Spilled Thoughts - Tumblr Posts

I’ve learned that some people are like lifesavers. They come into your life and save you from drowning, but that’s it, you don’t need them once you are out of the water and they leave. They were never meant to stay with you forever.

I’ve always been a narnian fan but now that I’m older I can say that my liking of it has been layering and I can now understand a bit more the angst that the Pevensies felt. Because I too long for a place I cannot go back to and like Susan I’ve found myself often times asking myself if that actually happened or how much of that time was just in my head.

Just food for thought I guess.

Nothing like going home for the holidays after you have lost connection with the faith you once grew but without your parents having knowledge of you leaving; because peace will be lost once you tell them you have left their faith.

Women have always been a part of our stories, although mostly got treated as villains worthy of punishment.

Don’t believe me? Let’s start with Lilith whose crime was refusing to submit to Adam’s will, asking to be treated as the equal she was. Or perhaps I should mention Eve who often gets blamed for the banishment from paradise, however Adam also ate from the forbidden fruit, yet nobody ever judges him, just Eve.

Maybe we should move towards the Greek tradition. Nowadays certain retellings about Persephone make a villain of Demeter. Why does the only way that story gets told now is by villainizing the mother who just wanted to find her child? Sound familiar? Unforgiving for the abduction of her daughter, she took away all crops and threatened to barren the earth as punishment for her loss while she kept looking with Hekate’s help. Demeter was in such uproar that it forced Zeus’ hand and made him; the king of the gods; go down into the underworld to bring Persephone back with her mother.

What about Aphrodite? Usually reduced to vain and envious, the story of her infidelity to Hephaestus often gets remembered, yet most that condemn the affair tend to forget that he was the one who demanded for her hand, that she didn’t want him and it was Zeus who practically sold her to him.

Perhaps we could talk about Alcippe who was attacked by one of Poseidon’s sons and when her father killed the perpetrator, he was the one put to trial, for seeking justice for his daughter. On the note of Poseidon, let’s not forget that he cursed Pasiphae to lay with the bull and bear the minotaur in payment not for a crime she committed but for her husband’s crime, she was punished for a man’s actions. What about Medusa? She was assaulted by Neptune inside Minerva’s temple and then punished for his actions; or perhaps a blessing to make sure no other man would ever touch her without consent.

Helen of Sparta (yes, Sparta and not Troy) was abducted not once but twice, first by Theseus and later by Paris, however she usually is the one getting blamed for the Trojan war.

The disregard and mistreatment of women are not new but they aren’t old news either. Mothers searching for their children get judged and women forced into roles they never asked for themselves get criticized, but how would we feel? It’s not okay that these stories, these myths can represent the experience of so many women nowadays.

Like Phases of the Moon

To my parents I am waxing and To my sister I am waning To many I am new, unseen and mysterious. Never do I fully show myself to those around me…only to those I deem worthy, If I present to you in my full glory you must know you are special, you have been chosen to seem me as I am. I am a complex web of something quite simple, built to forever stand out in space amongst the many planets who demand majority’s attention Overlook but not underestimated, I am like the moon. -For the Outcasts

Maybe we are all crazy, that’s why we search for love in places it can never be found.

4 a.m. thoughts

They say the truth will set you free, So why am I still here?

God If You Are Above by Falling In Reverse

And then, just like that, we became strangers to each other.

4 a.m. thoughts, words better left unsaid

Eyes like islands in the ocean

The waves of your iris pulling me in

A rip current that can’t be escaped

Sailing toward the whirlpool of your pupil

Drowning in your soul

-These Windows Are Dangerous

Whenever I get lost, there's a confluence and conflict of emotions and thoughts deep within me.

But, one question resides above all the din,

Do I want to be found or not???

So, something that I've noticed is that I've never really seen anyone talk about non-human paras. Like most of my prominent paras are mythical creatures, such as Goblins, Faeries, Pixies, Nymphs, and some of them are like spirits/ghosts/entities. But I've seen that a lot of people pretty much only have human paras, where I have little to no human paras. Could it be something to do with the way people have treated me throughout my life? My dislike/growing fear of people? I'm just not sure, but I feel uncomfortable when ever I meet a human para, like I instantly distrust them and make myself distanced from them.

