comfortably miserable. I miss when I never had to give a shit about anything like school and work and dissipating people. I've done so good lately and held my shit together so well and it's so surprising because deep down I am screaming and begging for a break for someone to say it's okay to feel like shit and have them not be disappointed in me for falling apart. I think about the day I'll let someone read these entries, I think about the day that I'm completely giving up and I release these all over social media. I know that sounds desperate but maybe someone would read these and think maybe there not alone. I feel like I would scare everyone if they knew how I felt. I wonder what I'm feeling is valid of bullshit or maybe its just my hormones or seasonal depression. Or maybe it's just my day to day life. Something I'm going to have to deal with for the rest of my life. (Keyword maybe means yes it's your everyday life) 

June 22nd 2021 

We're on a "break". I don't even know how to feel, I should be crying right now begging you to not leave and to love me and to just change. But I'm not, I'm so calm and unbothered and just numb. I'm so fucking numb. It's like I don't even care it's like im already over it. I guess I wasn't surprised. I don't really have much to say. But I can say this is going to hit me like a train. One little thing, and I think I'm going to snap. 

September 8th 2021

I don't think I can keep doing this anymore, I don't think I can keep fighting. I don't want to, I don't want to deal with these feelings. I can't remember the last time I actually felt okay. I want to feel normal again. I am losing myself. I am losing my mind and I am trying so fucking hard to hold on. I feel like a prop in some shitty movie. I feel like I'm just a background character, if that makes any sense. I am constantly scared, I am constantly having these thoughts of hurting myself. I keep dreaming of better days but everyday is just a nightmare. I  think of admitting myself somewhere, like sending myself away. Somewhere where I don't have to worry about this shit. Somewhere safe, somewhere there are people like me and understand me.

September 15 2021

I  find myself thinking about sending myself away, not because i need to just because i want to. I guess you could say “ need in one hand and want in the other and see which one fills up faster” but i honestly have come to the point where nothing feels real anymore, nothing feels good anymore. Everything hurts everything is scary and everything is unfair. Life is so unfair. Its even worse that i continuously have shitty things happen to me. I have so much untreated trauma that i think im coming to the point where i dont care anymore. I dont care about anything. I don't feel like existing, trying, dealing or fuckinh anything. I can't feel anything, I am so numb. Numb to my core. I am so desperate to feel better. I am going to feel like this forever, I am always going to be a broken person with a broken heart with a broken mindset. 

