011. I have this irrational fear of finding a dead body in a public restroom.
This isn’t because of video games or movies, it’s always been in the back of my mind.
This isn’t because of video games or movies, it’s always been in the back of my mind.
Don’t call me babe or hun or sweetcheeks or sweetipie or any of that shit. Call me Rachel or Rach or even my old cosplay name (if you’re from that part of my life). Call me character names from old books, call me anything but honeybun. I fucking hate that stuff. I get so angry.
Just listen.
So I was nine years old. We lived in a trailer for a year and a half when I was younger, and it was going to be an awful Christmas, I just knew it. Mom didn’t have to tell me. I was at the age where kids started slowly not believing in Santa Claus. So I wrote this letter to him and the only thing I asked for was for Santa to bring my mom a ring. My mom was in a bad relationship with an abusive man who never gave her anything nice. I hid the letter until the school asked for any letters for Santa. We dropped them in a large sack and they were sent to the post office.
Christmas morning comes and my sister and I run out and tear open our gifts with haste. There’s this small, long box under the tree, shoved in the very back. It’s shaped like a treasure chest. There’s no wrapping, no note. My mom grabbed it and opened it and I remember her being quiet for a while. She handed me the box. The ring was sitting in the corner of the box, not placed neatly in the middle, no tissue paper. It was presented without presentation. It had a big stone in the middle, one on either side.
I was speechless.
I don’t know how that ring showed up at the house and neither does my mom. Even today she denies knowing where it came from.
It was the only magical part of that year for me, and I hold onto that when Christmas seems a little less magical.
I don’t own all of them anymore, one or two have scratched, but I plan on re-purchasing them.
And yes, I’m nineteen years old.
I will play these fuckers until I die.
They are flawless.
I still might, but money is a big problem.
I wasn’t interested in drugs or alcohol or sex when I was a kid, I wanted to try a cigarette. And not because of my friends, family, or because people in the movies smoked. I wanted to smoke. Whenever I saw someone smoking I’d stand near them and just smell it, and I knew I wanted it.
I started at sixteen and haven’t looked back since.
I only hug my immediate family and a handful of friends. I won’t say anything if someone hugs me unexpectedly but it’s uncomfortable.
The only person that would talk to me was the librarian.
Explains a lot, huh?
For GLBT related things and for the Harry Potter premieres. Once I was on the front page, it was horrid. I got recognized all day.