Just saying...

Please do not interact unless you have experienced any form of trauma or abuse and/or experience mental illness, especially with maladaptive daydreaming.

I do not want people re-blogging or commenting on posts (mainly) about MaDD saying stuff like "omg, this is so me because I like to pretend ___ every once in a while". Or "oh, I'm just so imaginative like this".

Like, shut up. Shut up. It's not fun living like this. It hurts. Especially after going on for aeons thinking the daydreams were helping, but I get to a point of realising that it's not, and it's not okay. I'm not okay.

The Color Blue

I hate the color blue.

It reminds me of my father’s eyes;

a light shade of blue, that look and feel like ice.

They stretch wide and unblinking when he’s mad

wild- like a rabid animal.

He’s always mad.

I love the color blue.

“You look good in blue, honey.” Coos my father.

He has a wide smile, his white teeth glimmering with pride

and the corners of his eyes crinkling.

His compliments are rare, so his praise makes me warm inside;

a sharp contrast to how i feel when i am subjected to his freezing stare.

I wish he could look at me all the time

with those wonderful crinkles by his eyes.

It’s much better than drowning in a fury I can’t seem to escape.

I wish he was happy.

I wish I was happy

with him.

My Mom

You are my Red.

the passion that keeps me going,

the anger that taught me to forgive.

You are my Orange.

the one who gets me out of bed when i can’t do it myself,

the light at the end of my tunnel vision.

You are my Yellow.

the warm breakfast on a Saturday morning,

the laughter that spews from my mouth when we gossip in the car.

You are my Green.

the success i strive to become,

the one who takes care of me when i get sick.

You are my Blue.

the trust in deep talks,

the trust that when you say I look good in this shirt, you really mean it.

You are my Purple.

the way you say i have so much talent,

the one who calms me after a nightmare.

You are my Pink.

the soreness in my cheeks when i smile endlessly,

the tightness in my chest when my heart spills over with love.

You are my White.

the hope that i can be loved,

the beauty who looks good in everything and anything.

You are my Gray.

the tranquility of sitting together in the living room on a rainy day,

the maturity i learned from to admit when i’m wrong.

You are my Black.

my tether to the Earth when I float off,

my rock when things get too much.

You are my Brown.

the reliability in your advice,

the one that helps me grow.

You are my Everything,

the one i love so intensely,

i had to put it in a poem.

I love you, Mom.

a/n: i wanted to color code each word but apparently Tumblr doesn’t wanna have yellow, gray, black, or brown, so just pretend that they’re colored 🤷🏻‍♀️

I'm not sure if everyone's confidence is authentic, including ours. We plan our future together when we don't even know what we're doing after the sun rises in the morrow, isn't it scary? The expectations of everyone around us, judging our every move and giving advice, thinking we're a mirror image of their younger selves where everything in their lives took a turn for the worse. Their disappointing stares and comments, our anxiety filled hope that everything will work out and we won't be left heartbroken and alone, still caught up with the ghosts of our past and future, where nothing is certain, but everything is set in stone by the higher power of our world. Our personalities are so similar yet so different, we went through different things, and we chose the same toxic coping methods, yet only one of us has changed and sought to grow and heal. I'm not sure if we can suffer the future together, but I know that I'd do anything to stay by your side, even if that means going for an eternal sleep until our Lord returns and rescues us from our woes. We've gotten to the stage where I'm unsure if my love for you is an unhealthy obsession, but if it is then there needs to be an intervention. I would die for you, but not in the jokingly I would take a bullet just to prove my love, in the sense of irreparable damage, of fracturing my soul just to be in your presence. Now will you listen? I have so much to say but I don't even know if you will hear me, I move to fast but not in the physical sense, in the sense that I'm already picturing our wedding and what our kids will look like, I'm a romantic but you're scared of commitment, where I would commit my entire life to serve you in an instant. Isn't it scary? This life we lead, where we tell each other we're okay, but inside we're terrified of what's going to happen and we both know it. Do you know what you did when you put your name at the end of mine and then said you couldn't promise anything? Not even that you'd try to make it happen with me. It was the most beautiful and heartbreaking day of my life. Why can't you think before you say? We were only joking, and you said that line with such sincerity that I almost believed that we were already at the altar, but can you blame me when you look at me in that way that feels like I'm the only person in your life, that makes me melt and trip over my words like a nervous wreck. The truth is I'm terrified, terrified that one day you'll look at me and give up, that you'll no longer be interested in spending our lives together and starting a family, and it might be irrational but I don't feel worthy of you, and everything that people are saying fuels my anxiety, and if I could just look into your eyes and listen to you tell me how everything will be okay and that we'll get through all of our trials together, I'll truly be at rest. Because the truly irrational thing is that I trust you with everything I have, even though you tell me not too.