Twenty-One Years Old - May 8, 2018

At twenty-one years old I had already moved back into my mother’s home. While I was twenty years old I returned back to UC Berkeley for my junior year, but the influence of drugs, the home sickness, and the feeling of not really knowing who I was started to overwhelm me. But I had a few goals when I started my junior year. First, I wanted to excel in all of the programs I was apart of. Secondly, I wanted to stay in shape and join the Air Force Reserves. Third, I wanted to join the UCPD during my last couple years of undergrad. Fourth, I wanted to build a resume so that I could enter law enforcement after graduation. Fifth, I wanted to impose more self control and discipline in my life. Sixth, I didn’t want to have a repeat of my former addictions during my sophomore year. But those six goals did not fall through. Why? Because each goal I had was interdependent upon another goal, so if I failed or could not accomplish one of my goals it would effect my other goals even if it was in a minuscule manner. The first goal I was achieving, but the second goal I could not accomplish because the informations person for the Air Force Reserves stated that the tattoo on my right leg was too big, so I gave up. Looking back on that moment I should’ve just kept my tattoo size to myself and showed up, and let the people at the Air Force Reserves tell me to my face it was too big. The third goal I couldn’t accomplish it at that moment, because the UCPD officer I spoke to notified me that I needed to have a driver’s license, which I didn’t have at the time. The fourth goal wasn’t happening in my perspective at that time, because I could not accomplish getting into the Air Force Reserves or UCPD. The fifth goal I was enacting in my life, because I was going to the gym early in the morning for runs and weightlifting sessions, but not fully. Why? Because by not fully enacting the fifth goal it caused me to fail my sixth goal, which was not to perform a repeat of my past addictions, which I failed miserably at not trying to do. My addictions were going off the charts once again. In addition to that, UC Berkeley was stating that I owed a couple thousand dollars during the beginning of the semester which was money that I did not have. Due to my inability to pay that sum back at the beginning of the semester, UC Berkeley froze my transcripts and my student portal account so I couldn’t add or swap classes. At that moment I realized being at UC Berkeley was not the most beneficial environment for me. My mental health, physical health, my identity, my discipline, my self-respect, self-growth, spirituality, and emotional well-being were all being compromised while at UC Berkeley. So I left and went back down to SoCal. Moving back down to SoCal was the hardest move for me, because I was losing a huge part of my identity which was education. When I returned to SoCal I fell into depression and suicidal thoughts. I didn’t want to do anything. My mother told me she had no problem with me returning home, but she told me that I either had to work or go to school. But I kept trying to tell my mom I wasn’t mentally stable for that, but she didn’t fully understand where I was coming from. For the first couple of days being at home I was a caterpillar stuck inside of its cocoon. I laid on the floor in a fetal position every day, I wouldn’t talk, I wouldn’t move, I don’t even have the urge to use the restroom, I wasn’t eating, I wasn’t drinking water, I was crying for hours at a time, I was forcing myself to not even think about anything, I wasn’t on any social media, I even turned off my cellphone so no one could contact me, I was just sleeping because I didn’t want to be apart of this world...I wanted to detach myself from my situation, my grief and my self-pity. My siblings were scared and worried about me, they had never seen me so mute, so defeated, so weak, so unhappy. I remember both of my siblings asking my mom is, “Kalob going to be alright?”; “Is ever going to be the same?”. Hearing those sincere concerns broke my heart even more. But the final straw that sparked me to do something a little different was when my brother came back home crying, telling me he just wanted his brother back, telling me how he had told one of his close friends Dayron about my current mental state and situation. I was embarrassed that my brother had told a friend of my personal business, but more so I was disappointed in myself that I had failed not only myself but my brother, my sister, and my mother. My mother even tried to motivate me to read the bible, but it was hard for me to make that move because no one in my mother’s home actively seeks out and tries to read the Word of God. So my mother contacted my aunts Karen and Monica, who are hard core bible thumpers, and they talked to me. My aunts told me that I could come spend the night for a couple of days if I wanted to. And I decided that was a solid move for me to make, being around my siblings and mother wasn’t helping me either. I decided to move into my aunts home, instead of just sleeping over. From September 2016 to March 2017 I lived with my aunts and grandmother, and trust me when I say it was a very transformative experience. When I moved in I once again was doing the same things I was doing at my mother’s home. I was stuck in a fetal position on the couch. But my aunts kept trying to talk to me and ask me questions, conversations that I did not want to participate in. So I asked if they had a bike and they said, “Yes”. So I asked if I could use the bike to exercise on. And they said, “Yes”. So I took the bike and escaped. I did something I had not done during my first week back in SoCal. I actually got up and took the initiative to go outside. When I hopped on that bike I started riding around looking for drugs, thinking that a drug was going satisfy me better than anything else. But I could not find any drugs. When I returned back to my aunts home from back riding they were already outside on the porch. And its as if my aunts had read my mind or my intentions to ride the bike. And my aunts asked in unison, “Were you looking for marijuana?”. And I said, “Yes I was”. So my aunt Monica said, “You should’ve just told us. I know a weed shop that I can take you to. Don’t buy weed off the streets, because people sometimes lace the weed with other drugs”. So my aunt Karen drove me to the weed shop. When we made it back to the house, I broke down the weed, split open the Dutch cigarillo, stuff some weed inside, rolled up the weed, and sparked the blunt. The euphoric feeling I thought I was going to have to come, but it didn’t last how long as I thought it would. I immediately started becoming extremely paranoid. I started contemplating all the things I had done in my life. I felt that I was a very selfish person, who had never truly loved anyone; and so I ran away from my aunts crib. Why? Because I even felt like my aunts were toxic for me as well. As I started running towards 94th and Budlong, I contemplated what I would want to do with my new acquired freedom. So I started digging in my pockets and I found: a lighter, a blunt, some weed in a canister, Dutch wraps, over $20, and my cellphone. After that discovery, I decided that I was going to go to the liquor store, buy some alcohol, smoke the rest of my weed, and kill myself. When I reached the liquor store I noticed that a prostitute was standing outside, she approached me and asked if I was interested. I told her yes and asked how much. And she said $20. I said ok. So I went inside the liquor store to break the change and I bought a condom. I remember the cashier looking at me, then her, and shaking his head, because he knew what were about to do. I followed her to her crib, and she led me upstairs to her room. Right before we entered her room, there was a young guy probably in his 20s who acknowledged. At that moment I assumed that was her pimp, and I started feeling anxious. I had watched several movies, where men had solicited sex from prostitutes, only to be killed and robbed by either the prostitute or the pimp. When I entered her room, she turned on her tv and played some pornography and then she sat down on the bed. I unzipped my pants, pulled my penis out, opened the condom wrapper, and began sliding the condom down the shaft of my penis. Once the condom had been put on, the prostitute started performing oral sex on me, but I couldn’t get an erection due to my fear and anxiety. So I told her to stop and that I had changed my mind, but that she could still keep the money for her time, and I quickly speed walked out of that house. I started walking around. I called a couple of my fraternity brothers Morino, Mata, and 50; to tell them that I loved them and appreciated them, but that I was tired of everything and that I was going to end my life. They begged and pleaded me not to, but I didn’t continue to listen and I hung up. Next I called Tommy and Erin, in order to meet up with one of them, and smoke some weed and drink, and then kill myself. But I believe Erin was either busy or I didn’t want to hang with him. And Tommy was way too far, all the way in Redlands,CA. So I kept walking until I found a tree that was secluded in the dark, and I approached it and lay down under the tree. I remember the ground being so comfortable, and soft, and cold, and the darkness having such a calming effect on my mind and body. As I laid on the ground, I planned to get up and jump in front of a car, so I would die. (To be continued)