Thinking about how differently the west and the east profess the same thing.

Hey, I'm going to the store now. Let me know if you need anything. I love you. / I'm going out now, where's your shopping list?

No, you're amazing! You're precious, they don't know what they're talking about! I know it was mean, but but don't let it bother you, okay? Stop crying, please? / They said that? Retards. Like c'mon, have they looked at themselves in the mirror? Donkeys. Now wash your face, it's all red.

I know I was angry, and I said some awful things, but... forgive me? / Hey. Here's some peeled fruit. Stop sulking, okay?

I think that it's because the west sees love as a a form of affirmation- I love you, here these flowers are for you. I'm here for you. I see you. Stay safe- and the east sees it as a form of expression- I bought you pens because you ran out, now give me those chocolates. Come on, I'll talk to those idiots for you. You're working hard, stop it before you get stupider than you are- and I think it's beautiful.

I feel the most poetic witnessing someone elses sadness. Someone else's loss. I do not know why. But my tears drip more freely then . My hand shakes less. my pen writes more. Maybe it is the fact that their misery seems to add a glow to them. A light. A beauty that not even time, with all of its slow decomposition, can fabricate. Maybe it is that. Or maybe it is their iron will, their burning heart, that makes it all so ethereal. My misery is nothing like this. Why? Why? Whywhywhywhy- my misery is a poison i inject into myself everyday, my misery is a shadow that takes my body's form, my misery is neither dark nor light. It does not glow. It does not burn. My misery is grey, ashen. It is my heart, with its crumbling arteries. It is my mind, with its disconnecting nerves. My misery doesn't seem poetic to me. 

When, suddenly, I have no motivation for anything. When, suddenly, I want to climb into my bed and bury myself underneath my anxiety. When, suddenly, I never want to wake up again. When, suddenly, academic validation is all I want. When, suddenly, I am too tired to pick up my pen. When, suddenly, I start losing weight. When, suddenly, my friends wrap their fingers around my wrist and gush about how small I've gotten. When, suddenly, my throat aches with every breath. When, suddenly, there are cracks on my skin that I can't explain. When, suddenly, I'm not survivng anymore.

I am 10. I ask my dad to write down his letters on a piece of paper I thrust into his face. He looks at me oddly, he complies. I am 10. And my hands ache and my fingers are sore, and the page has torn and ripped, yet I continue. My pencil has started to shake, it's lead has long blunted, and a fresh shaving of graphite covers the faded one beneath it, the once sharp curve of the 'B' disappearing under the layers atop it. I am 10. And I wish my dad shared more than just blood with me.

Fun Facts About Me (Part One):

- I am most certainly a heartbreaker, but I always feel bad about it

- I wear my heart on my sleeve

- Sometimes if you listen closely, I'm singing

- Catch me walking anywhere and I'm also singing

- I also randomly dance

- I drink a lot of water. A lot.

- I have a scar on my left hand from clawing myself with my own fingernail

- My fingernails are pointed upwards on purpose

- I have an iconic fashion style

- And by that I mean I only wear black, purple, and blue

- I have tiny arms

- I have tiny hands

- I'm really smol

- Smoller than most. It looks kinda unhealthy

- I have an awkward hunch

- My eyes are very intimidating